university  of 
Connecticut 
fc  libraries 


ca 


BRITL   823.8.T325    1880   c.  1 
THACKERAY    #    VIRGINIANS 


3    ^153    00E3113M    D 
I 

m 


m 


oi 


O 


g^  £^-^  //^/ 


r 


1^ 


GUMBO   ASTONISHES    THE    SERVANTS'    HALL. 


THE  VIRGINIANS 


A  TALE  OF  THE  LAST  CENTURY. 


WILLIAM    MAKEPEACE   THACKERAY. 


I'FrTH  ILLUSTRA  TIONS  BY  THE  A  UTHOR. 


NEW  YORK: 
JOHN   WURTELE    LOVELL, 

No.  24  Bond  Street. 
1880. 


Xi  0  06 


TO 

SIR    HENRY    DAVISON, 

CHIEF     JUSTICE     OF     MADRAS, 

^\ixB  §ooh  IS  xiiscribJr 

BY 

AN  AFFECTIONATE  OLD  FRIEND. 
London,  September  7,  18590 


CONTENTS. 


I. 

II. 

III. 

IV. 

V. 

VI. 

VII. 

VIII. 

IX. 

X. 

XL 

XII. 

XIII. 

XIV. 

XV. 

XVI. 

XVII. 

XVIII. 

XIX. 

XX. 

XXI. 

XXII. 
XXIII. 
XXIV. 

XXV. 
XXVI. 

XXVII. 

XXVIII. 

XXIX. 

XXX. 


In  which  one  of  the  Virginians  visits  home 7 

In  which  Harry  has  to  pay  for  his  supper 16 

The  Esmonds  in  Virginia 27 

In  which  Harry  finds  a  new  relative 34 

Family  jars 40 

The  Virginians  begin  to  see  the  world 52 

Preparations  for  war 59 

In  which  George  suffers  from  a  common  disease.  .  68 

Hospitalities 74 

A  hot  afternoon 85 

.Wherein  the  two  Georges  prepare  for  blood 96 

News  from  the  camp loi 

Profitless  quest 109 

Harry  in  England 118 

A  Sunday  at  Castlewood 123 

In  which  Gumbo  shows  skill  with  the  old  English 

weapon 132 

On  the  scent 142 

An  old  story 1 50 

Containing  both  love  and  luck 157 

Facilis  descensus 163 

Samaritans ...    : 175 

In  hospital 181 

Holidays 1 92 

From  Oakhurst  to  Tunbridge 199 

New  acquaintances. .    208 

In  which  we  are  at   a   very   great   distance   from 

Oakhurst 216 

Plenum  opus  aleae 227 

The  way  of  the  world 233 

In  which  Harry  continues  to  enjoy  otium  sine  dig- 

nitate 241 

Contains  a  letter  to  Virginia 245 


iv  CONTENTS. 

CHAP.  PAGE. 

XXXI.  The  bear  and  the  leader 252 

XXXI I.  In  wliich  a  family  coach  is  ordered 264 

XXXIII.  Contains  a  soliloqu}-  by  Hester 274 

XXXIV.  In  which  Mr.  Warrington  treats  the  company  with 

tea  and  a  ball .    281 

XXXA^.  Entanglements 291 

XXX\^I.  Which  seems  to  mean  mischief 301 

XXXVII.   In  which  various  matches  are  fought 310 

XXXVIII.  Sampson  and  the  Phihstines 316 

XXXIX.  Harry  to  the  rescue 325 

XL.  In  which   Harry  pays  off  an   old  debt  and  incurs 

some  new  ones 333 

XLI.  Rake's  progress 342 

XLII.  Fortunatus  nimium. .  . .  , 348 

XLI  1 1.  In  which  Harry  flies  high. 354 

XLIV.  Contains  what  might,  perhaps,  have  been  expected  363 

XLV.  In  which  Harry  finds  two  uncles 374 

XLVI.  Chains  and  slavery. 380 

XLVII.  Visitors  in  trouble 392 

XLVI  1 1.  An  apparition 400 

XLIX.  Friends  in  need 404 

L.  Contains  a  great  deal  of  the  finest  morality 410 

LI.  Conticuere  Omnes 420 

LI  I.  Intentique  ora  tenebant 432 

LI  1 1.  Where  we  remain  at  the  court  end  of  the  town.  . . .   438 
LIV.  During  which  Harry  sits  smoking  his  pipe  at  home  444 

LV.  Between  brothers 452 

LVI.  Ariadne 458 

LVII.  In  which  Mr.  Harry's  nose  continues  to  be  put  out 

of  joint 470 

LVI  1 1.  Where  we  do  what  cats  may  do 476 

LIX.   In  which  Ave  are  treated  to  a  play 483 

LX.  Which  treats  of  Macbeth,  a  supper,   and  a  pretty 

kettle  of  fish 495 

LXI.  In  which  the  prince  marches  up  the  hill  and  down 

again 504 

LXI  I.  Arma  virumque 510 

LXI  1 1.  Melpomene..* 527 

LXIV.   In  which  Harry  lives  to  fight  another  day 539 

LX\^.  Soldier's  return 547 

LXVI.   In  which  we  go  a-courting 552 

LXVII.   In    which   a   tragedy  is  acted,  and  two  more  are 

begun 560 

LXVI  1 1.  In  which  Harry  goes  westward 573 

LXIX.  A  httle  innocent in 

LXX.  In  which  Cupid  plays  a  considerable  part 590 

LXXI.  White  favors 598 

LXXII.  (From  the   Warrington   MS.)  In  which  my  lady  is 

on  the  top  of  the  ladder 605 


CONTENTS. 


CHAT.  PAGE. 

LXXIII.  We  keep  Christmas  at  Castlevvood,  1759 61 1* 

LXXI V.  News  from  Canada 624 

LXXV.  The  course  of  true  love 631 

LXXVI.   Informs  us  how  Mr.  Warrington  jumped  into  a 

landau 640 

LXXVI  I.  And  how  everybody  got  out  again 646 

LXXVI  1 1.   Pyramus  and  Thisbe    655 

LXXIX.  Containing  both  comedy  and  tragedy 666 

LXXX.  Pocahontas 673 

LXXXI.  Res  angusta  domi 681 

LXXXII.  Miles's  moidore 690 

LXXXI  1 1 .  Troubles  and  consolations 693 

LXXXI V.   In  which  Harry  submits  to  the  common  lot 706 

LXXXV.  Inveni  portum 715 

LXXXVL  At  home 725 

LXXXVII.  The  last  of  God  save  the  king 738 

LXXXVIII.  Yankee  Doodle  comes  to  town 746 

LXXXIX.  A  colonel  without  a  regiment 750 

XC.  In  which  we  both  fight  and  run  away 759 

XCI.  Satis  pugnae 772 

XCI  I.  Under  vine  and  fig-tree 780 


THE  VIRGINIANS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

IN    WHICH    ONE    OF    THE    VIRGINIANS    VISITS    HOME. 

On  the  library  wall  of  one  of  the  most  famous  writers  of 
America,  there  hang  two  crossed  swords,  which  his  relatives 
wore  in  the  great  War  of  Independence.  The  one  sword  was 
gallantly  drawn  in  the  service  of  the  king,  the  other  was  the 
weapon  of  a  brave  and  honored  republican  soldier.  The 
possessor  of  the  harmless  trophy  has  earned  for  himself  a 
name  alike  honored  in  his  ancestors'  country  and  his  own, 
where  genius  such  as  his  has  always  a  peaceful  welcome. 

The  ensuing  history  reminds  me  of  yonder  swords  in  the 
historian's  study  at  Boston.  In  the  Revolutionary  War,  the 
subjects  of  this  story,  natives  of  America,  and  children  of  the 
Old  Dominion,  found  themselves  engaged  on  different  sides  in 
the  quarrel,  coming  together  peaceably  at  its  conclusion,  as 
brethren  should,  their  love  never  having  materially  diminished, 
however  angrily  the  contest  divided  them.  The  colonel  in 
scarlet,  and  the  general  in  blue  and  bluff,  hang  side  by  side  in 
the  wainscoted  parlor  of  the  Warringtons,  in  England,  where  a 
descendant  of  one  of  the  brothers  has  shown  their  portraits  to 
me,  with  many  of  the  letters  which  they  wrote,  and  the  books 
and  papers  which  belonged  to  them.  In  the  Warrington 
family,  and  to  distinguish  them  from  other  personages  of  that 
respectable  race,  these  effigies  have  always  gone  by  the  name 
of  "  The  Virginians ; "  by  which  name  their  memoirs  are 
christened. 

(7) 


8  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

They  both  of  them  passed  much  time  in  Europe.  They 
hved  just  on  the  verge  of  that  Old  World  from  which  we  are 
drifting  away  so  swiftly.  They  were  familiar  with  many 
varieties  of  men  and  fortune.  Their  lot  brought  them  into 
contact  with  personages  of  whom  we  read  only  in  books,  who 
seem  alive,  as  I  read  in  the  Virginians'  letters  regarding  them, 
whose  voices  I  almost  fancy  I  hear,  as  I  read  the  yellow  pages 
written  scores  of  years  since,  blotted  with  the  boyish  tears  of 
disappointed  passion,  dutifully  despatched  after  famous  balls 
and  ceremonies  of  the  grand  Old  World,  scribbled  by  camp- 
fires,  or  out  of  prison  :  nay,  there  is  one  that  has  a  bullet 
through  it,  and  of  which  a  greater  portion  of  the  text  is  blotted 
out  with  the  blood  of  the  bearer. 

These  letters  had  probably  never  been  preserved,  but  for 
the  affectionate  thrift  of  one  person,  to  whom  they  never  failed 
in  their  dutiful  correspondence.  Their  mother  kept  all  her 
sons'  letters,  from  the  very  first,  m  which  Henry%  the  younger 
of  the  twins,  sends  his  love  to  his  brother,  then  ill  of  a  sprain 
at  his  grandfather's  house  of  Castlewood,  in  Virginia,  and 
thanks  his  grandpapa  for  a  horse  which  he  rides  with  his  tutor, 
down  to  the  last,  "from  my  beloved  son,"  which  reached  her 
but  a  few  hours  before  her  death.  The  venerable  lady  never 
visited  Europe,  save  once  wdth  her  parents  in  the  reign  of 
George  the  Second ;  took  refuge  in  Richmond  wdien  the  house 
of  Castlewood  was  burned  down  during  the  war  ;  and  was 
called  Madam  Esmond  ever  after  that  event ;  never  caring 
much  for  the  name  or  family  of  Warrington,  which  she  held  in 
very  slight  estimation  as  compared  to  her  own. 

The  letters  of  the  Virginians,  as  the  reader  will  presently 
see,  from  specimens  to  be  shown  to  him,  are  by  no  means  full. 
They  are  hints  rather  than  descriptions — indications  and  out- 
lines chiefly :  it  may  be,  that  the  present  writer  has  mistaken 
the  forms,  and  filled  in  the  color  wrongly  :  but,  poring  over 
the  documents,  I  have  tried  to  imagine  the  situation  of  the 
writer,  where  he  was,  and  by  what  persons  surrounded.  I  have 
drawn  the  figures  as  I  fancied  they  were  ;  set-  down  conversa- 
tions as  I  think  I  might  have  heard  them ;  and  so,  to  the  best 
of  my  ability,  endeavored  to  revivify  the  bygone  times  and 
people.  With  what  success  the  task  has  been  accomplished, 
with  what  profit  or  amusement  to  himself,  the  kind  reader  wdll 
please  to  determine. 

One  summer  morning  in  the  year  1756,  and  in  the  reign  of 
his  Majesty  King  George  the  Second,  the  "  Young  Rachel," 


THE   VIRGIA'IANS.  c) 

Virginian  ship,  Edward  Franks,  master,  came  up  the  Avon  river 
on  her  liappy  return  from  her  annual  voyage  to  the  Potomac. 
She  proceeded  to  Bristol  with  the  tide,  and  moored  in  the 
stream  as  near  as  possible  to  Trail's  wharf,  to  which  she  was 
consigned.  Mr.  Trail,  her  part  owner,  who  could  survey  his  ship 
from  his  counting-house  windows,  straightway  took  boat  and 
came  up  her  side.  The  owner  of  the  "  Young  Rachel,''  a  large 
grave  man  in  his  own  hair,  and  of  a  demure  aspect,  gave  the 
hand  of  welcome  to  Captain  Franks,  who  stood  on  his  deck, 
and  congratulated  the  captain  ujDon  the  speedy  and  fortunate 
voyage  which  he  had  made.  And  remarking  that  we  ought  to 
be  thankful  to  heaven  for  its  mercies,  he  proceeded  presently 
to  business  by  asking  particulars  relative  to  cargo  and  pas- 
sengers. 

Franks  was  a  pleasant  man,  who  loved  a  joke.  "  We 
have,"  says  he,  ''but  yonder  ugly  negro  boy,  who  is  fetching 
the  trunks,  and  a  passenger  w^ho  has  the  state  cabin  to  himself." 

Mr.  Trail  looked  as  if  he  would  have  preferred  more  mercies 
from  heaven.  "  Confound  you,  Franks,  and  your  luck  !  The 
'  Duke  William,'  w^hich  came  in  last  week,  brought  fourteen, 
and  she  is  not  half  of  our  tonnage." 

"  And  this  passenger,  who  has  the  whole  cabin,  don't  pay 
nothin',"  continued  the  Captain.  "  Swear  now,  it  will  do  you 
good,  Mr.  Trail,  indeed  it  will.     I  have  tried  the  medicine." 

"  A  passenger  take  the  wdiole  cabin  and  not  pay  ?  Gracious 
mercy,  are  you  a  fool.  Captain  Franks  ? " 

"  Ask  the  passenger  himself,  for  here  he  comes."  And,  as 
the  master  spoke,  a  young  man  of  some  nineteen  years  of  age 
came  up  the  hatchw^ay.  He  had  a  cloak  and  a  sword  under  his 
arm,  and  was  dressed  in  deep  mourning,  and  called  out, 
"  Gumbo,  you  idiot,  why  don't  you  fetch  the  baggage  out  of  the 
cabin.?  Well,  shipmate,  our  journey  is  ended.  You  will  see 
all  the  little  folks  to-night  whom  you  have  been  talking  about. 
Give  my  love  to  Polly,  and  Betty,  and  Little  Tommy ;  not  for- 
getting my  duty  to  Mrs.  Franks.  I  thought,  yesterday,  the 
voyage  w^ould  never  be  done,  and  now  I  am  almost  sorry  it  is 
over.  That  little  berth  in  my  cabin  looks  very  comfortable 
now  I  am  going  to  leave  it." 

Mr.  Trail  scowled  at  the  young  jDassenger  wiio  had  paid  no 
money  for  his  passage.  He  scarcely  nodded  his  head  to  the 
stranger,  when  Captain  Franks  said,  "This  here  gentleman  is 
Mr.  Trail,  sir,  whose  name  you  have  a-heerd  of." 

"It's  pretty  w'ell  known  in  Bristol,  sir,"  says  Mr.  Trail, 
majestically. 


lo  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

"  And  this  is  Mr.  Warrington,  Madam  Esmond  Warrington's 
son,  of  Castlewood,"  continued  the  Captain. 

The  British  merchant's  hat  was  instantly  off  his  head,  and 
the  owner  of  the  beaver  was  making  a  prodigious  number  of 
bows,  as  if  a  crown-prince  were  before  him. 

"  Gracious  powers,  Mr.  Warrington  !  This  is  a  deUght,  in- 
deed !  What  a  crowning  mercy  that  your  voyage  should  have 
been  so  prosperous !  You  must  have  my  boat  to  go  on  shore. 
Let  me  cordially  and  respectfully  welcome  you  to  England  : 
let  me  shake  your  hand  as  the  son  of  my  benefactress  and 
patroness,  Mrs.  Esmond  Warrington,  whose  name  is  known  and 
honored  on  Bristol  'Change,  I  warrant  you.    Isn't  it,  Franks  ? " 

"  There's  no  sweeter  tobacco  comes  from  A'^irginia,  and  no 
better  brand  than  the  Three  Castles,"  says  Mr.  Franks,  draw- 
ing a  great  brass  tobacco-box  from  his  pocket,  and  thrusting  a 
quid  into  his  jolly  mouth.  "  You  don't  know  what  a  comfort  it 
is,  sir ;  you'll  take  to  it,  bless  you,  as  you  grow  older.  Won't 
he,  Mr.  Trail  ?  I  wish  you  had  ten  shiploads  of  it  instead  of 
one.  You  might  have  ten  shiploads  :  I've  told  Madam  Es- 
mond so  ;  I've  rode  over  her  plantation  ;  she  treats  me  like 
a  lord  when  I  go  to  the  house  ;  she  don't  grudge  me  the  best 
of  wine,  or  keep  me  coolmg  my  heels  in  the  counting-room,  as 
some  folks  does  "  (with  a  look  at  Mr.  Trail).  "  She  is  a  real- 
born  lady,  she  is  ;  and  might  have  a  thousand  hogsheads  as 
easy  as  her  hundreds,  if  there  were  but  hands  enough." 

"  I  have  lately  engaged  in  the  Guinea  trade,  and  could 
supply  her  ladyship  with  any  number  of  healthy  young  negroes 
before  next  fall,"  said  Mr.  Trail,  obsequiously. 

"We  are  averse  to  the  purchase  of  negroes  from  Africa," 
said  the  young  gentleman,  coldly.  "  My  grandfather  and  my 
mother  have  always  objected  to  it,  and  I  do  not  like  to  think 
of  selling  or  buying  the  poor  wretches." 

"  It  is  for  their  good,  my  dear  young  sir  !  for  their  temporal 
and  their  spiritual  good  !  "  cried  Mr.  Trail.  "And  we  purchase 
the  poor  creatures  only  for  their  benefit ;  let  me  talk  this  mat- 
ter over  with  you  at  my  own  house.  I  can  introduce  you  to  a 
happy  home,  a  Christian  family,  and  a  British  merchant's 
honest  fare.     Can't  I,  Captain  Franks?  " 

"  Can't  say,"  growled  the  Captain.  "  Never  asked  me  to 
take  bite  or  sup  at  your  table.  Asked  me  to  psalm-singing 
once,  and  to  hear  Mr.  Ward  preach  :  don't  care  for  them  sort 
of  entertainr.  ents." 

Not  choosing  to  take  any  notice  of  this  remark,  Mr.  Tra.iI 
continued  in   his  low  tone  :    "  Business  is  business,  my  deat 


THE   VIRGIXTANS.  II 

young  sir,  and  I  know,  'tis  only  ray  duty,  the  daty  of  all  of  us, 
to  cultivate  the  fruits  of  the  earth  in  their  season.  As  the 
heir  of  Lady  Esmond's  estate ;  for  I  speak,  I  believe,  to  the 
heir  of  that  great  property  ?  " 

The  young  gentleman  made  a  bow — 

"  I  would  urge  upon  you,  at  the  very  earliest  moment,  the 
propriety,  the  duty  of  increasing  the  ample  means  with  which 
heaven  has  blessed  you.  As  an  honest  factor,  I  could  not  do 
otherwise :  as  a  prudent  man,  should  I  scruple  to  speak  of 
what  will  tend  to  your  profit  and  mine  ?  No,  my  dear  Mr. 
George." 

"  My  name  is  not  George ;  my  name  is  Henry,"  said  the 
young  man  as  he  turned  his  head  away,  and  his  eyes  filled  with 
tears. 

"  Gracious  powers  !  what  do  you  mean,  sir  ?  Did  you  not 
say  that  you  were  my  lady's  heir  ?  and  is  not  George  Esmond 
Warrington,  Esq. " 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  you  fool  ! "  cried  Mr.  Franks,  striking 
the  merchant  a  tough  blow  on  his  sleek  sides,  as  the  young  lad 
turned  away.  "  Don't  you  see  the  young  gentleman  a-swab- 
bing  his  eyes,  and  note  his  black  clothes  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Captain  Franks,  by  laying  your  hand 
on  your  owners  ?  Mr.  George  is  the  heir ;  I  know  the 
Colonel's  will  well  enough." 

"  Mr.  George  is  there,"  said  the  Captain,  pointing  with  his 
thumb  to  the  deck. 

"  Where  .?  "  cries  the  factor. 

"  Mr.  George  is  there  !  "  reiterated  the  Captain,  again  lift- 
ing up  his  finger  towards  the  topmast,  or  the  sky  beyond. 
"  He  is  dead  a  year,  sir,  come  next  9th  of  July.  He  would  go 
out  with  General  Braddock  on  that  dreadful  business  to  the 
Belle  Riviere.  He  and  a  thousand  more  never  came  back 
again.  Every  man  of  them  was  murdered  as  he  fell.  You 
know  the  Indian  way,  Mr.  Trail  ?  "  And  here  the  Captain 
passed  his  hand  rapidly  round  his  head.  "  Horrible  !  ain't  it, 
sir  ?  horrible  !  He  was  a  fine  young  man,  the  very  picture  of 
this  one ;  only  his  hair  was  black,  which  is  now  hanging  in  a 
bloody  Indian  wigwam.  He  was  often  and  often  on  board  of 
the  'Young  Rachel,'  and  would  have  his  chests  of  books  broke 
open  on  deck  before  they  was  landed.  He  was  a  shy  and 
silent  young  gent :  not  like  this  one,  which  was  the  merriest, 
wildest  young  fellow,  full  of  his  songs  and  fun.  He  took  on 
dreadful  at  the  news  ;  went  to  his  bed,  had  that  fever  which 
lays  so  many  of  'em  by  the  heels  along  that  swampy  Potomac, 


12  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

but  he's  got  better  on  the  voyage  :  the  voyage  makes  every  one 
better;  and,  in  course,  the  young  gentleman  can't  be  for  ever 
a-crying  after  a  brother  who  dies  and  leaves  him  a  great  for- 
tune. Ever  since  we  sighted  Ireland  he  has  been  quite  gay 
and  happy,  only  he  would  go  off  at  times,  when  he  was  most 
merry,  saying,  '  I  wish  my  dearest  Georgy  could  enjoy  this  here 
sight  along  with  me,'  and  when  you  mentioned  t'other's  name, 
you  see,  he  couldn't  stand  it."  And  the  honest  Captain's  own 
eyes  filled  with  tears,  as  he  turned  and  looked  towards  the 
object  of  his  compassion. 

Mr.  Trail  assumed  a  lugubrious  countenance  befitting  the 
tragic  compliment  with  which  he  prepared  to  greet  the  young 
Virginian  \  but  the  latter  answered  him  very  curtly,  declined 
his  offers  of  hospitality,  and  only  stayed  in  Mr.  Trail's  house 
long  enough  to  drink  a  glass  of  wine  and  to  take  up  a  sum  of 
money  of  which  he  stood  in  need.  But  he  and  Captain  Franks 
parted  on  the  very  warmest  terms,  and  all  the  little  crew  of  the 
"  Young  Rachel  "  cheered  from  the  ship's  side  as  their  passen- 
ger left  It. 

Again  and  again  Harry  Warrington  and  his  brother  had 
pored  over  the  English  map,  and  determined  upon  the  course 
they  should  take  upon  arriving  at  Home.  All  Americans  who 
love  the  old  country — and  what  gently-nurtured  man  or  woman 
of  Anglo-Saxon  race  does  not  ? — have  ere  this  rehearsed  their 
English  travels,  and  visited  in  fancy  the  spots  with  which  their 
hopes,  their  parents'  fond  stories,  their  friends'  descriptions, 
have  rendered  them  familiar.  There  are  few  things  to  me 
more  affecting  in  the  history  of  the  quarrel  which  divided  the 
two  great  nations  than  the  recurrence  of  that  word  Home,  as 
used  by  the  younger  towards  the  elder  country.  Harry  War- 
rington had  his  chart  laid  out.  Before  London,  and  its  glori- 
ous temples  of  St.  Paul's  and  St.  Peter's ;  its  grim  tower, 
where  the  brave  and  loyal  had  shed  their  blood,  from  Wallace 
down  to  Balmerino  and  Kilmarnock,  pitied  by  gentle  hearts ; — 
before  the  awful  window  at  Whitehall,-  whence  the  martyr 
Charles  had  issued,  to  kneel  once  more,  and  then  ascend  to 
heaven ; — before  Playhouses,  Parks,  and  Palaces,  wondrous 
resorts  of  wit,  pleasure,  and  splendor ; — before  Shakspeare's 
Resting-place  under  the  tall  spire  which  rises  by  Avon,  amidst 
the  sweet  Warwickshire  pastures  ; — before  Derby  and  Falkirk, 
and  Culloden,  where  the  cause  of  honor  and  loyalty  had  fallen, 
it  might  be  to  rise  no  more  : — before  all  these  points  in  their 
pilgrimage  there  was  one  which  the  young  Virginian  brothers 
held  even  more  sacred,  and  that  was  the  home  of  their  family, 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


13 


— that  old  Castlewood  in  Hampshire,  about  which  their  parents 
had  talked  so  fondly.  From  Bristol  to  Bath,  from  Bath  to 
Salisbury,  to  Winchester,  to  Hexton,  to  Hoi7ie ;  they  knew  the 
way,  and  had  mapped  the  journey  many  and  many  a  time. 

We  must  fancy  our  American  traveller  to  be  a  handsome 
young  fellow,  whose  suit  of  sables  only  made  him  look  the 
more  interesting.  The  plump  landlady  from  her  bar,  sur- 
rounded by  her  china  and  punch-bowls,  and  stout  gilded 
bottles  of  strong  waters,  and  glittering  rows  of  silver  flagons, 
looked  kindly  after  the  young  gentleman  as  he  passed  through 
the  inn-hall  from  his  post-chaise,  and  the  obsequious  cham- 
berlain bowed  him  up  stairs  to  the  "  Rose  "  or  the  "  Dolphin." 
The  trim  chambermaid  dropped  her  best  curtsey  for  his  fee, 
and  Gumbo,  in  the  inn-kitchen,  where  the  townsfolk  drank 
their  mug  of  ale  by  the  great  fire,  bragged  of  his  young  master's 
splendid  house  in  Virginia,  and  of  the  immense  wealth  to 
which  he  was  heir.  The  post-chaise  whirled  the  traveller 
through  the  most  delightful  home-scenery  his  eyes  had 
ever  lighted  on.  If  English  landscape  is  pleasant  to  the 
American  of  the  present  day,  who  must  needs  contrast  the  rich 
woods  and  glowing  pastures,  and  picturesque  ancient  villages 
of  the  old  country  with  the  rough  aspect  of  his  own,  how  much 
pleasanter  must  Harry  Warrington's  course  have  been,  whose 
journeys  had  lain  through  swamps  and  forest  solitudes  from 
one  Virginian  ordinary  to  another  log-house  at  the  end  of  the 
day's  route,  and  who  now  lighted  suddenly  upon  the  bus}^ 
happy,  splendid  scene  of  English  summer  ?  And  the  high- 
road, a  hundred  years  ago,  was  not  that  grass-grown  desert  of 
the  present  time.  It  was  alive  with  constant-travel  and  traffic  : 
the  country  towns  and  inns  swarmed  with  life  and  gayety. 
The  ponderous  wagon,  with  its  bells  and  plodding  team  ;  the 
light  post-coach  that  achieved  the  journey  from  the  "  White 
Hart,"  Salisbury,  to  the  "  Swan  with  Two  Necks,"  London, 
in  two  days ;  the  strings  of  pack-horses  that  had  not  yet  left 
the  road  ;  my  lord's  gilt  post-chaise  and  six,  with  the  outriders 
galloping  on  ahead ;  the  country  squire's  great  coach  and 
heavy  Flanders  mares  ;  the  farmers  trotting  to  market,  or  the 
parson  jolting  to  the  cathedral  town  on  Dumpling,  his  wife 
behind  on  the  pillion — all  these  crowding  sights  and  brisk 
people  greeted  the  young  traveller  on  his  summer  journey. 
Hodge  the  farmer's  boy  took  off  his  hat,  and  Polly  the  rnilk- 
maid  bobbed  a  curtsey,  as  the  chaise  whirled  over  the 
pleasant  village-green,  and  the  white-headed  children  lifted 
their  chubby  faces  and  cheered.     The  church-spires  glistened 


14  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

with  gold,  the  cottage-gables  glared  in  sunshine,  the  great  elms 
murmured  in  summer,  or  cast  purple  shadows  over  the  grass. 
Young  Warrington  never  had  had  such  a  glorious  day,  or 
witnessed  a  scene  so  delightful.  To  be  nineteen  years  of  age, 
with  high  health,  high  spirits,  and  a  full  purse,  to  be  making 
your  first  journey,  and  rolling  through  the  country  in  a  post- 
chaise  at  nine  miles  an  hour — O  happy  youth !  almost  it 
makes  one  young  to  think  of  him  !  But  Harry  was  too  eager 
to  give  more  than  a  passing  glance  at  the  Abbey  at  Bath,  or 
gaze  with  more  than  a  moment's  wonder  at  the  mighty  Minster 
at  Salisbury.  Until  he  beheld  Ho7ne  it  seemed  to  him  he  had 
no  eyes  for  any  other  place. 

At  last  the  young  gentleman's  post-chaise  drew  up  at  the 
rustic  inn  on  Castlewood  Green,  of  which  his  grandsire  had 
many  a  time  talked  to  him,  and  which  bears  as  its  ensign, 
swinging  from  an  elm  near  the  inn  porch,  the  Three  Castles 
of  the  Esmond  family.  They  had  a  sign,  too,  over  the  gate- 
way of  Castlewood  House,  bearing  the  same  cognizance. 
This  was  the  hatchment  of  Francis,  Lord  Castlewood,  who 
now  lay  in  the  chapel  hard  by,  his  son  reigning  in  his  stead. 

Harry  Warrington  had  often  heard  of  Francis,  Lord  Castle- 
wood. It  was  for  Frank's  sake,  and  for  his  great  love  towards 
the  boy,  that  Colonel  Esmond  determined  to  forego  his  claim 
to  the  English  estates  and  rank  of  his  family,  and  retired  to 
A^irginia,  The  young  man  had  led  a  wild  youth;  he  had 
fought  with  distinction  under  Marlborough  ;  he  had  married  a 
foreign  lady,  and  most  lamentably  adopted  her  religion.  At 
one  time  he  had  been  a  Jacobite  (for  loyalty  to  the  Sovereign 
was  ever  hereditary  in  the  Esmond  family),  but  had  received 
some  slight  or  injury  from  the  Prince,  which  had  caused  him 
to  rally  to  King  George's  side.  He  had,  on  his  second  mar- 
riage, renounced  the  errors  of  Popery  which  he  had  tempora- 
rily embraced,  and  returned  to  the  Established  Church  again. 
He  had,  from  his  constant  support  of  the  King  and  the 
Minister  of  the  time  being,  been  rewarded  by  His  Majesty 
George  H.,  and  died  an  English  peer.  An  Earl 's  coronet  now 
figured  on  the  hatchment  which  hung  over  Castlewood  gate — 
and  there  was  an  end  of  the  jolly  gentleman.  Between 
Colonel  Esmond,  who  had  become  his  stepfather,  and  his 
lordship,  there  had  ever  been  a  brief  but  affectionate  corre- 
spondence— on  the  Colonel's  part  especially,  who  loved  his 
stepson,  and  had  a  hundred  stories  to  tell  about  him  to  his 
grandchildren.  Madam  Esmond,  however,  said  she  could  see 
nothing  in   her  half-brother.     He  was    dull,  except  when  he 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  i^ 

drank  too  much  wine,  and  that,  to  be  sure,  was  every  day  at 
dinner.  Then  he  was  boisterous,  and  his  conversation  not 
pleasant.  He  was  good-looking — yes — a  fine  tall  stout  animal  ; 
she  had  rather  her  boys  should  follow  a  different  model.  In 
spite  of  the  grandfather  's  encomium  of  the  late  lord,  the  boys 
had  no  very  great  respect  for  their  kinsman's  memory.  The 
lads  and  their  mother  were  staunch  Jacobites,  though  having 
every  respect  for  his  present  Majesty;  but  right  was  right,  and 
nothing  could  make  their  hearts  swerve  from  their  allegiance 
to  the  descendants  of  the  martyr  Charles. 

With  beating  heart  Harry  Warrington  walked  from  the 
inn  towards  the  house  where  his  grandsire's  youth  had  been 
passed.  The  little  village-green  of  Castlewood  slopes  down 
towards  the  river,  which  is  spanned  by  an  old  bridge  of  a 
single  broad  arch,  and  from  this  the  ground  rises  gradually 
towards  the  house,  gray  with  many  gables  and  buttresses,  and 
backed  by  a  darkling  wood.  An  old  man  sat  at  the  wicket  on 
a  stone  bench  in  front  of  the  great  arched  entrance  to  the 
house,  over  which  the  earl's  hatchment  was  hanging.  An  old 
dog  was  crouched  at  the  man's  feet.  Immediately  above  the 
ancient  sentry  at  the  gate  was  an  open  casement  with  some 
homely  flowers  in  the  window,  from  behind  which  good- 
humored  girls'  faces  were  peeping.  They  were  watching  the 
young  traveller  dressed  in  black  as  he  walked  up  gazing 
towards  the  castle,  and  the  ebony  attendant  who  followed  the 
gentleman's  steps  also  accoutred  in  mourning.  So  was  he  at 
the  gate  in  mourning,  and  the  girls  when  they  came  out  had 
black  ribbons. 

To  Harry's  surprise,  the  old  man  accosted  him  by  his 
name.  "  You  have  had  a  nice  ride  to  Hexton,  Master  Harry, 
and  the  sorrel  carried  you  well." 

"I  think  you  must  be  Lockwood,"  said  Harry,  with  rather 
a  tremulous  voice,  holding  out  his  hand  to  the  old  man.  His 
grandfather  had  often  told  him  of  Lock\\t)od,  and  how  he  had 
accompanied  the  Colonel  and  the  young  Viscount  in  Marl- 
borough's wars  forty  years  ago.  The  veteran  seemed  puzzled 
by  the  mark  of  affection  which  Harry  extended  to  him.  The 
old  dog  gazed  at  the  new-comer,  and  then  went  and  put  his 
head  between  his  knees.  "  I  have  heard  of  you  often.  How 
did  you  know  my  name  .''  " 

"  They  say  I  forget  most  things,"  says  the  old  man,  with  a 
smile  ;  "  but  I  ain't  so  bad  as  that  quite.  Only  this  mornin', 
when  you  went  out,  my  darter  says,  '  Father,  do  you  know  why 
you  have  a  black  coat  on  ? '    'In  course  I  know  why  I  have  a 


1 6  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

black  coat  on  ? '  says  I.  '  My  lord  is  dead.  They  say  'twas 
a  foul  blow,  and  Master  Frank  is  my  lord  now,  and  Master 
Harry  ' — why,  what  have  you  done  since  you've  went  out  this 
morning  ?  Why,  you  have  growed  taller  and  changed  your 
hair,  though — I  know  you — I  know  you." 

One  of  the  young  women  had  tripped  out  by  this  time  from 
the  porter's  lodge,  and  dropped  the  stranger  a  pretty  curtsey. 
"  Grandfather  sometimes  does  not  recollect  very  well,"  she 
said,  pointing  to  her  head.  "  Your  honor  seems  to  have  heard 
of  Lockwood  .''  " 

"  And  you^  have  you  never  heard  of  Colonel  Francis 
Esmond  ?  " 

"  He  was  Captain  and  Major  in  Webb's  Foot,  and  I  was 
with  him  in  two  campaigns,  sure  enough,"  cries  Lock-wood. 
"  Wasn't  I,  Ponto  ?  " 

"  The  Colonel  as  married  Viscountess  Rachel,  my  late  lord's 
mother  ?  and  went  to  live  amongst  the  Indians .''  We  have 
heard  of  him.  Sure  we  have  his  picture  in  our  gallery,  and 
hisself  painted  it." 

"  Went  to  live  in  Virginia,  and  died  there  seven  years  ago, 
and  I  am  his  grandson." 

"  Lord,  your  honor  !  Why,  your  honor's  skin's  as  white  as 
mine,"  cries  Molly.  "Grandfather,  do  you  hear  this  .-*  His 
honor  is  Colonel  Esmond's  grandson  that  used  to  send  you 
tobacco,  and  his  honor  have  come  all  the  way  from  Virginia." 

"To  see  you,  Lockwood,"  says  the  young  man,  "and  the 
family.  I  only  set  foot  on  English  ground  yesterday,  and  my 
first  visit  is  for  home.  I  may  see  the  house,  though  the  fariiily 
are  from  home  ?  "  Molly  dared  to  say  Mrs.  Barker  would  let 
his  honor  see  the  house,  and  Harry  Warrington  made  his  way 
across  the  court,  seeming  to  know  the  place  as  well  as  if  he 
had  been  born  there,  Miss  Molly  thought,  who  followed,  accom- 
panied by  Mr.  Gumbo  making  her  a  profusion  of  polite  bows 
and  speeches.  • 


CHAPTER  H. 

IN    WHICH     HARRY    HAS    TO    PAY    FOR    HIS    SUPPER. 

Colonel  Esmond's  grandson  rang  for  awhile  at  his  ances- 
tors' house  of  Castlevv'ood,  before  any  one  within  seemed 
inclined  to  notice  his  summons.     The  servant,  who  at  length 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


^7 


issued  from  the  door,  seemed  to  be  very  little  affected  by  the 
announcement  that  the  visitor  was  a  relation  of  the  family. 
The  family  was  away,  and  in  their  absence  John  cared  very 
little  for  their  relatives,  but  was  eager  to  get  back  to  his  game 
at  cards  with  Thomas  in  the  window-seat.  The  housekeeper 
was  busy  getting  ready  for  my  lord  and  my  lady,  who  were  ex- 
pected that  ev^enmg.  Only  by  strong  entreaties  could  Harry 
gain  leave  to  see  my  lady's  sitting-room  and  the  picture-room, 
where,  sure  enough,  was  a  portrait  of  his  grandfather  in  periwig 
and  breastplate,  the  counterpart  of  their  picture  m  Virginia, 
and  a  likeness  of  his  grandmother,  as  Lady  Castlewood,  in  a 
yet  earlier  habit  of  Charles  II. 's  time,  her  neck  bare,  her  fair 
golden  hair  waving  over  her  shoulders  in  ringlets  which  he  re- 
membered to  have  seen  snowy  white.  From  the  contemplation 
of  these  sights  the  sulky  housekeeper  drove  him  Her  family 
was  about  to  arrive  There  was  my  lady  the  Countess,  and  my 
lord  and  his  brother,  and  the  young  ladies  and  the  Baroness, 
who  was  to  have  the  state  bedroom.  Who  was  the  Baroness  ? 
The  Baroness  Bernstein,  the  young  ladies'  aunt.  Harry  wrote 
down  his  name  on  a  paper  from  his  own  pocket-book,  and  laid 
it  on  a  table  in  the  hall.  "  Henry  Esmond  Warrington,  of 
Castlewood  in  Virginia,  arrived  in  England  yesterday — staying 
at  the  'Three  Castles'  in  the  village."  The  lackeys  rose  up 
from  their  cards  to  open  the  door  to  him,  in  order  to  get  their 
"vails,"  and  Gumbo  quitted  the  bench  at  the  gate,  where  he 
had  been  talking  with  old  Lockwood  the  porter,  who  took 
Harry's  guinea,  hardly  knowing  the  meaning  of  the  gift. 
During  the  visit  to  the  home  of  his  fathers  Harry  had  only 
seen  little  Polly's  countenance  that  was  the  least  unselfish  or 
kindly  ;  he  walked  away,  not  caring  to  own  how  disappointed 
he  was,  and  what  a  damp  had  been  struck  upon  him  by  the 
aspect  of  the  place.  They  ought  to  have  known  him.  Had 
any  of  them  ridden  ^jp  to  his  house  in  Virginia,  whether  the 
master  were  present  or  absent,  the  guests  would  have  been 
made  welcome,  and,  in  sight  of  his  ancestors'  hall,  he  had  to  go 
and  ask  for  a  dish  of  bacon  and  eggs  at  a. country  ale-house  ! 

After  his  dinner,  he  went  to  the  bridge  and  sat  on  it,  look- 
ing towards  the  old  house,  behind  which  the  sun  was  descending 
as  the  rooks  came  cawing  home  to  their  nests  in  the  elms.  His 
young  fancy  pictured  to  itself  many  of  the  ancestors  of  whom 
his  mother  and  grandsire  had  told  him.  He  fancied  knights 
and  huntsmen  crossing  the  ford — cavaliers  of  King  Charles's 
days  ;  my  Lord  Castlewood,  his  grandmother's  first  husband, 
riding  out  with   hawk   and    hound.     The    recollection    of   his 


l8  THE  VIRGINIANS. 

dearest  lest  brother  came  back  to  him  as  he  indulged  in  these 
reveries,  and  smote  him  with  a  pang  of  exceeding  tenderness 
and  longing,  insomuch  that  the  young  man  hung  his  head  and 
felt  his  sorrow  renewed  for  the  dear  friend  and  companion  with 
whom,  until  of  late,  all  his  pleasures  and  griefs  had  been 
shared.  As  he  sat  plunged  in  his  own  thoughts,  which  were 
mingled  up  with  the  mechanical  clinking  of  the  blacksmith's 
forge  hard  by,  the  noises  of  the  even)ng,  the  talk  of  the  rooks, 
and  the  calling  of  the  birds  round  about — a  couple  of  young 
men  on  horseback  dashed  over  the  bridge.  One  of  them,  with 
an  oath,  called  him  a  fool,  and  told  him  to  keep  out  of  the 
way — the  other,  who  fancied  he  might  have  jostled  the  foot 
passenger,  and  possibly  might  have  sent  him  over  the  parapet, 
pushed  on  more  quickly  when  he  reached  the  other  side  of  the 
water,  calling  likewise  to  Tom  to  come  on  ;  and  the  pair  of 
young  gentlemen  were  up  the  hill  on  their  way  to  the  house  be- 
fore Harry  had  recovered  himself  from  his  surprise  at  their 
appearance,  and  wrath  at  their  behavior.  In  a  minute  or  two, 
this  advanced  guard  was  followed  by  two  livery  servants  on 
horseback,  who  scowled  at  the  young  traveller  on  the  bridge 
a  true  British  welcome  of  Curse  you,  who  are  you  ?  After  these, 
in  a  minute  or  two,  came  a  coach  and  six,  a  ponderous  vehicle 
having  need  of  the  horses  which  drew  it,  and  containing  three 
ladies,  a  couple  of  maids,  and  an  armed  man  on  a  seat  behind 
the  carriage.  Three  handsome  pale  faces  looked  out  at  Harry 
Warrington  as  the  carriage  passed  over  the  bridge,  and  did  not 
return  the  salute  which,  recognizing  the  family  arms,  he  gave  it. 
The  gentleman  behind  the  carriage  glared  at  him  haughtily. 
Harry  felt  terribly  alone.  He  thought  he  would  go  back  to 
Captain  Franks.  The  "  Rachel  "  and  her  little  tossing  cabin 
seemed  a  cheery  spot  in  comparison  with  that  on  which  he 
stood.  The  inn  folks  did  not  know  his  name  of  Warrington. 
They  told  him  that  was  my  lady  in  the  coach,  with  her  step- 
daughter, my  Lady  Maria,  and  her  daughter,  my  Lady  Fanny  ; 
and  the  young  gentleman  in  the  gray  frock  was  Mr.  William, 
and  he  with  powder  on  the  chestnut  was  my  lord.  It  was  the 
latter  had  sworn  the  loudest,  and  called  him  a  fool ;  and  it  was 
the  gray  frock  which  had  nearly  galloped  Harry  into  the  ditch. 
The  landlord  of  the  "  Three  Castles  "  had  shown  Harry  a 
bed-chamber,  but  he  had  refused  to  have  his  portmanteaux  un- 
packed, thinking  that,  for  a  certainty,  the  folks  at  the  great 
house  would  invite  him  to  theirs.  One,  two,  three  hours  passed, 
and  there  came  no  invitation.  Harry  was  fain  to  have  his 
trunks  open  at  last,  and  to  call  for  his  slippers  and  gown.    Just 


A   WELCOME   TO    OLD    ENGLAND. 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


19 


before  dark,  about  two  hours  after  the  arrival  of  the  first  car- 
riage, a  second  chariot  with  four  horses  had  passed  over  the 
bridge,  and  a  stout,  high-colored  lady,  with  a  very  dark  pair  of 
eyes,  had  looked  hard  at  Mr.  Warrington.  That  was  the  Bar- 
oness Bernstein,  the  landlady  said,  my  lord's  aunt,  and  Harry 
remembered  the  first  Lady  Castlewood  had  come  of  a  Ger 
man  family.  Earl,  and  Countess,  and  Baroness,  and  postilions, 
and  gentlemen  and  horses,  had  all  disappeared  behind  the 
castle  gate,  and  Harry  was  fain  to  go  to  bed  at  last,  m  the  most 
melancholy  mood  and  with  a  cruel  sense  of  neglect  and  loneli 
ness  in  his  young  heart.  He  could  not  sleep,  and,  besides,  ere 
long,  heard  a  prodigious  noise,  and  cursing  and  giggling,  and 
screaming  from  my  landlady's  bar,  which  would  have  served  to 
keep  him  awake. 

Then  Gumbo's  voice  was  heard  without,  remonstrating, 
"You  cannot  go  in  sar — my  master  asleep,  sar !  "  but  a  shrill 
voice  with  many  oaths,  which  Harry  Warrington  recognized, 
cursed  Gumbo  for  a  stupid,  negro  woolly  pate,  and  he  was 
pushed  aside,  giving  entrance  to  a  flood  of  oaths  into  the  room, 
and  a  young  gentleman  behind  them, 

"  Beg  your  pardon,  Cousin  Warrington,''  cried  the  young 
blasphemer,  "  are  you  asleep  ?  Beg  your  pardon  for  riding  you 
over  on  the  bridge.  Didn't  know  you — couldn't  have  done  it 
— thought  it  was  a  lawyer  with  a  writ — dressed  in  black,  you 
know.  Gad  !  thought  it  was  Nathan  come  to  nab  me."  And 
Mr.  W^illiam  laughed  incoherently.  It  was  evident  that  he  was 
excited  with  liquor. 

"  You  did  me  great  honor  to  mistake  me  for  a  sheriff's  offi- 
cer, cousin,"  says  Harry,  with  great  gravity,  sitting  up  in  his 
tall  nightcap. 

"  Gad  !  I  thought  it  was  Nathan,  and  was  going  to  send  you 
souse  into  the  river.  But  I  ask  your  pardon.  You  see  I  had 
been  drinking  at  the  '  Bell '  at  Hexton,  and  the  punch  is  good 
at  the  '  Bell '  at  Hexton.  Hullo,  you  Davis  !  a  bowl  of  punch  ; 
d'you  hear  ?  " 

"  I  have  had  my  share  for  to-night,  cousin,  and  I  should 
think  you  have,"  Harry  continues,  always  in  the  dignified 
style. 

"You  want  me  to  go,  Cousin  What's-your-name,  I  see,"  Mr. 
William  said,  with  gravity.  "  You  want  me  to  go,  and  they 
want  me  to  come,  and  I  didn't  want  to  come.  I  said,  I'd  see 
him  hanged  first, — that's  what  I  said.  Why  should  I  trouble 
myself  to  come  down  all  alone  of  an  evening,  and  look  after  a 
fellow  I  don't  care  a  pin  for  ?  Zackly  what  I  said.    Zackly  w^hat 


20  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

Castlewood  said.  Why  the  devil  should  he  go  down  ?  Castle- 
wood  says,  and  so  said  my  lady,  but  the  Baroness  would  have 
you.  It's  all  the  Baroness's  doing,  and  if  she  says  a  thing  it 
must  be  done  ;  so  you  must  just  get  up  and  come."  Mr.  Es- 
mond delivered  these  words  with  the  most  amiable  rapidity  and 
indistinctness,  running  them  into  one  another,  and  tacking 
about  the  room  as  he  spoke.  But  the  young  Virginian  was  in 
great  wrath.  "  I  tell  you  what,  cousin,"  he  cried,  "  I  won't 
move  for  the  Countess,  or  for  the  Baroness,  or  for  all  the 
cousins  in  Castlewood."  And  when  the  landlord  entered  the 
chamber  with  the  bowl  of  punch,  which  Mr.  Esmond  had  or- 
dered, the  young  gentleman  in  bed  called  out  fiercely  to  the 
host,  to  turn  that  sot  out  of  the  room. 

"  Sot,  you  little  tobacconist !  Sot,  you  Cherokee  !  "  screams 
out  Mr.  William.  "  Jump  out  of  bed,  and  I'll  drive  my  sword 
through  your  body.  Why  didn't  I  do  it  to-day  when  I  took  you 
for  a  bailiff — a  confounded  pettifogging  bum-bailiff?  "  And  he 
went  on  screeching  more  oaths  and  incoherences,  untd  the 
landlord,  the  drawer,  the  hostler,  and  all  the  folks  of  the 
kitchen  were  brought  to  lead  him  away.  After  which  Harry 
Warrington  closed  his  tent  round  him  in  sulky  wrath,  and, 
no  doubt,  finally  went  fast  to  sleep. 

My  landlord  was  very  much  more  obsequious  on  the  next 
morning  when  he  met  his  young  guest,  having  now  fully  learned 
his  name  and  quality.  Other  messengers  had  come  from  the 
castle  on  the  previous  night  to  bring  both  the  young  gentlemen 
home,  and  poor  Mr.  William,  it  appeared,  had  returned  in  a 
wheelbarrow,  being  not  altogether  unaccustomed  to  that  mode 
of  conveyance.  "  He  never  remembers  nothin'  about  it  the 
next  day.  He  is  of  a  real  kind  nature,  Mr.  William,"  the 
landlord  vowed,  ''  and  the  men  get  crowns  and  half-crowns 
from  him  by  saying  that  he  beat  them  over-night  when  he  was 
in  liquor.  He's  the  devil  when  he's  tipsy,  Mr.  William,  but 
when  he  is  sober  he  is  the  very  kindest  of  young  gentlemen." 

As  nothing  is  unknown  to  writers  of  biographies  of  the  pres- 
ent kind,  it  may  be  as  well  to  state  what  occurred  within  the 
walls  of  Castlewood  House,  whilst  Harry  \A^arrington  was  with- 
out, awaiting  some  token  of  recognition  from  his  kinsmen.  On 
their  arrival  at  home  the  family  had  found  the  paper  on  which 
the  lad's  name  was  inscribed,  and  his  appearance  occasioned  a 
little  domestic  council.  My  Lord  Castlewood  supposed  that 
must  have  been  the  young  gentleman  whom  they  had  seen  on 
the  bridge,  and  as  they  had  not  drowned  him  they  must  invite 
him.     Let  a  man  go  down  with  the  proper  messages,  let  a  ser- 


THE  VIRGINIANS.  2i 

vant  carry  a  note.  Lady  Fanny  thought  it  would  be  more  civil 
if  one  of  the  brothers  would  go  to  their  kinsman,  especially  con- 
sidering the  original  greeting  which  they  had  given.  Lord 
Castlewood  had  not  the  slightest  objection  to  his  brother  Wil- 
liam going — yes,  William  should  go.  Upon  this  Mr.  William 
said  (with  a  yet  stronger  expression)  that  he  would  be  hanged 
if  he  would  go.  Lady  Maria  thought  the  young  gentle- 
man whom  they  had  remarked  at  the  bridge  was  a  pretty  fel- 
•low  enough.  Castlewood  is  dreadfully  dull,  I  am  sure  neither 
of  my  brothers  do  anything  to  make  it  amusing.  He  may  be 
vulgar — no  doubt  he  is  vulgar — but  let  us  see  the  American. 
Such  was  Lady  Maria's  opinion.  Lady  Castlewood  was  neither 
for  inviting  nor  for  refusing  him,  but  for  delaying.  "  Wait  till 
your  aunt  comes,  children  ;  perhaps  the  Baroness  won't  like  to 
see  the  young  man  ;  at  least,  let  us  consult  her  before  we  ask 
him."  And  so  the  hospitality  to  be  offered  by  his  nearest 
kinsfolk  to  poor  Harry  Warrington  remained  yet  in  abeyance. 

At  length  the  equipage  of  the  Baroness  Bernstein  made  its 
appearance,  and  whatever  doubt  there  might  be  as  to  the  recep- 
tion of  the  Virginian  stranger,  there  was  no  lack  of  enthusiasm 
in  this  generous  family  regarding  their  wealthy  and  powerful 
kmswoman.  The  state-chamber  had  already  been  prepared  for 
her.  The  cook  had  arrived  the  previous  day  with  instructions 
to  get  ready  a  supper  for  her  such  as  her  ladyship  liked.  The 
table  sparkled  with  old  plate,  and  was  set  in  the  oak  dining- 
room  with  the  pictures  of  the  family  round  the  walls.  There 
was  the  late  Viscount,  his  father,  his  mother,  his  sister, — these 
two  lovely  pictures.  There  was  his  predecessor  by  Vandyck, 
and  his  Viscountess.  There  was  Colonel  Esmond,  their  relative 
in  Virginia,  about  whose  grandson  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  of 
the  Esmond  family  showed  such  a  very  moderate  degree  of 
sympathy. 

The  feast  set  before  their  aunt,  the  Baroness,  was  a  very 
good  one,  and  her  ladyship  enjoyed  it.  •  The  supper  occupied 
an  hour  or  two,  during  which  the  whole  Castlewood  family  were 
most  attentive  to  their  guest.  The  Countess  pressed  all  the 
good  dishes  upon  her,  of  which  she  freely  partook  :  the  butler 
no  sooner  saw  her  glass  empty  than  he  filled  it  with  cham- 
pagne :  the  young  folks  and  their  mother  kept  up  the  conversa- 
tion, not  so  much  by  talking,  as  by  listening  appropriately 
to  their  friend.  She  was  full  of  spirits  and  humor.  She 
seemed  to  know  everybody  in  Europe,  and  about  those  ever}^- 
bodies  the  wickedest  stories.  The  Countess  of  Castle- 
wood, ordinarily  a  very  demure,  severe  woman,  and   a  stickler 


22  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

for  the  proprieties,  smiled  at  the  ver}'  worst  ot  these  anec- 
dotes \  the  girls  looked  at  one  another  and  laughed  at  the 
maternal  signal  ;  the  boys  giggled  and  roared  with  especial 
delight  at  their  sisters'  confusion.  They  also  partook  freely  of 
the  wine  which  the  butler  handed  round,  nor  did  they,  or  their 
guest,  disdain  the'  bowl  of  smoking  punch,  which  was  laid  on 
the  table  after  the  supper.  Many  and  many  a  night,  the 
Baroness  said,  she  had  drunk  at  that  table  by  her  father's  side. 
"That  was  his  place,"  she  pointed  to  the  place  where  the 
Countess  now  sat.  She  saw  none  of  the  old  plate.  That  was 
all  melted  to  pay  his  gambling  debts.  She  hoped,  "  Young 
gentlemen,  that  you  don't  play  ?  " 

''Never,  on  my  word,"  says  Castlewood. 

"  Never,  'pon  honor,'"  says  Will,  winking  at  his  brother. 

The  Baroness  was  very  glad  to  hear  they  were  such  good 
boys.  Her  face  grew  redder  with  the  punch  ;  and  she  became 
voluble,  might  have  been  thought  coarse,  but  that  times  were 
different,  and  those  critics  were  inclined  to  be  especially 
favorable. 

She  talked  to  the  boys  about  their  father,  their  grandfather 
— other  men  and  women  of  the  house.  "  The  only  man  of  the 
family  was  that,"  she  said,  pointing  (with  an  arm  that  was  yet 
beautifully  round  and  white)  towards  the  picture  of  the  military 
gentleman  in  the  red  coat  and  cuirass,  and  great  black  per- 
iwig. 

"  The  Virginian  .^  What  is  he  good  for  ?  I  always  thought 
he  was  good  for  nothing  but  to  cultivate  tobacco  and  my  grand- 
mother," says  my  lord,  laughing. 

She  struck  her  hand  upon  the  table  with  an  energ}^  that 
made  the  glasses  dance.  "  I  say  he  was  the  best  of  you  all. 
There  never  was  one  of  the  male  Esmonds  that  had  more 
brains  than  a  goose,  except  him.  He  was  not  fit  for  this  wicked, 
selfish  old  v/orld  of  ours,  and  he  was  right  to  go  and  live  out 
of  it.  Where  would  your  father  have  been,  young  people,  but 
for  him  ?  " 

''Was  he  particularly  kind  to  our  papa?  ''  says  Lady  Maria. 

"  Old  stories,  my  dear  Maria  !  "  cries  the  Countess.  "  I  am 
sure  my  dear  Earl  was  very  kind  to  him  in  giving  him  that 
great  estate  in  Virginia.' 

"  Since  his  brother's  death,  the  lad  who  has  been  here  to- 
day is  heir  to  that.  Mr.  Draper  told  me  so  !  Peste  !  I  don't 
know  why  my  father  gave  up  such  a  property." 

"  Who  has  been  here  to-day  ? '"  asked  the  Baroness,  highly 
excited. 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  23 

"  Harry  Esmond  Warrington,  of  Virginia,"  my  lord  an- 
swered :  "  a  lad  whom  Will  nearly  pitched  into  the  river,  and 
whom  I  pressed  my  lady  the  Countess  to  invite  to  stay  here." 

"  \'ou  mean  that  one  of  the  Virginian  boys  has  been  to 
Castlewood,  and  has  not  been  asked  to  stay  here?  " 

"There  is  but  one  of  them,  my  dear  creature,"  interposes 
the  Earl.     "  The  other,  you  know,  has  just  been " 

"  For  shame,  for  shame  !  " 

"  Oh  !  it  ain't  pleasant,  I  confess,  to  be  sc " 

"  Do  you  mean  that  a  grandson  of  Henry  Esmond,  the 
master  of  this  house,  has  been  here,  and  none  of  you  have 
offered  him  hospitality  ?  " 

"  Since  we  didn't  know  it,  and  he  is  staying  at  the  Castles  .'"' 
interposes  Will. 

"  That  he  is  staying  at  the  Inn,  and  you  are  sitting  there  I " 
cries  the  old  lady.  "  This  is  too  bad — call  somebody  to  me. 
Get  me  my  hood — I'll  go  to  the  boy  myself.  Come  with  me 
this  instant,  my  Lord  Castlewood." 

The  young  man  rose  up,  evidently  in  wrath.  "  Madame  the 
Baroness  of  Bernstein,"  he  said,  "your  ladyship  is  welcome  to 
go  ;  but  as  for  me,  I  don't  choose  to  have  such  words  as 
'  shameful '  applied  to  my  conduct.  I  wofit  go  and  fetch  the 
young  gentleman  from  Virginia,  and  I  propose  to  sit  here  and 
finish  this  bowl  of  punch.  Eugene  !  Don't  Eugene  me,  madam. 
I  know  her  ladyship  has  a  great  deal  of  money,  which  you  are 
desirous  should  remain  in  our  amiable  family.  You  want  it 
more  than  I  do.  Cringe  for  it — I  won't."  And  he  sank  back 
in  his  chair. 

The  Baroness  looked  at  the  family,  who  held  their  heads 
down,  and  then  at  my  lord,  but  this  time  without  any  dislike. 
She  leaned  over  to  him,  and  said  rapidly  in  German,  '•  I  had 
unright  when  I  said  the  Colonel  was  the  only  man  of  the  family. 
Thou  canst,  if  thou  wiliest,  Eugene."  To  which  remark  my 
lord  only  bowed. 

"  If  you  do  not  wish  an  old  woman  to  go  out  at  this  hour  of 
the  night,  let  William,  at  least,  go  and  fetch  his  cousin,"  said 
the  Baroness. 

"  The  very  thing  I  proposed  to  him.'' 

"  And  so  did  we — and  so  did  we  !  "  cried  the  daughters  in  a 
breath. 

"  I  am  sure,  I  only  wanted  the  dear  Baroness's  consent !  " 
said  their  mother,  "  and  shall  be  charmed  for  my  part  to  wel- 
come our  young  relative." 

"  Will  !  Put  on  thy  pattens,  and  get  a  lantern,  and  go  fetch 
the  Virginian,"  said  my  lord. 


24  THE   V/A'G/N/AjVS. 

"  And  we  will  have  another  bowl  of  punch  when  he  comes," 
says  William,  who  by  this  time  had  already  had  too  much. 
And  he  went  fortli — how  we  have  seen  ;  and  how  he  had  more 
punch ;  and  how  ill  he  succeeded  in  his  embassy. 

The  worthy  lady  of  Castlewood,  as  she  caught  sight  of  young 
Harry  Warrington  by  the  river  side,  must  have  seen  a  very 
handsome  and  interesting  youth,  and  very  likely  had  reasons  of 
her  own  for  not  desiring  his  presence  in  her  family.  All 
mothers  are  not  eager  to  encourage  the  visits  of  interesting 
vouths  of  nineteen  in  families  where  there  are  virgins  of  twenty, 
if  Harry's  acres  had  been  in  Norfolk  or  Devon,  in  place  of 
Virginia,  no  doubt  the  good  Countess  would  have  been  rather 
more  eager  in  her  welcome.  Had  she  wanted  him,  she  would 
have  gi\'en  him  her  hand  readily  enough.  If  our  people  of  ton 
are  selfish,  at  any  rate  they  show  they  are  selfish  ;  and,  being 
cold-hearted,  at  least  have  no  hypocrisy  of  affection. 

Why  should  Lady  Castlewood  put  herself  out  of  the  way  to 
welcome  the  young  stranger  ?  Because  he  was  friendless  ? 
Only  a  simpleton  could  ever  imagine  such  a  reason  as  that. 
People  of  fashion,  like  her  ladyship,  are  friendly  to  those  who 
have  plenty  of  friends.  A  poor  lad,  alone,  from  a  distant 
countr}',  with  only  very  moderate  means,  and  those  not  as  yet 
in  his  own  power,  with  uncouth  manners  very  likely,  and  coarse 
provincial  habits ;  was  a  great  lady  called  upon  to  put  herself 
out  of  the  way  for  such  a  youth  ?  Allocs  done  !  He  was  quite 
as  well  at  the  ale-house  as  at  the  castle. 

This,  no  doubt,  was  her  ladyship's  opinion,  which  her  kins- 
woman, the  Baroness  Bernstein,  who  knew  her  perfectly  well, 
entirely  understood.  The  Baroness,  too,  was  a  woman  of  the 
world,  and,  possibly,  on  occasion,  could  be  as  selfish  as  any 
other  person  of  fashion.  She  fully  understood  the  cause  of  the 
deference  which  all  the  Castlewood  family  showed  to  her — 
mother,  and  daughter,  and  sons, — and  being  a  woman  of  great 
humor,  played  upon  the  dispositions  of  the  various  members  of 
this  family,  amused  herself  with  their  greedinesses,  their  humil- 
iations, their  artless  respect  for  her  money-box,  and  clinging 
attachment  to  her  purse.  They  were  not  very  rich  ;  Lady 
Castlewood's  own  money  was  settled  on  her  children.  The 
two  elder  had  inherited  nothing  but  flaxen  heads  from  their 
German  mother,  and  a  pedigree  of  prodigious  distinction.  But 
those  who  had  money,  and  those  who  had  none,  were  alike 
eager  for  the  Baroness's  ;  in  this  matter  the  rich  are  surely 
quite  as  greedy  as  the  poor. 

So  if  Madam  Bernstein   struck  her  hand  on  the  table,  and 


THE   VrRGfNIAiWS.  25 

caused  the  glasses  and  the  persons  round  it  to  tremble  at  her 
wrath,  it  was  because  she  was  excited  with  plenty  of  punch  and 
champagne,  which  her  ladyship  was  in  the  habit  of  taking 
freely,  and  because  she  may  have  had  a  generous  impulse  when 
generous  wine  warmed  her  blood,  and  felt  indignant  as  she 
thought  of  the  poor  lad  yonder,  sitting  friendless  and  lonely 
on  the  outside  of  his  ancestors'  door ;  not  because  she  was 
specially  angry  with  her  relatives,  who  she  knew  would  act 
precisely  as  they  had  done. 

The  exhibition  of  their  selfishness  and  humiliation  alike 
amused  her,  as  did  Castlewood's  act  of  revolt.  He  was  as 
selfish  as  the  rest  of  the  famil}^,  but  not  so  mean  ;  and,  as  he 
candidly  stated,  he  could  afford  the  luxury  of  a  little  independ- 
ence, having  a  tolerable  estate  to  fall  back  upon. 

Madam  Bernstein  was  an  early  woman,  restless,  resolute, 
extraordinarily  active  for  her  age.  She  was  up  long  before  the 
languid  Castlewood  ladies  (just  home  from  their  London  routs 
and  balls)  had  quitted  their  feather-beds,  or  jolly  Will  had 
slept  off  his  various  potations  of  punch.  She  was  up,  and 
pacing  the  green  terraces  that  sparkled  with  the  sweet  morning 
dew,  which  lay  twinkling,  also,  on  a  flowery  wilderness  of  trim 
parterres,  and  on  the  crisp  walls  of  the  dark  box  hedges,  under 
which  marble  fauns  and  dryads  were  cooling  themselves,  whilst 
a  thousand  birds  sang,  the  fountains  plashed  and  glittered  in 
the  rosy  morning  sunshine,  and  the  rooks  cawed  from  the 
great  wood. 

Had  the  well-remembered  scene  (for  she  had  visited  it  often 
in  childhood)  a  freshness  and  charm  for  her?  Did  it  recall 
days  of  innocence  and  happiness,  and  did  its  calm  beauty 
soothe  or  please,  or  awaken  remorse  in  her  heart  t  Her  man- 
ner was  more  than  ordinarily  affectionate  and  gentle,  when, 
presently,  after  pacing  the  walks  for  a  half-hour,  the  person 
for  whom  she  was  waiting  came  to  her.  This  was  our  young 
Virginian,  to  whom  she  had  despatched  an  early  billet  by  one 
of  the  Lockw^oods.  The  note  was  signed  B.  Bernstein,  and  in- 
formed Mr.  Esmond  Warrington  that  his  relatives  at  Castle- 
wood, and  among  them  a  dear  friend  of  his  grandfather,  were 
most  anxious  that  he  should  come  to  "  Colonel  Esmond's  house 
in  Efigland.'^  And  now,  accordingly,  the  lad  made  his  appear- 
ance, passing  under  the  old  Gothic  doorway,  tripping  down  the 
steps  from  one  garden  terrace  to  another,  hat  in  hand,  his  fair 
hair  blowinsf  from  his  flushed  cheeks,  his  slim  fisfure  clad  in 
mourning.  The  handsome  and  modest  looks,  the  comely  face 
and  person,  of  the  young  lad  pleased  the  lady.     He  made  her 


2  6  THE    V/RGriV/ANS. 

a  low  bow  which  would  have  done  credit  to  Versailles.  She 
held  out  a  little  hand  to  liim,  and,  as  his  own  palm  closed  over 
it,  she  laid  the  other  hand  softly  on  his  ruffle.  She  looked 
very  kindly  and  affectionately  in  the  honest  blushing  face. 

"  I  knew  your  grandfather  very  well,  Harry,"  she  said.  "  So 
you  came  yesterday  to  see  his  picture,  and  they  turned  you 
away,  though  you  know  the  house  was  his  of  right  ?  " 

Harry  blushed  very  red.  "  The  servants  did  not  know  me. 
A  young  gentleman  came  to  me  last  night,"  he  said,  "when  I 
was  peevish,  and  he,  I  fear,  was  tipsy.  I  spoke  rudely  to  my 
cousin,  and  would  ask  his  pardon.  Your  ladyship  knows  that 
in  Virginia  our  manners  towards  strangers  are  different.  I 
ov,n  I  had  expected  another  kind  of  welcome.  Was  it  you, 
madam,  who  sent  my  cousin  to  me  last  night .''  " 

"  I  sent  him  ;  but  you  will  find  your  cousins  most  friendly 
to  you  to-day.  You  must  stay  here.  Lord  Castlewood  would 
have  been  with  you  this  morning,  only  I  was  so  eager  to  see 
you.  There  will'  be  breakfast  in  an  hour  ;  and  meantime  you 
must  talk  to  me.  We  will  send  to  the  '  Tliree  Castles  '  for 
your  servant  and  your  baggage.  Give  me  your  arm.  Stop,  I 
dropped  my  cane  when  you  came.      Yon  shall  be  my  cane." 

"  My  grandfather  used  to  call  us  his  crutches,"  said  Harry. 

"  You  are  like  him,  though  you  are  fair." 

"  You  should  have  seen — you  should  have  seen  George," 
said  the  boy,  and  his  honest  eyes  welled  with  tears.  The  rec- 
ollection of  his  brother,  the  bitter  pain  of  yesterday's  humilia- 
tion, the  affectionateness  of  the  present  greeting — all,  perhaps, 
contributed  to  soften  the  lad's  heart.  He  felt  very  tenderly 
and  gratefully  towards  the  lady  who  had  received  him  so 
warmly.  He  was  utterly  alorie  and  miserable  a  minute  since, 
and  here  was  a  home  and  a  kind  hand  held  out  to  him.  No 
wonder  he  clung  to  it.  In  the  hour  during  which  they  talked 
together,  the  young  fellow  had  poured  out  a  great  deal  of  his 
honest  heart  to  the  kind  new-found  friend ;  when  the  dial  told 
breakfast-time  he  wondered  to  think  how  much  he  had  told  her. 
She  took  him  to  the  breakfast-room  ;  she  presented  him  to  his 
aunt,  the  Countess,  and  bade  him  embrace  his  cousins.  Lord 
Castlewood  was  frank  and  gracious  enough.  Honest  Will  had 
a  headache,  but  was  utterly  unconscious  of  the  proceedings  of 
the  past  night.  The  ladies  were  very  pleasant  and  polite,  as 
ladies  of  their  fashion  know  how  to  be.  How  should  Harry 
Warrington,  a  simple  truth-telling  lad  from  a  distant  colony, 
who  had  only  yesterday  put  his  foot  upon  English  shore,  know 
that  my  ladies,  so  smiling  and  easy  in  demeanor,  were  furious 


THE   VIRGfl^rANS.  2  7 

against  him,  and  aghast  at  the  favor  with  which  Madam  Bern- 
stein seemed  to  regard  him  ? 

She  was  folk  of  him,  talked  of  no  one  else,  scarce  noticed 
the  Castlewood  young  people,  trotted  with  him  over  the  house, 
and  told  him  all  its  story%  showed  him  the  little  room  in  the 
court-yard  where  his  grandfather  used  to  sleep,  and  a  cunning 
cupboard  over  the  fire-place  which  had  been  made  in  the  time 
of  the  Catholic  persecutions  ;  drove  out  with  him  in  the  neigh- 
boring country,  and  pointed  out  to  him  the  most  remarkable 
sites  and  houses,  and  had  in  return  the  whole  of  the  young 
man's  story. 

This  brief  biography  the  kind  reader  will  please  to  accept, 
not  in  the  precise  words  in  which  Mr,  Harry  Warrington  de- 
livered it  to  Madam  Bernstein,  but  in  the  form  in  which  it  has 
been  cast  in  the  Chapters  next  ensuing. 


CHAPTER    HI, 


THE    ESMONDS    IN    VIRGINIA. 


Henry  Esmond,  Esq.,  an  officer  who  had  served  with  the 
rank  of  Colonel  during  the  wars  of  Queen  Anne's  reign,  found 
himself,  at  its  close,  compromised  in  certain  attempts  for  the 
restoration  of  the  Queen's  family  to  the  throne  of  these  realms. 
Happily  for  itself,  the  nation  preferred  another  dynasty  ;  but 
some  of  the  few  opponents  of  the  house  of  Hanover  took 
refuge  out  of  the  three  kingdoms,  and  amongst  others,  Colonel 
Esmond  was  counselled  by  his  friends  to  go  abroad.  As  ]Mr. 
Esmond  sincerely  regretted  the  part  which  he  had  taken,  and 
as  the  august  Prince  who  came  to  rule  over  England  was  the 
most  peaceable  of  sovereigns,  in  a  very  littfe  time  the  Colonel's 
friends  found  means  to  make  his  peace. 

]\Ir.  Esmond,  it  has  been  said,  belonged  to  the  noble  Eng- 
lish family  which  takes  its  title  from  Castlewood,  in  the  county 
of  Hants  ;  and  it  w^as  pretty  generally  known  that  King  James 
H.  and  his  son  had  offered  the  title  of  Marquis  to  Colonel  Es- 
mond and  his  father,  and  that  the  former  might  have  assumed 
the  (Irish)  peerage  hereditary  in  his  famih^  but  for  an  infor- 
mality which  he  did  not  choose  to  set  right.  Tired  of  the  polit- 
ical struggles  in  which  he  had  been  engaged,  and  annoyed  by 
family  circumstances  in  Europe,  he  preferred  to  establish  him- 


28  THE   VFRGINTANS. 

self  in  Virginia,  where  he  took  possession  of  a  large  estate  con- 
ferred by  King  Charles  I.  upon  his  ancestor.  Here  Mr. 
Esmond's  daughter  and  grandsons  were  born,  and  his  wife 
died.  This  lady,  when  she  married  him,  was  the  widow  of  the 
Colonel's  kinsman,  the  unlucky  Viscount  Castlewood,  killed  in 
a  duel  by  Lord  Mohun,  at  the  close  of  King  William's  reign. 

Mr.  Esmond  called  his  American  house  Castlewood,  from 
the  patrimonial  home  in  the  old  country.  The  whole  usages  of 
Virginia,  indeed,  were  fondly  modelled  after  the  English  cus- 
toms. It  was  a  loyal  colony.  The  Virginians  boasted  that 
King  Charles  II.  had  been  king  in  Virginia  before  he  had  been 
king  in  England.  English  king  and  English  church  were  alike 
faithfully  honored  there.  The  resident  gentry  were  allied  to 
good  English  families.  They  held  their  heads  above  the  Dutch 
traders  of  New  York,  and  the  money-getting  Roundheads  of 
Pennsylvania  and  New  England.  Never  were  people  less 
republican  than  those  of  the  great  pro\ince  which  was  soon  to 
be  foremost  in  the  memorable  revolt  against  the  British  Crown. 

The  gentry  of  Virginia  dwelt  on  their  great  lands  after  a 
fashion  almost  patriarchal.  For  its  rough  cultivation,  each 
estate  had  a  multitude  of  hands — of  purchased  and  assigned 
servants — who  were  subject  to  the  command  of  the  master. 
The  land  yielded  their  food,  live  stock,  and  game.  The  great 
rivers  swarmed  with  fish  for  the  taking.  From  their  banks  the 
passage  home  was  clear.  Their  ships  took  the  tobacco  off  their 
private  wharves  on  the  banks  of  the  Potomac  or  the  James 
river,  and  carried  it  to  London  or  Bristol,— bringing  back 
English  goods  and  articles  of  home  manufacture  in  return  for 
the  only  produce  which  the  Virginian  gentry  chose  to  cultivate. 
Their  hospitality  was  boundless.  No  stranger  was  ever  sent 
away  from  their  gates.  The  gentry  received  one  another,  and 
travelled  to  each  other's  houses,  in  a  state  almost  feudal.  The 
question  of  Slavery  was  not  born  at  the  time  of  which  we  write. 
To  be  the  propriet(5r  of  black  servants  shocked  the  feelings  of 
no  Virginian  gentleman ;  nor,  in  truth,  was  the  despotism  exer- 
cised over  the  negro  race  generally  a  savage  one.  The  food 
was  plenty  ;  the  poor  black  people  lazy  and  not  unhappy.  You 
might  have  preached  negro  emancipation  to  Madam  Esmond  of 
Castlewood  as  you  might  have  told  her  to  let  the  horses  run 
loose  out  of  her  stables ;  she  had  no  doubt  but  that  the  whip 
and  the  corn-bag  were  good  for  both. 

Her  father  may  ha\-e  thought  otherwise,  being  of  a  skeptical 
turn  on  \ery  many  points,  but  his  doubts  did  not  break  forth  in 
active   denial,  and  he  was  rather  disaffected  than   rebellious. 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


29 


At  one  period,  this  gentleman  had  taken  a  part  in  active  life  at 
home,  and  possibly  might  have  been  eager  to  share  its  rewards  ; 
but  in  latter  days  he  did  not  seem  to  care  for  them.  A  some- 
thing had  occurred  in  his  life,  which  had  cast  a  tinge  of  melan- 
choly over  all  his  existence.  He  was  not  unhappy — to  those 
about  him  most  kind — most  affectionate,  obsequious  even  to 
the  women  of  his  family,  whom  he  scarce  ever  contradicted  ;  but 
there  had  been  some  bankruptcy  of  his  heart,  which  his  spirit 
never  recovered.  He  submitted  to  life,  rather  than  enjoyed  it, 
and  never  was  in  better  spirits  than  in  his  last  hours  when  he 
was  going  to  la}^  it  down. 

Havnig  lost  his  wife,  his  daughter  took  the  management  of 
the  Colonel  and  his  affairs ;  and  he  gave  them  up  to  her  charge 
with  an  entire  acquiescence.  So  that  he  had  his  books  and  his 
quiet,  he  cared  for  no  more.  When  company  came  to  Castle- 
wood,  he  entertained  them  handsomely,  and  was  of  a  very 
pleasant,  sarcastical  turn.  He  was  not  in  the  least  sorry  when 
they  went  away. 

"  My  love,  I  shall  not  be  sorry  to  go  myself,"  he  said  to  his 
daughter,  "  and  3'Ou,  though  the  most  affectionate  of  daughters, 
will  console  3^ourself  after  a  while.  Why  should  I,  who  am  so 
old,  be  romantic  ?  You  ma)',  who  are  still  a  young  creature." 
This  he  said,  not  meaning  all  he  said,  for  the  lady  whom  he 
addressed  was  a  matter-of-fact  little  person,  with  very  little 
romance  in  her  nature. 

After  fifteen  years'  residence  upon  his  great  Virginian  estate, 
affairs  prospered  so  well  with  the  worthy  proprietor,  that  he 
acquiesced  in  his  daughter's  plans  for  the  building  of  a  mansion 
much  grander  and  more  durable  than  the  plain  wooden  edifice 
in  which  he  had  been  content  to  live,  so  that  his  heirs  might 
have  a  habitation  worthy  of  their  noble  name.  Several  of 
Madam  Warrington's  neighbors  had  built  handsome  houses 
for  themselves ;  perhaps  it  was  her  ambition  to  take  rank  in 
the  country,  which  inspired  this  desire  for  improved  quarters. 
Colonel  Esmond,  of  Castlewood,  neither  cared  for  quarters  nor 
for  quarterings.  But  his  daughter  had  a  very  high  opinion  of 
the  merit  and  antiquity  of  her  lineage  ;  and  her  sire,  growing 
exquisitely  calm  and  good-natured  in  his  serene,  declining 
years,  humored  his  child's  peculiarities  in  an  easy,  bantering 
way, — nay,  helped  her  with  his  antiquarian  learning,  which  was 
not  inconsiderable,  and  with  his  skill  in  the  art  of  painting,  of 
which  he  was  a  proficient.  A  knowledge  of  heraldry,  a  hundred 
years  ago,  formed  pdrt  of  the  education  of  most  noble  ladies 
and  gentlemen  :  during  her  visit  to  Europe,  Miss  Esmond  had 


3^ 


THE   V^IRCINIANS. 


eagerly  studied  the  family  history  and  pedigrees,  and  returned 
thence  to  Virginia  with  a  store  of  documents  relative  to  her 
family  on  which  she  relied  with  implicit  gravity  and  credence, 
and  with  the  most  edifying  volumes  then  published  in  France 
and  England,  respecting  the  noble  science.  These  works 
proved,  to  her  perfect  satisfaction,  not  only  that  the  Esmonds 
were  descended  from  noble  Norman  warriors,  who  came  into 
England  along  with  their  victorious  chief,  but  from  native 
English  of  royal  dignity  :  and  two  magnificent  heraldic  trees, 
cunningly  painted  by  the  hand  of  the  Colonel,  represented  the 
family  springing  from  the  Emperor  Charlemagne  on  the  one 
hand,  who  was  drawn  in  plate-armor,  with  his  imperial  mantle 
and  diadem,  and  on  the  other  from  Queen  Boadicea,  whom  the 
Colonel  insisted  upon  painting  in  the  light  costume  of  an 
ancient  British  queen,  with  a  prodigious  gilded  crown,  a  trifling 
mantle  of  furs,  and  a  lovely  symmetrical  person,  tastefully 
tattooed  with  figures  of  a  brilliant  blue  tint.  From  these  two 
illustrious  stocks  the  family-tree  rose  until  it  united  in  the 
thirteenth  century  somewhere  in  the  person  of  the  fortunate 
Esmond,  who  claimed  to  spring  from  both. 

Of  the  Warrington  family,  into  which  she  married,  good 
Madam  Rachel  thought  but  little.  She  wrote  herself  Esmond 
Warrington,  but  was  universally  called  Madam  Esmond  of 
Castlewood,  when,  after  her  father's  decease,  she  came  to  rule 
over  that  domain.  It  is  even  to  be  feared  that  quarrels  for 
precedence  in  the  colonial  society  occasionally"  disturbed  her 
temper ;  for,  though  her  father  had  had  a  marquis's  patent  from 
King  James,  which  he  had  burned  and  disowned,  she  would 
frequently  act  as  if  that  document  existed  and  was  in  full  force. 
She  considered  the  English  Esmonds  of  an  inferior  dignity  to 
her  own  branch,  and  as  for  the  colonial  aristocracy,  she  made 
no  scruple  of  asserting  her  superiority  over  the  whole  body  of 
them.  Hence  quarrels  and  angry  words,  and  even  a  scuffle  or 
two,  as  we  gather  from  her  notes,  at  the  Governor's  assemblies 
at  James  Town.  Wherefore  recall  the  memory  of  these  squab- 
bles ?  Are  not  the  persons  w^ho  engaged  in  them  beyond  the 
reach  of  quarrels  now,  and  has  not  the  republic  put  an  end  to 
these  social  inequalities  ?  Ere  the  establishment  of  Inde- 
pendence, there  was  no  more  aristocratic  country  in  the  world 
than  Virginia  ;  so  the  Virginians,  whose  history  we  have  to 
narrate,  were  bred  to  have  the  fullest  respect  for  the  institutions 
of  home,  and  the  rio^htful  km^r  had  not  two  more  faithful  little 
subjects  than  the  young  twins  of  Castlewood. 

When  the  boys'  grandfather  died,  their  mother,  in  great 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  31 

State,  proclaimed  her  eldest  son  George  her  successor  and  heir 
of  the  estate  ;  and  Harr}',  George's  younger  brother  by  half  an 
hour,  was  always  enjoined  to  respect  his  senior.  All  the  house- 
hold was-  equally  instructed  to  pay  him  honor:  the  negroes,  of 
whom  there  was  a  large  and  happy  family,  and  the  assigned 
servants  from  P^urope,  whose  lot  was  made  as  bearable  as  it 
might  be  under  the  government  of  the  lady  of  Castlewood,  In 
the  whole  family  there  scarcely  was  a  rebel  save  Mrs.  Esmond's 
faithful  friend  and  companion,  ]\Iadam  Mountain,  and  Harry's 
foster-mother,  a  faithful  negro  woman,  who  never  could  be 
made  to  understand  why  her  child  should  not  be  first,  who  was 
handsomer,  and  stronger,  and  cleverer  than  his  brother,  as  she 
vowed  ;  though  in  truth,  there  was  scarcely  any  difference  in 
the  beauty,  strength  or  stature  of  the  twins.  In  disposition, 
they  were  in  many  points  exceedingly  unlike  ;  but  in  feature 
they  resembled  each  other  so  closely,  that,  but  for  the  color  of 
their  hair,  it  had  been  difficult  to  distinguish  them.  In  their 
beds,  and  when  their  heads  were  covered  with  those  vast  rib- 
boned nightcaps  which  our  great  and  little  ancestors  wore,  it 
was  scarcely  possible  for  any  but  a  nurse  or  a  mother  to  tell 
the  one  from  the  other  child. 

Howbeit,  alike  in  form,  we  have  said  that  they  differed  in 
temper.  The  elder  was  peaceful,  studious,  and  silent  ;  the 
younger  was  warlike  and  noisy.  He  was  quick  at  learning 
when  he  began,  but  very  slow  at  beginning.  No  threats  of  the 
ferule  would  provoke  Harr}-  to  learn  in  an  idle  fit,  or  would 
prevent  George  from  helping  his  brother  in  his  lesson.  Harry 
was  of  a  strong  military  turn,  drilled  the  little  negroes  on  the 
estate,  and  caned  them  like  a  corporal,  having  many  good 
boxing-matches  with  them,  and  never  bearing  malice  if  he  was 
worsted ; — whereas  George  was  sparing  of  blows,  and  gentle 
with  all  about  him.  As  the  custom  in  all  families  was,  each  of 
the  boys  had  a  special  little  servant  assigned  him  ;  and  it  was 
a  known  fact  that  George,  finding  his  ..:ttle  wretch  of  a  black- 
amoor asleep  on  his  master's  bed,  sat  down  beside  it  and 
brushed  the  flies  off  the  child  with  a  feather-fan,  to  the  horror 
of  old  Gumbo,  the  child's  father,  who  found  his  young  master 
so  engaged,  and  to  the  indignation  of  Madam  Esmond,  who 
ordered  the  young  negro  off  to  the  proper  officer  for  a  whip- 
ping. In  vain  George  implored  and  entreated — burst  into  pas- 
sionate tears,  and  besought  a  remission  of  the  sentence.  His 
mother  was  inflexible  regarding  the  young  rebel's  punishment, 
and  the  little  negro  went  off  beseeching  his  young  master  not 
to  cry. 


32 


tub:  I  iRcrxiANS. 


A  fierce  quarrel  between  mother  and  son  ensued  out  of  thih 
event.  Her  son  would  not  be  pacified.  He  said  the  punish- 
ment was  a  shame — a  shame  ;  that  he  was  the  master  of  the 
bov,  and  no  one — no,  not  his  mother — had  a  right  to  touch  him  ; 
that  she  might  order  him  to  be  corrected,  and  that  he  would 
snuffer  the  punishment,  as  he  and  Harry  often  had,  but  no  one 
should  lay  a  hand  on  his  boy.  Trembling  with  passionate 
rebellion  against  what  he  conceived  the  injustice  of  the  pro- 
cedure, he  vowed  —  actually  shrieking  out  an  oath,  which 
shocked  his  fond  mother  and  governor,  who  never  before  heard 
such  language  from  the  usually  gentle  child — that  on  the  day 
he  came  of  age  he  would  set  young  Gumbo  free — went  to  visit 
the  child  in  the  slaves'  quarters,  and  gave  him  one  of  his  own 
toys. 

The  young  black  martyr  was  an  impudent,  lazy,  saucy  little 
personage,  who  would  be  none  the  worse  for  a  whipping,  as  the 
Colonel  no  doubt  thought  ,  for  he  acquiesced  in  the  child's 
punishment  when  Madam  Esmond  insisted  upon  it,  and  only 
laughed  in  his  good-natured  way  wdien  his  indignant  grandson 
called  out — 

"  You  let  mamma  rule  you  in  everything,  grandpapa." 

"  Why,  so  I  do,"  says  grandpapa.  "  Rachel,  my  love,  the 
way  in  which  I  am  petticoat-ridden  is  so  evident  that  even  this 
baby  has  found  it  out." 

"  Then  w^hy  don't  you  stand  up  like  a  man  t  "  says  little 
Harry,  who  always  was  ready  to  abet  his  brother. 

Grandpapa  looked  queerly. 

"  Because  I  like  sitting  down  best,  my  dear,"  he  said.  "I 
am  an  old  gentleman,  and  standing  fatigues  me." 

On  account  of  a  certain  apish  drollery  and  humor  which 
exhibited  itself  in  the  lad,  and  a  liking  for  some  of  the  old 
man's  pursuits,  the  first  of  the  twins  was  the  grandfather's 
favorite  and  companion,  and  would  laugh  and  talk  out  all  his 
infantine  heart  to  the  old  gentleman,  to  whom  the  younger  had 
seldom  a  word  to  say.  George  w^as  a  demure,  studious  boy,  and 
his  senses  seemed  to  brighten  up  in  the  library,  wdiere  his 
brother  was  so  gloomy.  He  knew  the  books  before  he  could 
wellnigh  carry  them,  and  read  in  them  long  before  he  could 
understand  them.  Harr}-,  on  the  other  hand,  was  all  alive  in 
the  stables  or  in  the  w^ood,  eager  for  all  parties  of  hunting  and 
fishing,  and  promised  to  be  a  good  sportsman  from  a  very  early 
age.  Their  grandfather's  ship  was  sailing  for  Europe  once 
when  the  boys  w^ere  children,  and  they  w-ere  asked,  what  pres- 
ent Captain  Franks  should  bring  them  back  ?      George  w^as 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  33 

divided  between  books  and  a  iiddle  ;  Harry  instantly  declared 
for  a  little  gun  :  and  Madam  Warrington  (as  she  then  was 
called)  was  hurt  that  her  elder  boy  should  have  low  tastes,  and 
applauded  the  younger's  choice  as  more  worthy  of  his  name 
and  lineage.  "  Books,  papa,  I  can  fancy  to  be  a  good  choice," 
she  replied  to  her  father,  who  tried  to  convince  her  that  George 
had  a  right  to  his  opinion,  '*  though  I  am  sure  you  must  have 
pretty  nigh  all  the  books  in  the  world  already.  But  I  never 
can  desire — I  may  be  wrong,  but  I  never  can  desire — that  my 
son,  and  the  grandson  of  the  Marquis  of  Esmond,  should  be  a 
fiddler." 

"  Should  be  a  fiddlestick,  my  dear,"  the  old  Colonel  an- 
swered. "  Remember  that  Heaven's  ways  are  not  ours,  and 
that  each  creature  born  has  a  little  kingdom  of  thought  of  his 
own,  which  it  is  a  sin  in  us  to  invade.  Suppose  George  loves 
music  ?  You  can  no  more  stop  him  than  you  can  order  a  rose 
not  to  smell  sweet,  or  a  bird  not  to  sing." 

"  A  bird !  A  bird  sings  from  nature  ;  George  did  not 
come  into  the  world  with  a  fiddle  in  his  hand,"  says  Mrs. 
Warrington,  with  a  toss  of  her  head.  "  I  am  sure  I  hated 
the  harpsichord  when  a  chit  at  Kensington  School,  and  only 
learned  it  to  please  my  mamma.  Say  what  you  will,  dear  sir, 
I  can  not  believe  that  this  fiddling  is  work  for  persons  of 
fashion." 

"  And  King  David  who  played  the  harp,  my  dear  t " 

"  I  wish  my  papa  would  read  him  more,  and  not  speak 
about  him  in  that  way,"  said  Mrs.  Warrington. 

"  Nay,  my  dear,  it  was  but  by  way  of  illustration,"  the 
father  replied  gently  It  was  Colonel  Esmond's  nature,  as  he 
has  owned  in  his  own  biography,  always  to  be  led  by  a  woman  ; 
and,  his  wife  dead,  he  coaxed  and  dandled  and  spoiled  his 
daughter ;  laughing  at  her  caprices,  but  humoring  them  ; 
making  a  joke  of  her  prejudices,  but  letting  them  have  their 
way;  indulging,  and  perhaps  increasing,  her  natural  imperi- 
ousness  of  character,  though  it  was  his  maxim  that  we  can't 
change  dispositions  by  meddling,  and  only  make  hypocrites  of 
our  children  by  commanding  them  over-much. 

At  length  the  time  came  when  Mr.  Esmond  was  to  have 
done  with  the  affairs  of  this  life,  and  he  laid  them  down  as  if 
glad  to  be  rid  of  their  burden.  We  must  not  ring  in  an  open- 
ing history  with  tolling  bells,  or  preface  it  with  a  funeral 
sermon!  All  who  read  and  heard  that  discourse,  wondered 
where  Parson  Broadbent  of  James  Town  found  the  eloquence 
and  the  Latin  which  adorned  it.     Perhaps  Mr.  Dempster  knew, 

3 


34 


THE   VIRCrNIANS. 


the  boys'  Scotch  tutor,  who  corrected  the  proofs  of  the  oration, 
which  was  printed,  by  desire  of  his  Excellency  and  many  per- 
sons of  honor,  at  Mr.  Franklin's  press  in  Philadelphia,  No 
such  sumptuous  funeral  had  ever  been  seen  in  the  country  as 
that  which  Madam  Esmond  Warrington  ordained  for  her  father, 
who  would  have  been  the  first  to  smile  at  that  pompous  grief. 
The  little  lads  of  Castlewood,  almost  smothered  in  black  trains 
and  hatbands,  headed  the  procession,  and  were  followed  by  my 
Lord  Fairfax,  from  Greenway  Court,  by  his  Excellency  the 
Governor  of  Virginia  (with  his  coach),  by  the  Randolphs,  the 
Careys,  the  Harrisons,  the  Washingtons,  and  many  others,  for 
the  whole  county  esteemed  the  departed  gentleman,  whose 
goodness,  whose  high  talents,  whose  benevolence  and  unobtru- 
sive urbanity  had  earned  for  him  the  just  respect  of  his  neigh- 
bors. \\'hen  informed  of  the  event,  the  family  of  Colonel 
Esmond's  stepson,  the  Lord  Castlewood  of  Hampshire  in 
England,  asked  to  be  at  the  charges  of  the  marble  slab  which 
recorded  the  names  and  virtues  of  his  lordship's  mother  and 
her  husband  ;  and  after  due  time  of  preparation,  the  monument 
was  set  up,  exhibiting  the  arms  and  coronet  of  the  Esmonds, 
supported  by  a  little  chubby  group  of  weeping  cherubs,  and 
reciting  an  epitaph  which  for  once  clid  not  tell  any  falsehoods. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

IN    WHICH    HARRV    FINDS    A    NEW    RELATIVE. 

Kind  friends,  neighbors  hospitable,  cordial,  even  respectful, 
— an  ancient  name,  a  large  estate,  and  a  sufficient  fortune,  a 
comfortable  home,  supplied  with  all  the  necessaries  and  many 
of  the  luxuries  of  life,  and  a  troop  of  servants,  black  and  white, 
eager  to  do  your  bidding  ;  good  health,  affectionate  children, 
and,  let  us  humbly  add,  a  good  cook,  cellar,  and  library — ought 
not  a  person  in  the  possession  of  all  these  benefits  to  be  con- 
sidered very  decently  happy  ?  Madam  Esmond  Warrington 
possessed  all  these  causes  for  happiness  ;  she  reminded  herself 
of  them  daily  in  her  morning  and  evening  prayers.  She  was 
scrupulous  in  her  devotions,  good  to  the  poor,  never  knowingly 
did  anybody  a  wrong.  Yonder  I  fancy  her  enthroned  in  her 
principality  of  Castlewood,  the  country  gentlefolks  paying  her 
court,  the  sons  dutiful  to  her,  the  domestics  tumbling  over  each 


THE   VIRGIXIANS. 


35 


Other's  black  heels  to  do  her  bidding,  the  poor  whites  grateful 
for  her  bounty  and  implicitly  taking  her  doses  when  they  were 
ill,  the  smaller  gentry  always  asquiescing  in  her  remarks,  and 
for  ever  letting  her  win  at  backgammon — well,  with  all  these 
benefits,  which  are  more  sure  than  fate  allots  to  most  mortals, 
I  don't  think  the  little  Princess  Pocahontas,  as  she  was  called, 
was  to  be  envied  in  the  midst  of  her  dominions.  The  Princess's 
husband,  wdio  was  cut  off  in  early  life,  w^as  as  well  perhaps  out 
of  the  way.  Had  he  survived  his  marriage  by  many  years,  they 
w^ould  have  quarrelled  fiercely,  or  he  would  infallibly  have  been 
a  henpecked  husband,  of  which  sort  there  were  a  few  specimens 
still  extant  a  hundred  years  ago.  The  truth  is,  little  Madam 
Esmond  never  came  near  man  or  woman,  but  she  tried  to 
domineer  over  them.  If  people  obeyed,  she  was  their  very  good 
friend  ;  if  they  resisted,  she  fought  and  fought  until  she  or  they 
gave  in.  We  are  all  miserable  sinners  :  that's  a  fact  we  acknowl- 
edge in  public  every  Sunday — no  one  announced  it  in  a  more 
clear  resolute  voice  than  the  little  lady.  As  a  mortal,  she  may 
have  been  in  the  wrong  of  course  ;  only  she  very  seldom 
acknowledged  the  circumstance  to  herself,  and  to  others  never. 
Her  father,  in  his  old  age,  used  to  w^atch  her  freaks  of  des- 
potism, haughtiness,  and  stubbornness,  and  amuse  himself  with 
them.  She  felt  that  his  eye  was  upon  her  ;  his  humor,  of 
which  quality  she  possessed  little  herself,  subdued  and  bewil- 
dered her.  But  the  Colonel  gone,  there  was  nobody  else  whom 
she  was  disposed  to  obey, — and  so  I  am  rather  glad  for  my 
part  that  I  did  not  live  a  hundred  years  ago  at  Castlewood  in 
Westmorland  County  in  Virginia.  I  fancy,  one  would  not  have 
been  too  happy  there.  Happy,  who  is  happy  .'*  Was  not  there 
a  serpent  in  Paradise  itself,  and  if  Eve  had  been  perfectly 
happy  beforehand,  w^ould  she  have  listened  to  him  ? 

The  management  of  the  house  of  Castlewood  had  been  in 
the  hands  of  the  active  little  lady  long  before  the  Colonel  slept 
the  sleep  of  the  just.  She  now  exercised  a  rigid  supervision 
over  the  estate  ;  dismissed  Colonel  Esmond's  English  factor  and 
employed  a  new  one  ;  built,  improved,  planted,  grew  tobacco, 
appointed  a  new  overseer,  and  imported  a  new  tutor.  Much  as 
she  loved  her  father,  there  w^ere  some  of  his  maxims  by  which 
she  was  not  inclined  to  abide.  Had  she  not  obeyed  her  papa 
and  mamma  during  all  their  lives,  as  a  dutiful  daughter  should  "i 
So  ought  all  children  to  obey  their  parents,  that  their  days  might 
be  long  in  the  land.  The  little  Queen  domineered  over  her 
little  dominion,  and  the  Princes  her  sons  were  only  her  first 
subjects.     Ere  long  she  discontinued  her  husband's  name  of 


-5  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

Warrington,  and  went  by  the  name  of  Madam  Esmond  in  the 
country.  Her  family  pretensions  were  known  there.  She  had 
no  objection  to  talk  of  the  Marquis's  title  which  King  James 
had  given  to  her  father  and  grandfather.  Her  papa's  enormous 
magnanimity  might  induce  him  to  give  up  his  title  and  rank  to 
the'^younger  branch  of  the  family,  and  to  her  half-brother,  my 
Lord  Castlewood  and  his  children  ;  but  she  and  her  sons  were 
of  the  elder  branch  of  the  Esmonds,  and  she  expected  that  they 
should  be  treated  accordingly.  Lord  Fairfax  was  the  only 
crentleman  in  the  colony  of  Virginia  to  whom  she  would  allow 
precedence  over  her.  She  insisted  on  \\i&  pas  before  all  Lieu- 
tenant-Governors' and  Judges'  ladies ;  before  the  wife  of  the 
Governor  of  a  colony '  she  would,  of  course,  yield  as  to  the 
representative  of  the'  Sovereign.  Accounts  are  extant,  in  the 
family  papers  and  letters,  of  one  or  two  tremendous  battles 
which  Madam  fought  with  the  wives  of  colonial  dignitaries  upon 
these  questions  of  etiquette.  As  for  her  husband's  family  of 
Warrington,  they  were  as  naught  in  her  eyes.  She  married  an 
English  baronet's  younger  son  out  of  Norfolk  to  please  her 
parents,  whom  she  was  always  bound  to  obey.  At  the  early 
age  at  which  she  married— a  chit  out  of  a  boarding-school— she 
would  have  jumped  overboard  if  her  papa  had  ordered.  "  And 
that  is  always  the  way  with  the  Esmonds,"  she  said. 

The  English  Warringtons  were  not  over-much  flattered  by 
the  little  American  Princess's  behavior  to  them,  and  her  manner 
of  speaking  about  them.  Once  a  year  a  solemn  letter  used  to 
be  addressed  to  the  Warrington  family,  and  to  her  noble  kins- 
men the  Hampshire  Esmonds  ;  but  a  Judge's  lady  with  whom 
Madam  Esmond  had  quarrelled,  returning  to  England  out  of 
Virginia,  chanced  to  meet  Lady  Warrington,  who  was  in  Lon- 
don with  Sir  Miles  attending  Parliament,  and  this  person 
repeated  some  of  the  speeches  which  the  Princess  Pocahontas 
was  in  the  habit  of  making  regarding  her  own  and  her  husband's 
English  relatives,  and  my^Lady  W'arrington,  I  suppose,  carried 
the^tory  to  my  Lady  Castlewood  ;  after  which  the  letters  from 
Virginia  were  not  answered,  to  the  surprise  and  wrath  of  Madam 
Esmond,  who  speedily  left  off  writing  also. 

So  this  good  woman  fell  out  with  her  neighbors,  with  her 
relatives,  and,  as  it  must  be  owned,  with  her  sons  also. 

A  very  early  difference  which  occurred  between  the  Queen 
and  Crown  Prince  arose  out  of  the  dismissal  of  Mr.  Dempster, 
the  lad's  tutor  and  the  late  Colonel's  secretary.  In  her  father's 
life  Madam  Esmond  bore  him  with  difficulty,  or  it  should  be 
rather  said  Mr.  Dempster  could  scarce  put  up  with  her.     She 


fHE   VIRGIXIANS.  ^7 

was  jealous  of  books  somehow,  and  thought  your  book-worms 
dangerous  folks,  insinuating  bad  principles.  She  had  heard 
that  Dempster  was  a  Jesuit  in  disguise,  and  the  poor  fellow^  was 
obliged  to  go  build  himself  a  cabin  in  a  clearing,  and  teach 
school  and  practise  medicine  where  he  could  find  customers 
among  the  sparse  inhabitants  of  the  province.  Master  George 
vowed  he  never  would  forsake  his  old  tutor,  and  kept  his 
promise.  Harry  had  always  loved  fishing  and  sporting  better 
than  books,  and  he  and  the  poor  Dom.inie  had  never  been 
on  terms  of  close  intimacy.  Another  cause  of  dispute  presently 
ensued. 

By  the  death  of  an  aunt,  and  at  his  father's  demise,  the 
heirs  of  Mr.  George  Warrington  became  entitled  to  a  sum  of 
six  thousand  pounds,  of  which  their  mother  was  one  of  the 
trustees.  She  never  could  be  made  to  understand  that  she  was 
not  the  proprietor,  and  not  merely  the  trustee  of  this  money  ; 
and  was  furious  with  the  London  lawyer,  the  other  trustee,  who 
refused  to  send  it  over  at  her  order.  "  Is  not  all  I  have  my 
sons'  ?  "  she  cried,  "  and  would  I  not  cut  myself  into  little 
pieces  to  serve  them  ?  With  the  six  thousand  pounds  I  would 
have  bought  Afr.  Boulter's  estate  and  negroes,  which  would 
have  given  us  a  good  thousand  pounds  a  year,  and  made  a 
handsome  provision  for  my  Harry."  Her  young  friend  and 
neighbor,  Mr.  Washington  of  Mount  Vernon,  could  not  con- 
vince her  that  the  London  agent  w^as  right,  and  must  not  give 
up  his  trust  except  to  those  for  whom  he  held  it.  Madam  Es- 
mond gave  the  London  lawyer' a  piece  of  her  mind,  and,  I  am 
sorry  to  say,  informed  Mr.  Draper  that  he  was  an  insolent  petti- 
fogger, and  deserved  to  be  punished  for  doubting  the  honor  of 
a  mother  and  an  Esmond.  It  must  be  owned  that  the  Virgmian 
Princess  had  a  temper  of  her  own. 

George  Esmond,  her  first-born,  when  this  little  matter  was 
referred  to  him,  and  his  mother  vehemently  insisted  that  he 
should  declare  himself,  was  of  the  opinion  of  Mr.  Washington 
and  Mr.  Draper,  the  London  lawyer.  The  boy  said  he  could 
not  help  himself.  He  did  not  want  the  money :  he  would  be 
very  glad  to  think  otherwise,  and  to  give  the  money  to  his 
mother,  if  he  had  the  power.  But  Madam  Esmond  would  not 
hear  any  of  these  reasons.  Feelings  were  her  reasons.  Here 
was  a  chance  of  making  Harry's  fortune — dear  Harry,  who  was 
left  with  such  a  slender  young  brother's  pittance — and  the 
wretches  in  London  would  not  help  him ;  his  own  brother,  who 
inherited  all  her  papa's  estate,  would  not  help  him.  To  think 
of  a  child  of  hers  being  so  mean  at  fonrfeen  years   of  age!    &c. 


38 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


&c.  Add  tears,  scorn,  frequent  inuendo,  long  estrangement, 
bitter  outbreak,  passionate  appeals  to  heaven  and  the  like,  and 
we  may  fancy  the  widow's  state  of  mind.  Are  there  not  be- 
loved beings  of  the  gentler  sex  who  argue  in  the  same  way  now- 
a-days?  The  book  of  female  logic  is  blotted  all  over  with  tears, 
and  Justice  in  their  courts  is  for  ever  in  a  passion. 

This  occurrence  set  the  widow  resolutely  saving  for  her 
younger  son,  for  whom,  as  in  duty  bound,  she  was  eager  to 
make  a  portion.  The  fine  buildings  were  stopped  which  the 
Colonel  had  commenced  at  Castlewood,  who  had  freighted 
ships  from  New  York  with  Dutch  bricks,  and  imported,  at  great 
charges,  mantelpieces,  carved  cornice-work,  sashes  and  glass, 
carjDCts  and  costly  upholstery  from  home.  No  more  books 
were  bought.  The  agent  had  orders  to  discontinue  sending 
wine.  Madam  Esmond  deeply  regretted  the  expense  of  a  fine 
carriage  which  she  had  had  from  England,  and  only  rode  in  it 
to  church  groaning  in  spirit,  and  crying  to  the  sons  opposite 
her,  "  Harry,  Harry !  I  wish  I  had  put  by  the  money  for  thee, 
my  poor  portionless  child — three  hundred  and  eighty  guineas 
of  ready  money  to  Messieurs  Hatchett  !  " 

"  You  will  give  me  plenty  while  you  live,  and  George  will 
give  me  plenty  when  you  die,"  says  Harry,  gayly. 

'  Not  unless  he  changes  in  sph'it,  my  dear,"  says  the  lady, 
with  a  grim  glance  at  her  elder  bo}^  "  Not  unless  heaven 
softens  his  heart  and  teaches  him  charity,  for  which  I  pray  day 
and  night ;  as  ]\Iountain  knows  ;  do  you  not,  Mountain  ?  " 

Mrs.  Mountain,  Ensign  Mountain's  widow,  Madam  Es- 
mond's companion  and  manager,  who  took  the  fourth  seat  in 
the  famih'  coach  on  these  Sundays,  said,  "  Humph  !  I  know 
you  are  always  disturbing  yourself  and  crying  out  about  this 
legacy,  and  I  don't  see  that  there  is  any  need." 

"  Oh,  no  !  no  need  !  "  cries  the  widow,  rustling  in  her  silks  ; 
"  of  course  I  have  no  need  to  be  disturbed,  because  my  eldest 
born  is  a  disobedient  son  and  an  unkind  brother — because  he 
has  an  estate,  and  my  poor  Harry,  bless  him,  but  a  mess  oj 
pottage. ' ' 

George  looked  despairingly  at  his  mother  until  he  could  see 
her  no  more  for  eyes  welled  up  with  tears.  "  I  wish  you  would 
bless  me,  too,  O  my  mother  !  "  he  said,  and  burst  into  a  pas- 
sionate fit  of  weeping.  Harry's  arms  were  in  a  moment  round 
his  brother's  neck,  and  he  kissed  George  a  score  of  times. 

"  Never  mind,  George.  /  know  whether  you  are  a  good 
brother  or  not.  Don't  mind  what  she  says.  She  don't  mean 
it," 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  3g 

"I  do  mean  it,  child,"  exclaims  the  mother.  ''Would  to 
heaven " 

''Hold  your  tongue,  I  say!"  roars  out  Harry.  '"It's  a 
shame  to  speak  so  to  him,  ma'am." 

"  And  so  it  is,  Harry,"  says  Mrs.  Mountain,  shaking  his 
hand.     "  You  never  said  a  truer  word  in  your  life." 

"Mrs.  Mountain,  do  you  dare  to  set  my  children  against 
me  ?  "  cries  the  widow.     "  From  this  very  day,  madam " 

".Turn  me  and  my  child  into  the  street .''  Do,"  says  Mrs. 
Mountain.  "  That  will  be  a  line  revenge  because  the  English 
lawyer  won't  give  you  the  boy's  money.  Find  another  com- 
panion who  will  tell  you  black  is  white,  and  flatter  you  :  it  is 
not  my  way,  madam.  When  shall  I  go  ?  I  shan't  be  long  a 
packing.  I  did  not  bring  much  into  Castlewood  House,  and  I 
shall  not  take  much  out." 

"  Hush  !  the  bells  are  ringing  for  church,  Mountain.  Let  us 
try,  if  you  please,  and  compose  ourselves,"  said  the  widow,  and 
she  looked  with  eyes  of  extreme  affection,  certainly  at  one — 
perhaps  at  both — of  her  children.  George  kept  his  head  down, 
and  Harry,  who  was  near,  got  quite  close  to  him  during  the 
sermon,  and  sat  with  his  arm  around  his  b^rother's  neck. 

Harry  had  proceeded  in  his  narrative  after  his  own  fashion, 
interspersing  it  with  many  youthful  ejaculations,  and  answering 
a  number  of  incidental  questions  asked  by  his  listener.  The  old 
lady  seemed  never  tired  of  hearing  him.  Her  amiable  hostess 
and  her  daughters  came  more  than  once,  to  ask  if  she  would 
ride,  or  walk,  or  take  a  dish  of  tea,  or  play  a  game  at  cards  ; 
but  all  these  amusements  Madame  Bernstein  declined,  saying 
that  she  found  infinite  amusement  in  Harry's  conversation. 
Especially  when  any  of  the  Castlewood  family  were  present,  she 
redoubled  her  caresses,  insisted  upon  the  lad  speaking  close  to 
her  ear,  and  would  call  out  to  the  others,  "  Hush,  my  dears  !  I 
can't  hear  our  cousin  speak."  And  they  would  quit  the  room, 
striving  still  to  look  pleased. 

''  Are  you  my  cousin  too  ?  "  asked  the  honest  boy.  "  You 
seem  kinder  than  my  other  cousins." 

Their  talk  took  place  in  the  wainscoted  parlor,  where  the 
family  had  taken  their  meals  in  ordinary  for  at  least  two  cen- 
turies past,  and  which,  as  we  have  said,  was  hung  with  portraits 
of  the  race.  Over  Madame  Bernstein's  great  chair  was  a 
Kneller,  one  of  the  most  brilliant  pictures  of  the  gallery,  repre- 
senting a  young  lady  of  three  or  four  and  twenty,  in  the  easy 
flowing  dress  and  loose  robes  of  Queen  Anne's  time — a  hand  on 


40  THE   VIRGIN  FANS. 

a  cushion  near  her,  a  quantity  of  auburn  hair  parted  off  a  fail 
forehead,  and  flowing  over  pearly  shoulders  and  a  lovely  neck. 
Under  this  sprightly  picture  the  lady  sat  with  her  knitting- 
needles. 

When  Harry  asked,  "  Are  you  my  cousin,  too  ?  "  she  said. 
"  That  jDicture  is  by  Sir  Godfrey,  who  thought  himself  the 
greatest  painter  in  the  world.  But  he  was  not  so  good  as  Lely, 
who  painted  your  grandmother — my — my  Lady  Castlewood, 
Colonel  Esmond's  wife  ;  nor  he  so  good  as  Sir  Anthony  Van 
Dyck,  who  painted  your  great-grandfather,  yonder — and  wdio 
looks,  Harry,  a  much  finer  gentleman  than  he  was.  Some  of 
us  are  painted  blacker  than  we  are.  Did  you  recognize  your 
grandmother  in  that  picture  ?  She  had  the  loveliest  fair  hair  and 
shape  of  any  woman  of  her  time." 

"  I  fancied  I  knew  the  portrait  from  instinct,  perhaps,  and  a 
certain  likeness  to  my  mother." 

"  Did  Mrs.  Warrington — I  beg  her  jDardon,  I  think  she  calls 
herself  Madam  or  my  Lady  Esmond  now     *     *     *  ? " 

"  They  call  my  mother  so  in  our  province,"  said  the  boy. 

"  Did  she  never  tell  you  of  another  daughter  her  mother  had 
in  England,  before  she  married  your  grandfather  ?  "" 

"  She  never  spoke  of  one," 

"  Nor  your  grandfather  ?  "  • 

"  Never.  But  in  his  picture-books,  which  he  constantly 
made  for  us  children,  he  used  to  draw  a  head  very  like  that 
above  your  ladyship.  That,  and  Viscount  Francis,  and  King 
James  III.,  he  drew  a  score  of  times,  I  am  sure." 

"  And  the  picture  over  me  reminds  you  of  no  one,  Harry  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed." 

"Ah!  Here  is  a  sermon!"  says  the  lady,  with  a  sigh. 
"  Harry,  that  was  my  face  once — yes,  it  was — and  then  I  \\'as 
called  Beatrix  Esmond.  And  your  mother  is  my  half-sister, 
child,  and  she  has  never  even  mentioned  mv  name  !  " 


CHAPTER  V. 

FAMILY  JARS. 

As  Harry  Warrington  related  to  his  new-found  relative  the 
simple  story  of  his  adventures  at  home,  no  doubt  Madam  Bern- 
Stein,  who  possessed  a  great  sense  of  humor  and  a  remaikable 


THE    VTRGIXTANS.  4 1 

knowledge  of  the  world,  formed  her  judgment  respecting  the 
persons  and  events  described  ;  and  if  her  opinion  was  not  in 
all  respects  favorable,  what  can  be  said  but  that  men  and  wo- 
men are  imperfect,  and  human  life  not  entirely  pleasant  or 
profitable  ?  The  court  and  city-bred  lady  recoiled  at  the  mere 
thought  of  her  American  sister's  countryfied  existence.  Such  a 
life  would  be  rather  wearisome  to  most  city-bred  ladies.  But 
little  Madam  Warrington  knew  no  better,  and  was  satisfied 
with  her  life,  as  indeed  she  was  with  herself  in  general.  Be- 
cause you  and  I  are  epicures  or  dainty  feeders,  it  does  not  fol- 
low that  Hodge  is  miserable  with  his  homely  meal  of  bread  and 
bacon.  Madam  Warrington  had  a  life  of  duties  and  employ- 
ments which  might  be  hum-drum,  but  at  any  rate  were  pleasant 
to  her.  She  was  a  brisk  little  woman  of  business,  and  all  the 
affairs  of  her  large  estate  came  under  her  cognizance.  No  pie 
was  baked  at  Castlewood  but  her  little  finger  was  in  it.  She 
set  the  maids  to  their  spinning,  she  saw  the  kitchen  wenches  at 
their  work,  she  trotted  a-field  on  her  pony,  and  oversaw  the 
overseers  and  the  negro  hands  as  they  worked  in  the  tobacco 
and  corn  fields.  If  a  slave  was  ill,  she  would  go  to  his  quarters 
in  any  weather,  and  doctor  him  with  great  resolution.  She  had 
a  book  full  of  receipts  after  the  old  fashion,  and  a  closet  where 
she  distilled  waters  and  compounded  elixirs,  and  a  medicine- 
chest  which  was  the  terror  of  her  neighbors.  They  trembled 
to  be  ill,  lest  the  little  lady  should  be  upon  them  with  her 
decoctions  and  her  pills. 

A  hundred  years  back  there  were  scarce  anv  towns  in  Vir- 
ginia ;  the  establishments  of  the  gentry  v/ere  little  villages  in 
which  they  and  their  vassals  dwelt.  Rachel  Esmond  ruled  like 
a  little  queen  in  Castlewood  ;  the  princes,  her  neighbors,  gov- 
erned their  estates  round  about.  Many  of  these  were  rather  needy 
potentates,  living  plentifully  but  in  the  roughest  fashion,  hav- 
ing numerous  domestics  whose  liveries  were  often  ragged; 
keeping  open  houses  and  turning  away  no  stranger  from  their 
gates;  proud,  idle,  fond  of 'all  sorts  of  field-sports  as  became 
gentlemen  of  good  lineage.  The  widow  of  Castlewood  was  as 
hospitable  as  her  neighbors,  and  a  better  economist  than  most 
of  them.  More  than  one,  no  doubt,  would  have  had  no  objec- 
tion to  share  her  life-interest  in  the  estate,  and  supply  the  place 
of  papa  to  her  boys.  But  where  was  the  man  good  enough 
for  a  person  of  her  ladyship's  exalted  birth  ?  There  was  a 
talk  of  making  the  Duke  of.Cumberland  vicero}',  or  even  king, 
over  America.  Madam  Warrington's  gossips  laughed,  and 
said  she  was  waiting  for  him.     She  remarked,  with  much  gra\'- 


42  THE   VIRGIAIANS. 

ity  and  dignity,  that  persons  of  as  high  birth  as  his  Royal 
Highness  had  made  offers  of  alhance  to  the  Esmond  family. 

She  had,  as  Ueutenant  under  her,  an  officer's  widow  who 
has  been  before  named,  and  who  had  bden  Madam  Esmond's 
companion  at  school,  as  her  late  husband  had  been  the  regi- 
mental friend  of  the  late  Mr.  Warrington.  When  the  English 
girls  at  the  Kensington  Academy,  where  Rachel  Esmond  had 
her  education,  teased  and  tortured  the  little  American  stranger, 
and  laughed  at  the  princified  airs  which  she  ga\'e  herself  from 
a  very  early  age,  Fanny  Parker  defended  and  befriended  her. 
They  both  married  ensigns  in  Kingsley's.  They  became  ten- 
derly attached  to  each  other.  It  was  " my  Fanny  "  and  "my 
Rachel"  in  the  letters  of  the  young  ladies.  Then,  my  Fanny's 
husband  died  in  sad  out-at-elbowed  circumstances,  leaving  no 
provision  for  his  widow  and  her  infant  ;  and,  in  one  of  his  an- 
nual voyages.  Captain  Franks  brought  over  Mrs.  Mountain,  in 
the  "Young  Rachel,"  to  Virginia. 

There  was  plenty  of  room  in  Castlewood  House,  and  Mrs. 
Mountain  served  to  enliven  the  place.  She  played  cards  with 
the  mistress  :  she  had  some  knowledge  of  music,  and  could 
help  the  eldest  boy  in  that  way  :  she  laughed  and  was  pleased 
with  the  guests  :  she  saw  to  the  strangers'  chambers,  and 
presided  over  the  presses  and  the  linen.  She  was  a  kind,  brisk, 
jolly  looking  widow,  and  more  than  one  unmarried  gentleman 
of  the  colony  asked  her  to  change  her  name  for  his  own.  But 
she  choose  to  keep  that  of  Mountain,  though,  and  perhaps  be- 
cause it  had  brought  her  no  good  fortune.  One  marriage  was 
enough  for  her,  she  said.  Mr,  Mountain  had  amiably  spent 
her  little  fortune  and  his  own.  Her  last  trinkets  went  to  pay 
his  funeral ;  and,  as  long  as  Madam  Warrington  would  keep 
her  at  Castlewood,  she  preferred  a  home  without  a  husband  to 
any  which  as  yet  had  been  offered  to  her  in  Virginia.  The  two 
ladies  quarrelled  plentifully ;  but  they  lov^ed  each  other  :  they 
made  up  their  dift^erences  :  they  fell  out  again,  to  be  reconciled 
presently.  When  either  of  the  boys' was  ill,  each  lady  vied  with 
the  other  in  maternal  tenderness  and  care.  In  his  last  days 
and  illness,  Mrs.  ]\Iountain's  cheerfulness  and  kindness  had 
been  greatly  appreciated  by  the  Colonel,  whose  memory  Madam 
Warrington  regarded  more  than  that  of  any  living  person.  So 
that,  year  after  year,  w^hen  Captain  Franks  would  ask  Mrs. 
Mountain,  in  his  pleasant  way,  whether  she  was  going  back 
with  him  that  voyage  ?  she  would  decline,  and  say  that  she  pro- 
posed to  stay  a  year  more. 

And  when    suitors   came   to  Madam   Warrington,  as  come 


TFIE   VTRGINIANS. 


43 


they  would,  she  would  receive  their  compliments  and  attentions 
kindly  enough,  and  asked  more  than  one  of  these  lovers 
whether  it  was  Mrs.  Mountain  he  came  after  ?  She  would  use 
her  best  ofHces  with  Mountain.  Fanny  was  the  best  creature, 
was  of  a  good  English  family,  and  would  make  any  gentleman 
happy.  Did  the  Squire  declare  it  was  to  her  and  not  her  de- 
pendent that  he  paid  his  addresses  ;  she  would  make  him  her 
gravest  curtsey,  say  that  she  really  had  been  utterly  mistaken 
as  to  his  views,  and  let  him  know  that  the  daughter  of  the  Mar- 
quis of  Esmond  lived  for  her  people  and  her  sons,  and  did  not 
propose  to  change  her  condition.  Have  we  not  read  how  Queen 
Elizabeth  was  a  perfectly  sensible  woman  of  business,  and  was 
pleased  to  inspire  not  only  terror  and  awe,  but  love  in  the 
^osoms  of  her  subjects  .''  So  the  little  Virginian  princess  had 
her  favorites,  and  accepted  their  flatteries,  and  grew  tired  of 
them,  and  was  cruel  or  kind  to  them  as  suited  her  wayward 
imperial  humor.  There  was  no  amount  of  compliment  which 
she  would  not  graciously  receive  and  take  as  her  due.  Her 
little  foible  was  so  well  known  that  the  wags  used  to  practise 
upon  it.  Rattling  Jack  Firebrace  of  Henrico  county  had  free 
quarters  for  months  at  Castlewood,  and  was  a  prime  favorite 
with  the  lady  there,  because  he  addressed  verses  to  her  which 
he  stole  out  of  the  pocket-books.  Tom  Humbold  of  Spotsyl- 
vania wagered  fifty  hogsheads  against  five  that  he  would  make 
her  institute  an  order  of  knighthood,  and  won  his  wager. 

The  elder  boy  saw  these  freaks  and  oddities  of  his  good 
mother's  disposition,  and  chafed  and  raged  at  thein  privately. 
From  very  early  days  he  revolted  when  flatteries  and  compli- 
ments were  paid  to  the  little  lady,  and  strove  to  expose  them 
with  his  juvenile  satire  ;  so  that  his  mother  would  say  gravely, 
"The  Esmonds  were  always  of  a  jealous  disposition,  and  my 
poor  boy  takes  after  my  father  and  mother  in  this."  George 
hated  Jack  Firebrace  and  Tom  Humbold,  and  all  their  like ; 
whereas  Harry  went  out  sporting  with  them,  and  fowling,  and 
fishing,  and  cockfighting,  and  enjoyed  all  the  fun  of  the 
countr}^ 

One  winter,  after  their  first  tutor  had  been  dismissed, 
Madam  Esmond  took  them  to  Williamsburg,  for  such  educa- 
tion as  the  schools  and  college  there  afforded,  and  there  it  Avas 
the  fortune  of  the  family  to  listen  to  the  preaching  of  the  fa- 
mous Mr.  Whitfield,  who  had  come  into  Virginia,  where  the 
habits  and  preaching  of  the  established  clergy  were  not  very 
edifying.  Unlike  many  of  the  neighboring  provinces,  Virginia 
was  a  Church  of  England  colony  :  the  clergymen  were  paid  by 


44 


THE   V/RCrNfANS. 


tile  State  and  had  Mebes  allotted  to  them  ;  and.  there  beino:  no 
Church  of  England  bishop  as  yet  in  America,  the  colonists 
were  obliged  to  import  their  divines  from  the  mother-country. 
Such  as  came  were  not,  naturally,  of  the  very  best  or  most  elo- 
quent kind  of  pastors.  Noblemen's  hangers-on,  insolvent  par- 
sons who  had  quarrelled  with  justice  or  the  bailiff,  brought  their 
stained  cassocks  into  the  colony  in  the  hopes  of  finding  a  living 
there.  No  wonder  that  Whitfield's  great  voice  stirred  those 
whom  harmless  Mr.  Broadbent,  the  Williamsburg  chaplain, 
never  could  awaken.  At  first  the  boys  were  as  much  excited 
as  their  mother  by  Mr.  Whitfield :  they  sang  hymns,  and 
listened  to  him  with  fervor,  and,  could  he  have  remained  long 
enough  among  them,  Harr}-  and  George  had  both  worn  black 
coats  probably  instead  of  epaulettes.  The  simple  boys  commu- 
nicated their  experiences  to  one  another,  and  were  on  the  daily 
and  nightly  look  out  for  the  sacred  "  call,"  in  the  hope  or  the 
possession  of  which  such  a  vast  multitude  of  Protestant  Eng- 
land was  thrilling  at  the  time. 

But  ]\Ir.  Whitfield  could  not  stay  always  with  the  little  con- 
gregation of  Williamsburg.  His  mission  was  to  enlighten  the 
whole  benighted  people  of  the  Church,  and  from  the  East  to 
the  West  to  trumpet  the  truth  and  bid  slumbering  sinners 
awaken.  However,  he  comforted  the  widow  with  precious  let- 
ters, and  promised  to  send  her  a  tutor  for  her  sons  who  should 
be  capable  of  teaching  them  not  only  profane  learning,  but  of 
stren2:thenino^  and  confirmino-  them  in  science  much  more 
precious. 

In  due  course,  a  chosen  vessel  arrived  from  England.  Young 
Mr.  Ward  had  a  voice  as  loud  as  Mr.  Whitfield's,  and  could 
talk  almost  as  readily  and  for  as  long  a  time.  Night  and  even- 
ing the  hall  resounded  with  his  exhortations.  The  domestic 
negroes  crept  to  the  doors  to  listen  to  him.  Other  servants 
darkened  the  porch  windows  with  their  crisp  heads  to  hear  him 
discourse.  It  was  over  the  black  sheep  of  the  Castlewood  flock 
that  Mr.  Ward  somehow  had  the  most  influence.  These  woolly 
lamblings  were  immensely  affected  by  his  exhortations,  and, 
when  he  gave  out  the  hymn,  there  was  such  a  negro  chorus 
about  the  house  as  might  be  heard  across  the  Potomac — such 
a  chorus  as  would  never  have  been  heard  in  the  Colonel's  time 
— for  that  worthy  gentleman  had  a  suspicion  of  all  cassocks, 
and  said  he  would  never  have  any  controversy  with  a  clergyman 
but  upon  backgammon.  Where  money  was  wanted  for  chari- 
table purposes  no  man  was  more  ready,  and  the  good,  easy 
Virginian  clergyman,    who    loved  backgammon    heartily,    too, 


THE    I'lRGfNFANS.  4^ 

said  that  the  worthy  Colonel's  charitx'  must  co\er  his  other 
shortcomings. 

Ward  was  a  handsome  young  man.  His  preaching  pleased 
Madam  Esmond  from  the  first,  and,  I  dare  say,  satisfied  her  as 
much  as  Mr.  Whitfield's.  Of  course  it  cannot  be  the  case  at 
the  present  day  when  they  are  so  finely  educated,  but  women, 
a  hundred  years  ago,  were  credulous,  eager  to  admire  and  be- 
lieve, and  apt  to  imagine  all  sorts  of  excellences  in  the  object 
of  their  admiration.  For  weeks,  nay,  months,  Madam  Esmond 
was  never  tired  of  hearing  'Wx.  Ward's  great  glib  voice  and 
voluble  common-places  :  and,  according  to  her  wont,  she  insisted 
that  her  neighbors  should  come  and  listen  to  him,  and  ordered 
them  to  be  converted.  Her  young  favorite,  Mr.  Washington, 
she  was  especially  anxious  to  influence  ;  and  again  and  again 
pressed  him  to  come  and  stay  at  Castlewood  and  benefit  by  the 
spiritual  advantages  there  to  be  obtained.  But  that  young 
gentleman  found  he  had  particular  business  which  called  him 
home  or  away  from  home,  and  always  ordered  his  horse  of 
evenings  when  the  time  was  coming  for  Mr.  W^ard's  exercises. 
And  —  what  boys  are  just  towards  their  pedagogue?  —  the 
twins  grew  speedily  tired  and  even  rebellious  under  their  new 
teacher. 

They  found  him  a  bad  scholar,  a  dull  fellow,  and  ill  bred  to 
boot.  George  knew  much  more  Latin  and  Greek  than  his 
master,  and  caught  him  in  perpetual  blunders  and  false  quanti- 
ties. Hany,  who  could  take  much  greater  liberties  than  were 
allowed  to  his  elder  brother,  mimicked  Ward's  manner  of  eating 
and  talking,  so  that  Mrs.  Mountain  and  even  Madam  Esmond 
were  forced  to  laugh,  and  little  Fanny  Mountain  would  crow 
with  delight.  Maaam  Esmond  would  have  found  the  fellow 
out  for  a  vulgar  quack  but  for  her  son's  opposition,  which  she, 
on  her  part,  opposed  with  her  own  indomitable  will.  "  W'hat 
matters  whether  he  has  more  or  less  of  profane  learning  ?  "  she 
asked  ;  "  in  that  which  is  most  precious,  Mr.  W.  is  able  to  be  a 
teacher  to  all  of  us.  What  if  his  manners  are  a  little  rough  ? 
Heaven  does  not  choose  its  elect  from  among  the  great  and 
wealthy.  I  wish  you  knew  one  book,  children,  as  well  as  Mr. 
Ward  does.  It  is  your  wicked  pride — the  pride  of  all  the  Es- 
monds— which  prevents  you  from  listening  to  him.  Go  down 
on  your  knees  in  your  chamber  and  pray  to  be  corrected  of  that 
dreadful  fault."  Ward's  discourse  that  evening  was  about 
Naaman  the  Syrian,  and  the  pride  he  had  in  his  native  rivers 
of  Abana  and  Pharpar,  which  he  vainly  imagined  to  be  superior 
to  the  healing  waters  of  Jordan — the  moral  being,  that  he,  \^^ard, 


46  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

was  the  keeper  and  guardian  of  the  undoubted  waters  of  Jordan, 
and  that  the  unhappy,  conceited  boys  must  go  to  perdition  un- 
less they  came  to  him. 

George  now  began  to  give"  way  to  a  wicked  sarcastic  method, 
wliich,  perhaps,  he  had  inherited  from  his  grandfather,  and  with 
which,  when  a  quiet,  skilful  young  person  chooses  to  employ  it, 
he  can  make  a  whole  family  uncomfortable.  He  took  up 
Ward's  pompous  remarks  and  made  jokes  of  them,  so  that  that 
young  divine  chafed  and  almost  choked  over  his  great  meals. 
He  made  Madam  Esmond  angry,  and  doubly  so  when  he  sent 
off  Harry  into  fits  of  laughter.  Her  authority  was  defied,  her 
officer  scorned  and  insulted,  her  youngest  child  perverted,  by 
the  obstinate  elder  brother.  She  made  a  desperate  and  un- 
happy attempt  to  maintain  her  power. 

The  boys  were  fourteen  years  of  age,  Harry  being  taller  and 
much  more  advanced  than  his  brother,  wdio  w^as  delicate,  and 
as  yet  almost  child-like  in  stature  and  appearance.  The  bacnliiie 
method  was  a  quite  common  mode  of  argument  in  those  days. 
Serjeants,  schoolmasters,  slave-overseers,  used  the  cane  freely. 
Our  little  boys  had  been  horsed  many  a  day  by  Mr.  Dempster, 
their  Scotch  tutor,  in  their  grandfather's  time  ;  and  Harry,  es- 
pecially, had  got  to  be  quite  accustomed  to  the  practice,  and 
made  very  light  of  it.  But,  in  the  interregnum  after  Colonel 
Esmond's  death,  the  cane  had  been  laid  aside,  and  the  young 
gentlemen  at  Castlewood  had  been  allowed  to  have  their  own 
way.  Her  own  and  her  lieutenant's  authority  being  now 
spurned  by  the  youthful  rebels,  the  unfortunate  mother  thought 
of  restoring  it  by  means  of  coercion.  She  took  counsel  of  Mr. 
Ward.  That  athletic  young  pedagogue  could  easily  find  chapter 
and  verse  to  w-arrant  the  course  which  he  wi*shed  to  pursue, — in 
fact,  there  was  no  doubt  about  tlie  wholesomeness  of  the  prac- 
tice in  those  days.  He  had  begun  by  flattering  the  boys,  find- 
ing a  good  berth  and  snug  quarters  at  Castlewood,  and  hoping 
to  remain  there.  But  they  laughed  at  his  flatteiy,  they  scorned 
his  bad  manners,,  they  yawned  soon  at  his  sermons  ;  the  more 
their  mother  favored  him,  the  more  they  disliked  him  ;  and  so 
the  tutor  and  the  pupils  cordially  hated  each  other.  Mrs. 
Mountain,  who  w-as  the  boys'  friend,  especially  George's  friend, 
whom  she  thought  unjustly  treated  by  his  mother,  w^arned  the 
lads  to  be  prudent,  and  that  some  conspiracy  w^as  hatching 
against  them.  ''  \^'ard  is  more  obsequious  than  ever  to  your 
mamma.  It  turns  my  stomach,  it  does,  to  hear  him  flatter,  and 
to  see  him  gobble — the  odious  wretch  !  You  must  be  on  your 
guard,  my  poor  boys — you  must  learn  your  lessons,  and  not 


fc> 


THE   VIRGINIANS  47 

A  mischief  will  come,  I  know  it  will.  Your 
mamma  was  talking  about  you  to  Mr.  Washington  the  other 
day,  when  I  came  into  the  room.  I  don't  like  that  Major 
Washington,  you  know  I  don't.  Don't  say  —  O  Mounty  ! 
Master  Harry.  You  always  stand  up  for  your  friends,  you  do. 
The  Major  is  very  handsome  and  tall,  and  he  may  be  very  good, 
but  he  is  much  too  old  a  young  man  for  .me.  Bless  you,  my 
dears,  the  quantity  of  wild  oats  your  father  sowed  and  my  own 
poor  Mountain  when  they  were  Ensigns  in  Kingsley's,  would 
fill  sacks  full  !  Show  me  Mr.  Washington's  wild  oats,  I  say — 
not  a  grain  !  Well,  I  happened  to  step  in  last  Tuesday,  when 
he  was  here  with  your  mamma  ;  and  1  am  sure  they  were  talk- 
ing about  you,  for  he  said,  ''  Discipline  is  discipline,  and  must 
be  preserved.  There  can  be  but  one  command  in  a  house, 
ma'am,  and  you  must  be  the  mistress  of  yours." 

"The  ver\'  words  he  used  to  me,'"  cries  Harry.  "He  told 
me  that  he  did  not  like  to  meddle  with  other  folks'  affairs,  but 
that  our  mother  was  very  angr}',  dangerously  angry,  he  said, 
and  he  begged  me  to  obey  Mr.  Ward,  and  specially  to  press 
George  to  do  so." 

"Let  him  manage  his  own  house,  not  mine,"  says  George, 
very  haughtily.  And  the  caution,  far  from  benefiting  him,  only 
rendered  the  lad  more  supercilious  and  refractory. 

On  the  next  day  the  storm  broke,  and  vengeance  fell  on 
the  little  rebel's  head.  Words  passed  between  George  and 
Mr.  Ward  during  the  morning  study.  The  boy  was  quite 
insubordinate  and  unjust  ;  even  his  faithful  brother  cried  out, 
and  owned  that  he  was  in  the  wrong.  Mr.  Ward  kept  his 
temper — to  compress,  bottle  up,  cork  down,  and  prevent  your 
anger  from  present  furious  explosion,  is  called  keeping  your 
temper — and  Said  he  should  speak  upon  this  business  to  Madam 
Esmond,  When  the  family  met  at  dinner,  Mr.  Ward  requested 
her  ladyship  to  stay,  and,  temperately  enough,  laid  the  subject 
of  dispute  before  hen 

He  asked  Master  Harry  to  confirm  what  he  had  said :  and 
poor  Harry  was  obliged  to  admit  all  the  Dominie's  statements. 

George,  standing  under  his  grandfather's  portrait  by  the 
chimney,  said  haughtily  that  what  Mr.  Ward  had  said  was  per- 
fectly correct. 

"  To  be  a  tutor  to  such  a  pupil  is  absurd,"  said  Mr.  \\'ard, 
making  a  long  speech,  interspersed  with  many  of  his  usual 
Scripture  phrases,  at  each  of  which,  as  they  occurred,  that 
wicked  young  George  smiled,  and  pished  scornfully,  and  at 
length  Ward  ended  by  asking  her  honor's  leave  to  retire. 


48  THE   I'/RG/X/AjVS. 

"  Not  before  you  have  punished  this  wicked  and  disobedient 
child,''  said  Madam  Esmond,  who  had  been  gathering  anger 
during  Ward's  harangue,  and  especially  at  her  son's  behavior. 

"  Punish  !  "  says  George. 

"Yes,  sir,  punish  !  If  means  of  love  and  entreaty  fail,  as 
they  have  with  your  proud  heart,  other  means  must  be  found  to 
bring  you  to  obedience.  I  punish  you  now,  rebellious  boy,  to 
guard  you  from  greater  punishment  hereafter.  The  discipline 
of  this  family  must  be  maintained.  There  can  be  but  one 
command  in  a  house,  and  I  must  be  the  mistress  of  mine. 
You  will  punish  this  refractory  boy,  Mr.  Ward,  as  we  have 
agreed  that  you  should  do,  and  if  there  is  the  least  resistance 
on  his  part,  my  overseer  and  servants  will  lend  you  aid." 

In  some  such  words  the  widow  no  doubt  must  have  spoken, 
but  wuth  many  vehement  Scriptural  allusions,  which  it  does  not 
become  this  chronicler  to  copy.  To  be  for  ever  applying  to 
the  Sacred  Oracles,  and  accommodating  their  sentences  to  your 
purpose^— to  be  for  ever  taking  heaven  into  your  confidence 
about  your  private  affairs,  and  passionately  calling  for  its  in- 
terference in  your  family  quarrels  and  difficulties — to  be  so 
familiar  with  its  designs  and  schemes  as  to  be  able  to  threaten 
your  neighbor  with  its  thunders,  and  to  know  precisely  its  in- 
tentions regarding  him  and  others  who  differ  from  your  infalli- 
ble opinion — this  was  the  schooling  which  our  simple  widow 
had  received  from  her  impetuous  young  spiritual  guide,  and  I 
doubt  whether  it  brought  her  much  comfort. 

In  the  midst  of  his  mother's  harangue,  in  spite  of  it  per- 
haps, George  Esmond  felt  he  had  been  wrong.  ''  There  can 
be  but  one  command  m  the  house,  and  you  must  be  mistress — 
I  know  who  said  those  words  before  you,"'  George  said,  slowly, 
and  looking  very  white — "and — and  I  know,  mother,  that  I 
have  acted  wrongly  to  Mr.  \\'ard." 

"  He  owns  it !  He  asks  pardon  !  '"  cries  Harry.  •"  That's 
right,  George  !     That's  enougli  :  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  No,  it  is  ?iot  enough  ! ''  cried  the  little  woman.  "  The 
disobedient  boy  must  pay  the  penalty  of  his  disobedience. 
When  I  was  headstrong,  as  I  sometimes  was  as  a  child  before 
my  spirit  was  changed  and  humbled,  my  mamma  punished  me, 
and  I  submitted.  So  must  George.  I  desire  you  will  do  your 
duty,  Mr.  Ward." 

"Stop,  mother!  —  you  don't  quite  know  what  you  are 
doing,"  George  said,  exceedingly  agitated. 

"  I  know  that  he  who  spares  the  rod  spoils  the  child,  un- 
grateful boy  !"  says  Madam  Esmond,  with   more  references  of 


THE  VIRGIXIANS.  ^g 

the  same  nature,  which  George  heard,  looking  very  pale  and 
desperate. 

Upon  the  mantelpiece,  under  the  Colonel's  portrait,  stood 
a  china-cup,  by  which  the  widow  set  great  store,  as  her  father 
had  always  been  accustomed  to  drink  from  it.  George  sud- 
denly took  it,  and  a  strange  smile  passed  over  his  pale  face. 

"  Stay  one  mmute.  Don't  go  away  yet,"  he  cried  to  his 
mother,  who  was  leaving  the  room.  "  You — you  are  very  fond 
of  this  cup,  mother .?  " — and  Harry  looked  at  him,  wondering. 
"  If  I  broke  it,  it  could  never  be  mended,  could  it  i*  All  the 
tinkers'  rivets  would  not  make  it  a  whole  cup  again.  My  dear 
old  grandpapa's  cup  !  I  have  been  wrong.  Mr.  Ward,  I  ask 
pardon.     I  will  try  and  amend." 

The  widow  looked  at  her  son  indignantly,  almost  scornfully. 
"I  thought,"  she  said,  "I  thought  an  Esmond  had  been  more 
of  a  man  than  to  be  afraid,  and  " — here  she  gave  a  little 
scream  as  Harry  uttered  an  exclamation,  and  dashed  forward 
with  his  hands  stretched  out  towards  his  brother. 

George,  after  looking  at  the  cup,  raised  it,  opened  his  hand, 
and  let  it  fall  on  the  marble  slab  below  him.  Harry  had  tried 
in  vain  to  catch  it. 

"  It  is  too  late,  Hal,"  George  said.  "  You  will  never  mend 
that  again — never.  Now,  mother,  1  am  ready,  as  it  is  3-our 
wish.  Will  you  come  and  see  whether  I  am  afraid  ?  Mr. 
Ward,  I  am  your  servant.  Your  servant?  Your  slave  !  AikI 
the  next  time  I  meet  Mr.  \Vashington,  Madam,  I  will  thank 
him  for  the  advice  which  he  gave  you." 

"I  say,  do  your  duty,  sir!  "  cried  Mrs.  Esmond,  stamping 
her  little  foot.  And  George,  making  a  low  bow  to  Mr.  Ward, 
begged  him  to  go  first  out  of  the  room  to  the  study. 

"  Stop  !  For  God's  sake,  mother,  stop  !  "  cried  poor  Hal. 
But  passion  was  boiling  in  the  little  woman's  heart,  and  she 
would  not  hear  the  boy's  petition.  "  You  only  abet  hmi,  sir  !  " 
she  cried.  "  If  I  had  to  do  it  myself,  it  should  be  done  I " 
And  Harry,  with  sadness  and  wrath  in  his  countenance,  left  the 
room  by  the  door  through  which  Mr.  Ward  and  his  brother  had 
just  issued. 

The  w'idow  sank  down  on  a  great  chair  near  it,  and  sat 
awhile  vacantly  looking  at  the  fragments  of  the  broken  cup. 
Then  she  inclined  her  head  towards  the  door — one  of  half-a- 
dozen  of  carved  mahogany  which  the  Colonel  had  brought 
from  Europe.  For  a  while  there  was  silence  :  then  a  loud  out- 
cry, which  made  the  poor  mother  start. 

In   another  minute  Mr.  Ward   came   out,  bleeding  from  a 


50 


THE   FrRGINIANS. 


great  wound  on  his  head,  and  behind  him  Harry,  with  flaring 
eyes,  and  brandishing  a  httle  (oiiteau  de  chasse  of  his  grand- 
father, which  hung,  with  others  of  the  Colonel's  weapons,  on  the 
library  wall. 

"1  don't  care,  I  did  it,''  says  Harry.  ''I  couldn't  see 
this  fellow  strike  my  brother  ;  and,  as  he  lifted  his  hand,  I 
fiung  the  great  ruler  at  him.  I  couldn't  help  it.  I  won't  bear 
it;  and  if  one  lifts  a  hand  to  me  or  my  brother,  I'll  have  his 
life,"  shouts  Harry,  brandishing  the  hanger. 

The  widow  gave  a  great  gasp  and  a  sigh  as  she  looked  at 
the  young  champion  and  his  victim.  She  must  have  suffered 
terribly  during  the  few  minutes  of  the  boys'  absence  ;  and  the 
stripes  which  she  imagined  had  been  inflicted  on  the  elder  had 
smitten  her  own  heart.  She  longed  to  take  both  boys  to  it. 
She  was  not  angry  now.  Very  likely  she  was  delighted  with 
the  thought  of  the  younger's  prowess  and  generosity.  "  You 
are  a  very  naughty  disobedient  child,"  she  said,  in  an  exceed- 
ingly peaceable  voice.  "  My  poor  Mr.  Ward  !  What  a  rebel 
to  strike  you  !  Papa's  great  ebony  ruler,  was  it  ?  Lay  down 
that  hanger,  child.  'Twas  General  W^ebb  gave  it  to  my  papa 
after  the  seige  of  Lille.  Let  me  bathe  your  wound,  my  good 
Mr.  \Vard,  and  thank  heaven  it  was  no  worse.  Mountain  ! 
Go  fetch  me  some  court-plaster  out  of  the  middle  drawer  in 
the  japan  cabinet.  Here  comes  George.  Put  on  your  coat 
and  waistcoat,  child  !  You  were  going  to  take  your  punish- 
ment, sir,  and  that  is  suf^cient.  Ask  pardon,  Harry,  of  good 
Mr.  Ward,  for  your  wicked  rebellious  spirit — I  do  with  all  my 
heart,  I  am  sure.  And  guard  against  your  passionate  nature, 
child — and  pray  to  be  forgiven.  My  son,  oh,  my  son  !  "  Here, 
with  a  burst  of  tears  which  she  could  no  longer  control,  the  little 
woman  threw  herself  on  the  neck  of  her  eldest  born  ;  whilst 
Harry,  laying  the  hanger  down,  went  up  very  feebly  to  Mr.  Ward, 
and  said,  "  Indeed,  I  ask  your  pardon,  sir.  I  couldn't  help  it ; 
on  my  honor,  I  couldn't  ;  nor  bear  to  see  my  brother  struck." 

The  widow  was  scared,  as  after  her  embrace  she  looked  up 
at  George's  pale  face.  In  reply  to  her  eager  caresses,  he  coldly 
kissed  her  on  the  forehead,  and  separated  from  her.  "  You 
m^ant  for  the  best,  mother,"  he  said,  "and  I  was  in  the  wrong. 
But  the  cup  is  broken ;  and  all  the  king's  horses  and  all  the 
king's  men  cannot  mend  it.  There — put  the  fair  side  outwards 
on  the  mantlepiece,  and  the- wound  W'iil  not  show." 

Again  Madam  Esmond  looked  at  the  lad,  as  he  placed  the 
fragments  of  the  poor  cup  on  the  ledge  where  it  had  always 
been  used  to  stand.     Her  power  over  him  was  gone.     He  had 


THE    IVRG/Ar/AiVS.  ri 

dominated  over  her.  She  was  not  sorry  for  the  defeat  ;  for 
women  like  not  only  to  conquer,  but  to  be  conquered  ;  and 
from  that  day  the  young  gentleman  was  master  at  Castlewood. 
His  mother  admired  him  as  he  went  tip  to  Harry,  graciously 
and  condescendingly  gave  Hal  his  hand,  and  said,  "  Thank  you, 
brother  ! "  as  if  he  were  a  prince,  and  Harry  a  general  who 
had  helped  him  in  a  great  battle. 

Then  George  went  up  to  Mr.  Ward,  who  w^as  still  piteously 
bathing  his  eye  and  forehead  in  the  water.  ''  1  ask  pardon  for 
Hal's  violence,  sir,"  George  said,  in  great  state.  "  You  see, 
thojigh  we  are  very  young,  we  are  gentlemen,  and  cannot 
brook  an  insult  from  strangers.  I  should  have  submitted,  as 
it  was  mamma's  desire  ;  but  I  am.  ^rlad  she  no  lone^er  enter- 
tains  it." 

"And  pray,  sir,  who  is  to  compensate  ?7ie?''  says  Mr. 
Ward  ;  "who  is  to  repair  the  insult  done  to  ;«<:'?  " 

"  We  are  very  young,"  says  George,  with  another  of  his  old- 
fashioned  bows.  "We  shall  be  fifteen  soon.  Any  compensa- 
tion that  is  usual  amongst  gentlemen  " 

"  This,  sir,  to  a  minister  of  the  Word  !  "  bawls  out  Ward, 
starting  up,  and  who  knew  perfectly  well  the  lads'  skill  in  fence, 
having  a  score  of  times  been  foiled  by  the  pair  of  them, 

"  You  are  not  a  clergyman  yet.  We  thought  you  might  like 
to  be  considered  as  a  gentleman.     We  did  not  know." 

"A  gentleman  I  I  am  a  Christian,  sir!"  says  Ward,  glar- 
ing furiously,  and  clenching  his  great  fists. 

"  Well,  well,  if  you  won't  fight,  why  don't  you  forgive  ?  " 
says  Harry.  "  If  you  don't  forgive,  why  don't  you  fight  ? 
That's  what  I  call  the  horns  of  a  dilemma."  And  he  laughed 
his  frank,  jolly  laugh. 

But  this  was  nothing  to  the  laugh  'a  few  days  afterwards, 
when,  the  quarrel  having  been  patched  up,  along  with  poor  Mr. 
Ward's  eye,  the  unlucky  tutor  was  holding  forth  according  to 
his  custom.  He  tried  to  preach  the  boys  into  respect  for  him, 
to  re-awaken  the  enthusiasm  Vv-hich  the  congregation  had  felt 
for  him  ;  he  wrestled  with  their  manifest  indifference,  'he 
implored  heaven  to  warm  their  cold  hearts  again,  and  to  lift 
up  those  who  were  falling  back.  All  w^as  in  vain.  The  widov»- 
wept  no  more  at  his  harangues,  was  no  longer  excited  by  his 
loudest  tropes  and  similes,  nor  appeared  to  be  much  frightened 
by  the  very  hottest  menaces  with  which  he  peppered  his  dis- 
course. Xay,  she  pleaded  h.eadache,  and  would  absent  herself 
of  an  evening,  on  which  occasion  the   remainder  of  the   little 


^2  THE   I'lRGfXlAXS. 

congregation  was  very  cold  indeed.  One  day  then,  Ward,  still 
making  desperate  efforts  to  get  back  his  despised  authority, 
was  preaching  on  the  beauty  of  subordination,  the  present  lax 
spirit  of  the  age.  and  the  necessity  of  obeying  our  spiritual  and 
temporal  rulers.  '•  P'or  why,  my  dear  friends,"  he  nobly  asked 
(he  was  in  the  h.abit  of  asking  immensely  dull  questions,  and 
straightway  answering  them  with  corresponding  platitudes), 
"■  why  are  governors  appointed,  but  that  we  should  be  go\- 
erned  ?     \\'hy  are  tutors  engaged,  but  that  children  should  be 

taught  1  "  (here  a  look  at  the  boys).     "  Why  are   rulers "' 

Here  he  paused,  looking  with  a  sad,  puzzled  face  at  the  young 
gentlemen.  He  saw  in  their  countenances  the  double  meaning 
of  the  unlucky  word  he  had  uttered,  and  stammered,  and 
thumped  the  table  with  his  fist.     "  Why,  I  say,  are  rulers '* 

"  Rulers,''  says  George,  looking  at  Harr}-. 

"  Rulers  !  "  says  Hal,  putting  his  hand  to  his  eye,  where 
the  poor  tutor  still  bore  marks  of  the  late  scuffle.  Rulers, 
o-ho  !  It  was  too  much.  The  boys  burst  out  in  an  explosion 
of  laughter.  Mrs.  Mountain,  who  was  full  of  fun,  could  not 
help  joining  in  the  chorus  ;  and  little  Fanny,  who  had  always 
behaved  very  demurely  and  silently  at  these  ceremonies,  crowed 
again,  and  clapped  her  little  hands  at  the  others  laughing,  not 
in  the  least  knowing  the  reason  why. 

This  could  not  be  borne.  Ward  shut  down  the  book  before 
him  ;  in  a  few  angry,  but  eloquent  and  manly  words,  said  he 
would  speak  no  more  in  that  place  ;  and  left  Castlewood  not  in 
the  least  regretted  by  Madam  Esmond,  who  had  doted  on  him 
three  months  before. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE    VIRGIXIAXS    BEGIN    TO    SEE    THE    WORLD. 

After  the  departure  of  her  unfortunate  spiritual  adviser 
and  chaplain,  ]Maclam  Esmond  and  her  son  seemed  to  be  quite 
reconciled  :  but  although  George  never  spoke  of  the  quarrel 
with  his  mother,  it  must  have  weighed  upon  the  boy's  mind  \-ery 
painfully,  for  he  had  a  fever  soon  after  the  last  recounted  domes- 
tic occurrences,  during  which  illness  his  brain  once  or  twice 
wandered,  when  he   shrieked  out,     "  Broken  !     Broken  !      It 


THE    ]'lRG/A'fAXS.  c, 

never,  never  can  be  mended  !  "  to  the  silent  terror  of  his 
mother,  who  sat  watching  the  jDoor  child  as  he  tossed  v.'akeful 
upon  his  midnight  bed.  His  malady  defied  her  skill,  and  in- 
creased in  spite  of  all  the  nostrums  which  the  good  widow  kept 
in  her  closet  and  administered  so  freely  to  her  people.  She 
had  to  undergo  another  humiliation,  and  one  clay  little  Mr. 
Dempster  beheld  her  at  his  door  on  horseback.  She  had  rid- 
den through  the  snow  on  her  pony,  to  implore  him  to  give  his  aid 
to  her  poor  boy.  "  I  shall  bury  my  resentment,  Madam,"  said 
he,  "  as  your  ladyship  buried  your  pride.  Please  God,  I  may 
be  time  enough  to  help  my  dear  young  pupil  !  "  So  he  put  up 
his  lancet,  and  his  little  provision  of  medicaments  ;  called  his 
only  negro-boy  after  him,  shut  up  his  lonely  hut,  and  once  more 
returned  to  Castlewood,  That  night  and  for  some  days  after- 
wards it  seemed  very  likely  that  poor  Harry  would  become  heir 
of  Castlewood  ;  but  by  Mr.  Dempster's  skill  the  fever  was  got 
over,  the  intermittent  attacks .  diminished  in  ,  intensity,  and 
George  was  restored  almost  to  health  again.  A  change  of  air, 
a  voyage  even  to  England,  was  recommended,  but  the  widow 
had  quarrelled  with  her  children's  relatives  there,  and  owned 
with  contrition  that  she  had  been  too  hasty.  A  journey  to  the 
north  and  east  was  determined  on,  and  the  two  young  gentle- 
men, with  Mr.  Dempster  as  their  tutor  and  a  couple  of  servants 
to  attend  them,  took  a  voyage  to  New  York,  and  thence  up  the 
beautiful  Hudson  river  to  Albany,  where  they  were  received  by 
the  first  gentry  of  the  province,  and  thence  into  the  French  pro\'- 
inces,  where  they  had  the  best  recommendations,  and  were  hos- 
pitably entertained  by  the  French  gentry.  Harry  camped  with 
the  Indians,  and  took  furs  and  shot  bears.  George,  who  never 
cared  for  field-sports  and  whose  health  was  still  delicate,  was  a 
special  favorite  with  the  French  ladies,  who  were  accustomed 
to  see  very  few  young  English  gentlemen  speaking  the  French 
language  so  readily  as  our  young  gentlemen.  George  especially 
perfected  his  accent  so  as  to  be  able  to  pass  for  a  Frenchman. 
He  had  the  bel  air  completely,  every  person  allowed.  He 
danced  the  minuet  elegantly.  He  learned  the  latest  imported 
French  catches  and  songs,  and  played  them  beautifully  on  his 
violin,  and  would  have  sung  them  too  but  that  his  voice  broke 
at  this  time,  and  changed  from  treble  to  bass  ;  and  to  the  envy 
of  poor  Harry,  who  was  absent  on  a  bear-hunt,  he  even  had  an 
affair  of  honor  with  a  young  ensign  of  the  regiment  of  Auvergne, 
the  Chevalier  de  la  Jabotiere,  whom  he  pinked  in  the  shoulder, 
and  with  whom  he  afterwards  swore  an  eternal  friendship. 
Madame  de  Mouch}',  the  superintendent's  lady,  said  the  mother 


24  THE    VfRGlNfAXS. 

was  blest  who  had  such  a  son,  and  wrote  a  comphmentary  letter 
to  Madam  Esmond  upon  Mr.  George's  behavior.  1  fear  Mr. 
Whitfield  would  not  have  been  over-pleased  with  the  widow's 
elation  on  hearing  of  her  son's  prowess. 

\Mien  the  lads  returned  home  at  the  end  of  ten  delightful 
months,  their  mother  was  surprised  at  their  growth  and  im- 
provement. George  especially  was  so  grown  as  to  come  up  to 
his  younger-born  brother.  The  boys  could  hardly  be  distin- 
guished one  from  another,  especially  when  their  hair  was  pow- 
dered ;  but  that  ceremony  being  too  cumbrous  for  country-life, 
each  of  the  gentlemen  commonly  wore  his  own  hair,  George  his 
raven  black,  and  Harry  his  light  locks  tied  with  a  ribbon. 

The  reader  who  has  been  so  kind  as  to  look  over  the  first 
pages  of  the  lad's  simple  biography,  must  have  observed  that 
Mr.  George  Warrington  was  of  a  jealous  and  suspicious  disposi- 
tion, most  generous  and  gentle  and  incapable  of  an  untruth,  and 
though  too  magnanimous  to  revenge,  almost  incapable  of  for 
giving  an  injury.  George  left  home  with  no  good  will  towards 
an  honorable  gentleman,  whose  name  afterwards  became  one 
of  the  most  famous  in  the  world  ;  and  he  returned  from  his 
journey  not  in  the  least  altered  in  his  opmion  of  his  mother's 
and  grandfather's  friend.  Mr,  Washington,  though  then  but 
just  of  age,  looked  and  felt  much  older.  He  always  exhibited 
an  extraordinary  simplicity  and  gra\-ity  ;  he  had  managed  his 
mother's  and  his  family's  affairs  from  a  very  early  age,  and 
was  treated  by  all  his  friends  and  the  gentry  of  his  county  more 
respectfully  than  persons  twice  his  senior. 

Mrs.  Mountain,  Madam  Esmond's  friend  and  companion, 
who  dearly  loved  the  two  boys  and  her  patroness,  in  spite  of 
many  quarrels  with  the  latter,  and  daily  threats  of  parting,  was 
a  most  amusing,  droll  letter-writer,  and  used  to  write  to  the  two 
boys  on  their  travels.  Now,  Mrs.  Mountain  was  of  a  jealous 
turn  likewise  ;  especially  she  had  a  great  turn  for  match-mak- 
ing, and  fancied  that  everybody  had  a  design  to  marry  every- 
body else.  There  scarce  came  an  unmarried  man  to  Castlewood 
but  Mountain  imagined  the  gentleman  had  an  eye  towards  the 
mistress  of  the  mansion.  She  was  positive  that  odious  Mr. 
Ward  intended  to  make  love  to  the  widow,  and  pretty  sure  the 
latter  liked  him.  She  knew  that  Mr.  ^^'ashington  wanted  to  be 
married,  was  certain  that  such  a  shrewd  young  gentleman  would 
look  out  for  a  rich  wife,  and  as  for  the  differences  of  ages,  what 
matter  that  the  Major  (major  w^as  his  rank  in  the  militia)  was 
fifteen  years  younger  than  Madam  Esmond  ?  They  were  used 
to   such  marriages  in  the  family ;  my  lady  her  mother  was  how 


THE   VTRGIXIAXS.  rr 

many  years  older  than  the  Colonel  when  she  married  him  ? — 
When  she  married  him  and  was  so  jealous  that  she  never  would 
let  the  poor  Colonel  out  of  her  sight.  The  poor  Colonel  !  after 
his  wife,  he  had  been  henpecked  by  his  little  daughter.  And 
she  would  take  after  her  mother,  and  marry  again,  be  sure  of 
that.  ]Madam  was  a  little  chit  of  a  woman,  not  five  feet  in  her 
highest  head-dress  and  shoes,  and  Mr.  Washington  a  great  tall 
man  of  six  feet  two.  Great  tall  men  always  married  little  chits 
of  women  :  therefore,  Mr.  W.  must  be  looking  after  the  widow. 
What  could  be  more  clear  than  the  deduction  ? 

She  communicated  these  sage  opinions  to  her  boy,  as  she 
called  George,  who  begged  her,  for  heaven's  sake,  to  hold  her 
tongue.  This  she  said  she  could  do,  but  she  could  not  keep 
her  eyes  always  shut  ;  and  she  narrated  a  hundred  circumstances 
which  had  occurred  in  the  young  gentleman's  absence,  and 
which  tended,  as  she  thought,  to  confirm  her  notions.  Had 
Mountain  imparted  these  petty  suspicions  to  his  brother  ? 
George  asked  sternly.  No.  George  was  her  boy  ;  Harr)-  was 
his  mother's  boy.  "  She  likes  hwi  best,  and  I  like  you  best, 
George,"  cries  Mountain.  "  Besides,  if  I  Vv-ere  to  speak  to  him, 
he  would  tell  your  mother  in  a  minute.  Poor  Harry  can  keep 
nothing  quiet,  and  then  there  would  be  a  pretty  quarrel  between 
Madam  and  me  !  " 

"  1  beg  you  to  keep  this  quiet.  Mountain,*'  said  ]\Ir  George, 
with  great  dignity,  "  or  you  and  I  shall  quarrel  too.  Neither 
to  me  nor  to  any  one  else  in  the  world  must  you  mention  such 
an  absurcr suspicion.'' 

Absurd  !  \\"hy  absurd  ?  Mr.  Washington  was  constantly 
with  the  widow^  His  name  was  for  ever  in  her  mouth.  She 
was  never  tired  of  pointing  out  his  virtues  and  examples  to  her 
sons.  She  consulted  him  on  every  question  respecting  her 
estate  and  its  management.  She  never  bought  a  horse  or  sold 
a  barrel  of  tobacco  without  his  opinion.  There  was  a  room  at 
Castlewood  regularly  called  Mr.  Washington's  room.  He 
actually  leaves  his  clothes  here  and  his  portmanteau  when  he 
goes  away.  "  Ah  !  George,  George  !  One  day  will  come  when 
he  wont  go  away,"  groaned  Mountain,  who,  of  course,  always 
returned  to  the  subject  of  which  she  was  forbidden  to  speak. 
Meanwhile  Mr.  George  adopted  towards  his  mother's  favorite 
a  frigid  courtesy,  at  which  the  honest  gentleman  chafed  but 
did  not  care  to  remonstrate,  or  a  stinging  sarcasm,  which  I.e 
would  break  through  as  he  would  burst  through  so  many  brambles 
on  those  hunting  excursions  in  which  he  and  Harry  AVarrington 
rode  so  constantly  together  ;  whilst  George,  retreating  to   his 


5  6  THE   VIRGIX/ANS. 

tents,  read  mathematics,  and  French,  and  Latin,  and  sulked  in 
his  book-room  more  and  more  lonely. 

Harry  was  away  from  home  with  some  other  sporting  friends 
(it  is  to  be  feared  the  young  gentleman's  acquaintances  were 
not  all  as  eligible  as  Mr.  Washington),  when  the  latter  came  to 
pay  a  visit  at  Castlewood.  He  was  so  peculiarly  tender  and 
kind  to  the  mistress  there,  and  received  by  her  with  such  special 
cordiality,  that  George  A\'arrington's  jealousy  had  well  nigh 
broken  out  in  open  rupture.  But  the  visit  was  one  of  adieu,  as 
it  appeared.  Alajor  Washington  was  going  on  a  long  and 
dangerous  journey,  quite  to  the  western  Virginia  frontier  and 
beyond  it.  The  French  had  been  for  some  time  past  making 
inroads  into  our  territory.  The  government  at  home,  as  well  as 
those  of  Virginia  and  Pennsylvania,  were  alarmed  at  t4iis  ag- 
gressive spirit  of  the  lords  of  Canada  and  Louisiana.  Some  of 
our  settlers  had  already  been  driven  from  their  holdings  by 
Frenchmen  in  arms,  and  the  governors  of  the  British  provinces 
were  desirous  to  stop  their  incursions,  or  at  any  rate  to  pro- 
test against  their  mvasion. 

We  chose  to  hold  our  American  colonies  by  a  law  that  was 
at  least  convenient  for  its  framers.  The  maxim  was,  that  who- 
ever possessed  the  coast  had  a  right  to  all  the  territory  inland 
as  far  as  the  Pacific  ;  so  that  the  British  charters  only  laid 
down  the  limits  of  the  colonies  from  north  to  south,  leaving 
them  quite  free  from  east  to  west.  The  French,  meanwhile, 
had  their  colonies  to  the  north  and  south,  and  aimed  at  con- 
necting them  by  the  Mississippi  and  the  St.  Lawrence  and  the 
great  intermediate  lakes  and  waters  lying  to  the  westward  of 
the  British  possessions.  In  the  year  1748,  though  peace  was 
signed  between  the  two  European  kingdoms,  the  colonial  ques- 
tion remained  unsettled,  to  be  opened  again  when  either  party 
should  be  strong  enough  to  urge  it.  In  the  year  1753,  it  came 
to  an  issue,  on  the  Ohio  river,  where  the  British  and  French 
settlers  met.  To  be  sure,  there  existed  other  people  besides 
French  and  British,  who  thought  they  had  a  title  to  the  territory 
about  which  the  children  of  their  White  Fathers  were  battling, 
namely,  the  native  Indians  and  proprietors  of  the  soil.  But 
the  logicians  of  St.  James's  and  Versailles  wisely  chose  to  con- 
sider the  matter  in  dispute  as  a  European  and  not  a  Red-man's 
question,  eliminating  him  from  the  argument,  but  employing 
his  tomahawk  as  it  might  serve  the  turn  of  either  litigant. 

A  company,  called  the  Ohio  Company,  having  grants  from 
the  Virginia  government  of  lands  along  that  river,  found  them- 
selves invaded  in  their  settlements  by  French  military  detach- 


THE    VFRGIXIAXS.  ^y 

ments,  who  roughly  ejected  the  Britons  from  their  holdings. 
These  latter  applied  for  protection  to  Mr.  Dinwiddle,  Lieu- 
tenant-Governor of  Virginia,  who  determined  upon  sending  an 
ambassador  to  the  French  commanding  officer  on  the  Ohio, 
demanding  that  the  French  should  desist  from  their  inroads 
upon  the  territories  of  his  Majesty  King  George, 

Young  Mr.  Washington  jumped  eagerly  at  the  chance  of 
distinction  which  this  service  afforded  him,  and  volunteered  to 
leave  his  home  and  his  rural  and  professional  pursuits  in 
Virginia,  to  carry  the  governor's  message  to  the  French  officer. 
Taking  a  guide,  an  interpreter,  and  a  few  attendants,  and 
following  the  Indian  tracks,  in  the  fall  of  the  year  1753,  the 
intrepid  young  envoy  made  his  w^ay  from  Williamsburg  almost 
to  the  shores  of  Lake  Erie,  and  found  the  French  commander 
at  Fort  le  Boeuf.  That  officer's  reply  w^as  brief :  his  orders 
were  to  hold  the  place  and  drive  all  the  English  from  it.  The 
French  avowed  their  intention  of  taking  possession  of  the 
Ohio.  And  with  this  rough  answer  the  messenger  from  Vir- 
ginia had  to  return  through  danger  and  difficulty,  across  lonely 
forest  and  frozen  river,  shaping  his  course  by  the  compass,  and 
camping  at  night  in  the  snow  by  the    forest  fires. 

Harry  Warrington  cursed  his  ill  fortune  that  he  had  been 
absent  from  home  on  a  cock-fight,  when  he  might  have  had 
chance  of  sport  so  much  nobler  ;  and  on  his  return  from  his 
expedition,  which  he  had  conducted  with  an  heroic  energy  and 
simplicity.  Major  Washington  was  a  greater  favorite  than  ever 
with  the  lady  of  Castlewood.  She  pointed  him  out  as  a  model 
to  both  her  sons.  "  Ah,  Harry  !  "  she  would  say,  "  think  of  you, 
with  your  cock-fighting  and  \-our  racing-matches,  and  the  Major 
away  there  in  the  wilderness,  watching  the  French,  and  battling 
with  the  frozen  rivers  !  Ah,  George  !  learning  may  be  a  very 
good  thing,  but  I  wish  my  eldest  son  w^ere  doing  something  in 
the  service  of  his  country  1  " 

"  I  desire  no  better  than  to  go  home  and  seek  for  employ- 
ment. Ma'am,"  says  George.  "  You  surely  wdll  not  have  me 
serve  under  Mr.  Washington,  in  his  new  regiment,  or  ask  a 
commission  from  ]Mr.  Dinwiddle  ?  " 

"  An  Esmond  can  only  serve  with  the  king's  commission," 
says  Madam,  "  and  as  for  asking  a  favor  from  Mr,  Lieutenant- 
Governor  Dinwiddle,  I  would  rather  beg  my  bread." 

Mr.  Washington  w'as  at  this  time  raising  such  a  regiment 
as,  with  the  scanty  pay  and  patronage  of  the  Virginian  govern- 
ment, he  could  get  together,  and  proposed  with  the  help  of 
these   men-of-war,   to  put  a  more  peremptory  veto   upon  the 


58 


THE   I'lRGfXrANS. 


French  invaders  than  the  sohtary  ambasbador  had  been  enabled 
to  lay.  A  small  force  under  another  officer,  Colonel  Trent,  had 
been'  already  despatched  to  the  west,  with  orders  to  fortify 
themselves  so  as  to  be  able  to  resist  any  attack  of  the  enemy. 
The  French  troops,  greatly  outnumbering  ours,  came  up  with 
the  English  outposts,  who  were  fortifying  themselves  at  a  place 
on  the  confines  of  Pennsylvania  where  the  great  city  of  Pitts- 
burg now  stands.  A  Virginian  officer  with  but  forty  m'en  was 
in  no  condition  to  resist  twenty  times  that  number  of  Canadians, 
who  appeared  before  his  incomplete  works.  He  was  suffered 
to  draw  back  without  molestation  ;  and  the  French,  taking  pos- 
session of  his  fort,  strengthened  it,  and  christened  it  by  the 
name  of  the  Canadian  governor,  Du  Quesne.  Up, to  this  time 
no  actual  blow  of  war  had  been  struck.  The  troops  represent- 
ing the  hostile  nations  were  in  presence — the  guns  were  loaded, 
but  no  one  as  yet  had  cried  "  Fire."  It  was  strange  that  in  a 
savage  forest  of  Pennsylvania,  a  young  Virginian  officer  should 
fire  a  shot,  and  waken  up' a  war  which  was  to  last  for  sixty 
years,  which  was  to  cover  his  own  country  and  pass  into  Europe, 
to  cost  France  her  American  colonies,  to  sever  onrs  from  us, 
and  create  the  great  Western  republic  ;  to  rage  over  the  Old 
World  when  extinguished  in  the  New  ;  and,  of  all  the  myriads 
engaged  in  the  vast  contest,  to  leave  the  prize  of  the  greatest 
fame  with  him  who  struck  the  first  blow ! 

He  little  knew  of  the  fate  in  store  for  him.  A  simple  gentle- 
man, anxious  to  serve  his  king  and  do  his  duty,  he  volunteered 
for  the  first  service,  and  executed  it  with  admirable  fidelity.  In 
the  ensuing  year  he  took  the  command  of  the  small  body  of 
provincial  troops  with  which  he  marched  to  repel  the  French- 
men. He  came  up  with  their  advanced  guard  and  fired  upon 
them,  killing  their  leader.  After  this  he  had  himself  to  fall 
back  with- his  troops,  and  was  compelled  to  capitulate  to  the 
superior  French  force.  On  the  4th  of  July,  1754,  the  Colonel 
marched  out  with  his  troops  from  the  little  fort  where  he  had 
hastily  entrenched  himself  (and  which  they  called  Fort  Neces- 
sitv),  gave  up  the  place  to  the  conqueror,  and  took  his  way 
home. 

Flis  command  was  over  :  his  regiment  disbanded  after  the 
fruitless,  inglorious  march  and  defeat.  Saddened  and  humbled 
in  spirit,  the  young  officer  presented  himself  after  a  while  to 
his  old  friends  at  Castlevv'ood.  He  was  very  young  ;  before  he 
set  forth  on  his  first  campaign  he  may  have  indulged  in  exag- 
gerated hopes  of  success,  and  uttered  them.  "  I  was  angry 
when  I  parted  from  you,"  he  said  to  George  \\'arrington,  hold- 


THE   VrRGfA'fAA'S.  -g 

ing  out  his  hand,  which  the  other  eagerly  took.  "  You  seemed 
to  scorn  me  and  my  regiment,  George.  1  thought  you  laughed 
at  us,  and  your  ridicule  made  me  angry.  I  boasted  too  much 
of  what  we  would  do." 

"Nay,  you  have  done  your  best,  George,"  says  the  other, 
who  quite  forgot  his  previous  jealousy  in  his  old  comrade's 
misfortune.  "  Everybody  knows  that  a  hundred  and  fifty 
starving  men  with  scarce  a  round  of  ammunition  left,  could 
not  face  five  tmies  their  number  perfectly  armed,  and  everybody 
who  knows  Mr.  Washington  knows  that  he  would  do  his  duty. 
Harry  and  I  saw  the  French  in  Canada  last  year.  They  obey 
but  one  will  •  in  our  provinces  each  governor  has  his  own. 
They  were  royal  troops  the  French  sent  against  you.    *    *    *  " 

"  Oh,  but  that  some  of  ours  were  here  !  "  cries  Madam 
Esmond,  tossmg  her  head  up.  ''  I  promise  you  a  few  good 
English  regiments  would  make  the  white-coats  run." 

"  You  think  nothing  of  the  provincials  •  and  I  must  say 
nothing  now  we  have  been  so  unlucky,"  said  the  Colonel, 
gloomily.  "  Y'ou  made  much  of  me  when  I  was  here  before. 
Don't  you  remember  what  victories  you  prophesied  for  me — 
how  much  I  boasted  myself  very  likely  over  your  good  wine  ? 
All  those  fine  dreams  are  over  now.  'Tis  kind  of  your  ladyship 
to  receive  a  poor  beaten  fellow  as  you  do  •  "  and  the  young  soldier 
hung  down  his  head. 

George  Warrington,  with  his  extreme  acute  sensibility,  was 
touched  at  the  other's  emotion  and  simple  testimony  of  sorrow 
under  defeat  He  was  about  to  say  something  friendly  to  Mr, 
Washington,  had  not  his  mother,  to  whom  the  Colonel  had 
been  speaking,  replied  herself ;  •'  Kind  of  us  to  receive  you. 
Colonel  Washington  I  "  said  the  widow.  "  I  never  heard  that 
when  men  were  unhapp}',  our  se.x  were  less  their  friends." 

And  she  made  the  Colonel  a  very  fine  curtsey,  which  straight- 
way caused  her  son  to  be  more  jealous  of  him  than  ever. 


CHAPTER  VH. 

PREPARATIONS     FOR    WAR. 


Surely  no  man  can  have  better  claims  to  sympathy  than 
bravery,  youth,  good  looks,  and  misfortune.  Madam  Esmond 
might  have  had   twenty  sons,  and  yet  had   a   right   to  admire 


6o  THE   VIRGfX/ANS. 

her  young  soldier.  Mr.  Washington's  room  was  more  than  ever 
^Ir.  Washington's  room  now.  She  raved  about  him  and  praised 
him  in  all  companies.  She  more  than  ever  pointed  out  his  ex- 
cellences to  her  sons,  contrasting  his  sterling  qualities  with 
Harry's  love  of  pleasure  (the  wild  boy  \)  and  George's  listless 
musings  over  his  books.  George  was  not  disposed  to  like  Mr. 
Washington  any  better  for  his  mother's  extravagant  praises. 
He  coaxed  the  jealous  demon  within  him  until  he  must  have 
become  a  perfect  pest  to  himself  and  all  the  friends  round 
about  him.  He  uttered  jokes  so  deep  that  his  simple  mother 
did  not  know  their  meaning,  but  sat  bewildered  at  his  sarcasms, 
and  powerless  what  to  thing  of  his  moody,  saturnme  humor. 

Meanwhile,  public  events  were  occurring  which  were  to 
influence  the  fortunes  of  all  our  homely  family.  The  quarrel 
between  the  French  and  English  North  Americans,  from  being 
a  provincial,  had  grown  to  be  a  national,  quarrel.  Remforce- 
ments  from  France  had  already  arrived  in  Canada  ;  and  En 
glish  troops  were  expected  in  Virginia.  "  Alas  !  my  dear 
friend  !  "  wrote  Madame  la  Presidente  de  Mouchy,  from  Quebec, 
to  her  young  friend  George  Warrington.  "  How  contrary  is 
the  destmy  to  us.  I  see  3^ou  quitting  the  embrace  of  an  adored 
mother  to  precipitate  yourself  in  the  arms  of  Bellona.  I  see 
you  pass  wounded  after  combats.  I  hesitate  almost  to  wish 
victory  to  our  lilies  when  I  behold  you  ranged  under  the  ban- 
ners of  the  Leopard.  There  are  enmities  which  the  heart  does 
not  recognize — ours  assuredly  are  at  peace  among  these  tumults. 
All  here  love  and  salute  you  as  well  as  Monsieur  the  Bear- 
hunter,  your  brother  (that  cold  Hippolyte  wiio  preferred  the 
chase  to  the  soft  conversation  of  our  ladies  ! )  Your  friend, 
your  enemy,  the  Chevalier  de  la  Jabotiere,  burns  to  meet  on 
the  field  of  Mars  his  generous  rival.  M.  du  Quesne  spoke  of 
you  last  night  at  supper.  M.  du  Quesne,  my  husband,  send 
affectuous  remembrances  to  their  young  friend,  with  which  are 
ever  joined  those  of  your  sincere  Presidente  de  Mouchy." 

"  The  banner  of  the  Leopard,"  of  which  George's  fair  corre- 
spondent wrote,  was,  indeed,  flung  out  to  the  winds,  and  a 
number  of  the  king's  soldiers  were  rallied  round  it.  It  was 
resolved  to  wrest  from  the  French  all  the  conqiiests  they  had 
made  upon  British  dominion.  A  couple  of  regiments  were 
raised  and  paid  by  the  king  in  America,  and  a  fleet  with  a 
couple  more  was  despatched  from  home  under  an  experienced 
commander.  In  February,  1755,  Commodore  Keppel.  in  the 
famous  ship  "Centurion,"  in  which  Anson  had  made  his 
voyage  round    the  world,  anchored  in  Hampton     Roads  with 


THE   VfRGINIANS  6 1 

two  ships  of  war  under  his  command,  and  having  on  board 
General  Braddock,  his  staff,  and  a  part  of  his  troops.  Mr. 
Braddock  was  appointed  by  the  Duke.  A  hundred  years  ago 
the  Duke  of  Cumberland  was  called  The  Duke  par  excellence 
in  England — as  another  famous  warrior  has  since  been  called. 
Not  so  great  a  Duke  certainly  was  that  first-named  Prince  as 
his  party  esteemed  him,  and  surely  not  so  bad  a  one  as  his 
enemies  have  painted  him.  A  fleet  of  transports  speedily  fol 
lowed  Prince  William's  general,  bringing  stores,  and  men,  and 
money  in  plenty. 

The  great  man  landed  his  troops  at  Alexandria  on  the 
Potomac  river,  and  repaired  to  Annapolis  in  Maryland,  where 
he  ordered  the  governors  of  the  different  colonies  to  meet  him 
in  council,  urgmg  them  each  to  call  upon  their  respective  pro- 
vinces to  help  the  common  cause  in  this  strait. 

The  arrival  of  the  General  and  his  little  army  caused  a 
mighty  excitement  all  through  the  provinces,  and  nowhere 
greater  than  at  Castlewood.  Harry  was  off  forthwith  to  see 
the  troops  under  canvas  at  Alexandria.  The  sight  of  their 
lines  delighted  him,  and  the  inspiring  music  of  their  fifes  and 
drums.  He  speedily  made  acquaintance  with  the  officers  of 
both  regiments  ,  he  longed  to  join  in  the  expedition  upon  which 
they  were  bound,  and  was  a  welcome  guest  at  their  mess. 

Madam  Esmond  was  pleased  that  her  sons  should  have  an 
opportunity  of  enjoying  the  society  of  gentlemen  of  good  fashion 
from  England  She  had  no  doubt  their  company  was  improv- 
ing, that  the  English  gentlemen  were  very  different  from  the 
horse-racing,  cock-fighting  Virginian  squires,  with  whom  Master 
Harry  would  associate,  and  the  lawyers,  and  pettifoggers, 
and  toad-eaters  at  the  Lieutenant-Governor's  table.  Madam 
Esmond  had  a  ve'ry  keen  eye  for  detecting  flatterers  in  other 
folks'  houses.  Against  the  little  knot  of  official  people  at 
Williamsburg,  she  was  especially  satirical,  and  had  no  patience 
with  their  etiquettes  and  squabbles  for  precedence. 

As  for  the  company  of  the  King's  officers,  Mr.  Harry  and 
his  elder  brother  both  smiled  at  their  mamma's  compliments  to 
the  elegance  and  propriety  of  the  gentlemen  of  the  camp.  If  the 
good  lady  had  but  known  all,  if  she  could  but  have  heard  their 
jokes  and  the  songs  which  they  sang  over  their  wine  and  punch,  if 
she  could  have  seen  the  condition  of  many  of  them  as  they  were 
carried  away  to  their  lodgings,  she  would  scarce  have  been  so 
ready  to  recommend  their  company  to  her  sons.  Men  and  offi- 
cers swaggered  the  country  round,  and  frightened  the  peaceful 
farm   and    villaofe  folk  with  their  riot :  the  General   raved   and 


62  THR    VIRG/NfANS. 

Stormed  ai^ainsthis  troops  for  their  disorder  ;  against  the  provin- 
cials for  their  traitorous  niggardliness  ;  the  soldiers  took  posses- 
sion almost  as  of  a  conquered  country,  they  scorned  the  provin- 
cials, they  insulted  the  wives  even  of  their  Indian  allies,  who  had 
come  to  join  the  English  warriors,  upon  their  arrival  in  America^ 
and  to  march  with  them  against  the  French.  The  General  was 
compelled  to  forbid  the  Indian  women  his  camp.  Amazed  and 
outraged  their  husbands  retired,  and  but  a  few  months  after- 
wards their  services  were  lost  to  him,  when  their  aid  would 
have  been  most  precious. 

Some  stories  against  the  gentlemen  of  the  camp,  Madam 
Esmond  might  have  heard,  but  she  would  have  none  of  them. 
Soldiers  would  be  soldiers,  that  ever3^body  knew.  Those 
officers  w4io  came  over  to  Castlewood  on  her  sons'  invitation 
were  most  polite  gentlemen,  and  such  indeed  was  the  case. 
The  widow  received  them  most  graciously,  and  gave  them  the 
best  sport  the  country  afforded.  Presently,  the  General  him- 
self sent  polite  messages  to  the  mistress  of  Castlewood.  His 
father  had  served  with  hers  under  the  glorious  Marlborough, 
and  Colonel  Esmond's  name  was  still  known  and  respected  in 
England.  With  her  ladyship's  permission,  General  Braddock 
would  have  the  honor  of  waiting  upon  her  at  Castlewood,  and 
paying  his  respects  to  the  daughter  of  so  meritorious  an  officer. 

If  she  had  known  the  cause  of  Mr.  Braddock's  politeness, 
perhaps  his  compliments  would  not  have  charmed  Madam 
Esmond  so  much.  The  Commander-in-Chief  held  levees  at 
Alexandria,  and  among  the  gentry  of  the  country  who  paid  him 
their  respects  were  our  twins  of  Castlewood,  who  mounted 
their  best  nags,  took  with  them  their  last  London  suits,  and, 
with  their  two  negro-boys  in  smart  liveries  behind  them,  rode 
in  state  to  wait  upon  the  great  man.  He  was  sulky  and  angry 
with  the  provincial  gentry,  and  scarce  took  any  notice  of  the 
young  gentlemen,  only  asking  casually,  of  his  aide-de-camp  at 
dinner,  who  the  young  Squire  Gawkeys  v/ere  in  blue  and  gold 
and  red  waistcoats  ? 

Mr.  Dinwiddle,  the  Lieutenant-Governor  of  Virginia,  the 
Agent  from  Pennsylvania,  and  a  few  more  gentlemen,  happened 
to  be  dining  with  his  Excellency.  "  Oh  !  "  says  Mr.  Dinwiddle, 
"  those  are  the  sons  of  the  Princess  Pocahontas  ; "  on  which, 
with  a  tremendous  oath,  the  General  asked,  "  Who  the  deuce 
was  she  ?  " 

Dinwiddle,  who  did  not  lo\-e  her,  having  indeed  undergone 
a  hundred  pertnesses  from  the  imperious  little  lady,  now  gave  a 
disrespectful  and  ridiculous  account  of  Madam  Esmond,  made 


THE    VIRGINIANS. 


63 


merry  with  her  pomposity  and  immense  pretentions,  and  enter- 
tained General  Braddock  with  anecdotes  regarding  her,  until 
his  Excellency  fell  asleep. 

When  he  awoke  Dinwiddle  was  gone,  but  the  Philadelphia 
gentleman  was  still  at  table,  deep  in  conversation  w^ith  the 
officers  there  present.  The  General  took  up  the  talk  where  it 
had  been  left  w^hen  he  fell  asleep,  and  spoke  of  Madam  Esmond 
in  curt,  disrespectful  terms,  such  as  soldiers  were  in  the  habit 
of  using  in  those  days,  and  asking,  again,  what  was  the  name 
of  the  old  fool  about  whom  Dinwiddle  had  been  talking  ?  Ele 
then  broke  into  expressions  of  contempt  and  wrath  against  the 
gentr}-,  and  the  country  in  general. 

Mr.  Franklin  of  Philadelphia  repeated  the  widow's  name, 
took  quite  a  different  view  of  her  character  from  that  Mr.  Din- 
widdle had  given,  seemed  to  know  a  good  deal  about  her,  her 
father,  and  her  estate  ;  as,  indeed,  he  did  about  every  man  or 
subject  which  came  under  discussion  ;  explained  to  the  General 
that  Madam  Esmond  had  beeves,  and  horses,  and  stores  in 
plenty,  which  might  be  very  useful  at  the  present  juncture,  and 
recommended  him  to  conciliate  her  by  all  means.  The  General 
had  already  made  up  his  mind  that  Mr.  Franklin  was  a  very 
shrewd,  intelligent  person,  and  graciously  ordered  an  aide-de- 
camp to  invite  the  two  young  men  to  the  next  day's  dinner. 
When  they  appeared  he  w^as  very  pleasant  and  good-natured ; 
the  gentlemen  of  the  General's  family  made  much  of  them. 
They  behaved,  as  became  persons  of  their  name,  with  modesty 
and  good-breeding ;  they  returned  home  delighted  with  their 
entertainment,  nor  was  their  mother  less  pleased  at  the  civil- 
ities which  his  Excellency  had  show^n  to  her  boys.  In  reply  to 
Braddock's  message.  Madam  Esmond  penned  a  billet  in  her 
best  style,  acknowledging  his  politeness,  and  begging  his  Excel- 
lency to  fix  the  time  when  she  might  have  the  honor  to  receive 
him  at  Castlewood. 

We  may  be  sure  that  the  arrival  of  the  army  and  the 
approaching  campaign  formed  the  subject  of  continued  conver- 
sation m  the  Castlew^ood  family.  To  make  the  campaign  was 
the  dearest  wish  of  Harry's  life.  He  dreamed  only  of  w^ar  and 
battle  ;  he  was  for  ever  with  the  officers  at  W^illiamsburg :  he 
scoured  and  cleaned  and  polished  all  the  guns  and  swords  in 
the  house ;  he  renewed  *the  amusements  of  his  childhood,  and 
had  the  negroes  under  arms.  His  mother,  who  had  a  gallant 
spirit,  knew  that  the  time  was  come  when  one  of  her  boys  must 
leave  her  and  serve  the  king.  She  scarce  dared  to  think  on 
whom    the    lot  should    fall.     She   admired  and  respected  the 


64.  THE    VIRGINIANS. 

elder,  but  she  felt  tliat  she  lo\-ecl  the  younger  boy  with  all  the 
passion  of  her  heart. 

Eager  as  Harry  was  to  be  a  soldier,  and  with  all  his 
thoughts  bent  on  that  glorious  scheme,  he  too  scarcely  dared 
to  touch  on  the  subject  nearest  his  heart.  Once  or  twice  when 
he  ventured  on  it  with  George,  the  latter's  countenance  wore 
an  ominous  look.  Harry  had  a  feudal  attachment  for  his 
elder  brother,  worshipped  him  with  an  extravagant  regard,  and 
in  all  things  gave  way  to  him  as  the  chief.  So  Harry  saw,  to 
his  infinite  terror,  how  George,  too,  in  his  grave  way,  was 
occupied  with  military  matters.  George  had  the  wars  of 
Eugene  and  Marlborough  down  from  his  bookshelves,  all  the 
military  books  of  his  grandfather,  and  the  most  warlike  of 
Plutarch's  lives.  He  and  Dempster  were  practising  with  the 
foils  again.  The  old  Scotchman  was  an  adept  in  the  military 
art,  though  somewhat  shy  of  saying  where  he  learned  it. 

Madam  Esmond  made  her  two  boys  the  bearers  of  the  letter 
in  reply  to  his  Excellency's  message,  accompanying  her  note 
with  such  large  and  handsome  presents  for  the  General's  staff 
and  the  officers  of  the  two  Royal  Regiments,  as  caused  the 
General  more  than  once  to  thank  Mr.  Franklin  for  having  been 
the  means  of  bringing  this  welcome  ally  mto  the  camp.  "  Would 
not  one  of  the  young  gentlemen  like  to  see  the  campaign  ?  "  the 
General  asked.  "  A  friend  of  theirs,  who  often  spoke  of  them — 
Mr.  Washington,  who  had  been  unlucky  in  the  affair  of  last 
year — had  already  promised  to  join  him  as  aide-de-camp,  and 
his  Excellency  would  gladly  take  another  young  Virginian 
gentleman  into  his  family."  Harry's  eyes  brightened  and  his 
face  flushed  at  this  offer.  "  He  would  like  with  all  his  heart  to 
go  !  "  he  cried  out.  George  said,  looking  hard  at  his  younger 
brother,  that  one  of  them  would  be  proud  to  attend  his 
Excellency,  whilst  it  would  be  the  other's  duty  to  take  care  of 
their  mother  at  home.  Harry  allowed  his  senior  to  speak.  His 
will  was  even  still  obedient  to  George's.  However  much  he 
desired  to  go,  he  would  not  pronounce  until  George  had  declared 
himself.  He  longed  so  for  the  campaign,  that  the  actual  wish 
made  him  timid.  He  dared  not  speak  on  the  matter  as  he  went 
home  with  George.  They  rode  for  miles  in  silence,  or  strove 
to  talk  upon  indifferent  subjects  ;  each  knowing  what  "was  pass- 
ing in  the  other's  mind,  and  afraid  to  bring  the  awful  question 
to  an  issue. 

On  their  arrival  at  home  the  boys  told  their  mother  of  Gene- 
ral Braddock's  offer.  "  I  knew  it  must  happen,"  she  said  ,  '"at 
such  a  crisis  in   the   country  our  family  must  come  forward 


THE   V/RGnVIA.VS.  65 

Have  3^ou — have  you  settled  yet  which  of  you  is  to  leave  me  ?" 
and  she  looked  anxiously  from  one  to  another,  dreading  to  hear 
either  name. 

"  The  youngest  ought  to  go,  mother  ;  of  course  I  ought  to 
go  !"  cries  Harry  turning  very  red, 

"Of  course,  he  ought,"  said  Mrs,  Mountain,  who  was  pres- 
ent at  their  talk. 

"There!  Mountain  says  so  !  1  told  you  so ! "  again  cries 
Harry,  with  a  sidelong  look  at  George. 

"The  head  of  the  family  ought  to  go,  mother,"  says  George, 
sadly. 

"  No  !  no !  you  are  ill,  and  have  never  recovered  your  fever. 
Ought  he  to  go,  Mountain ,?  " 

"  You  would  make  the  best  soldier,  I  know  that,  dearest 
Hal.  You  and  George  Washington  are  great  friends,  and  could 
travel  well  together,  and  he  does  not  care  for  me,  nor  I  for  him, 
however  much  he  is  admired  m  the  family.  But,  you  see,  'tis 
the  law  of  Honor,  my  Harry."  (He  here  spoke  to  his  brother 
with  a  voice  of  extraordinary  kindness  and  tenderness.)  "  The 
grief  I  have  had  in  this  matter  has  been  that  I  must  refuse  thee. 
I  must  go.  Had  Fate  given  you  the  benefit  of  that  extra  half- 
hour  of  life  which  I  have  had  before  you,  it  would  have  been 
your  lot,  and  you  would  have  claimed  your  right  to  go  first,  you 
know. you  would." 

"Yes,  George,"  said  poor  Harry,  "I  own  I  should." 

"  You  will  stay  at  home,  and  take  care  of  Castlewood  and 
our  mother.  If  anything  happens  to  me,  you  are  here  to  fill 
my  place.  I  would  like  to  give  way,  my  dear,  as  you,  I  know, 
would  lay  down  your  life  to  serve  me.  But  each  of  us  must  do 
his  duty.     What  would  our  grandfather  say  if  he  were  here  ?  " 

The  mother  looked  proudly  at  her  two  sons.  "  My  papa 
would  say  that  his  boys  were  gentlemen,"  faltered  Madam 
Esmond,  and  left  the  3^oung  men,  not  choosing,  perhaps,  to 
show  the  emotion  which  was  filling  her  heart.  It  was  speedily 
known  amongst  the  servants  that  Mr.  George  was  going  on  the 
campaign.  Dinah,  George's  fostermother,  was  loud  in  her 
lamentations  at  losing  him  ;  Phillis,  Harry's  old  nurse,  was  as 
noisy  because  Master  George,  as  usual,  was  preferred  over 
Master  Harry.  Sad)^,  George's  servant,  made  preparations  to 
follow  his  master,  bragging  incessantly  of  the  deeds  which  he 
would  do  ;  while  Gumbo,  Harry's  boy,  pretended  to  whimper 
at  being  left  behind,  though,  at  home,  Gumbo  was  anything  but 
a  fire-eater. 

5 


56  THE   VTRGFNIANS. 

But,  of  all  in  the  house,  Mrs.  Mountain  was  the  most  angry 
at  George's  determination  to  go  on  the  campaign.  She  had  no 
patience  with  him.  He  did  not  know  what  he  was  doing  by 
leaving  home.  She  begged,  implored,  insisted  that  he  should 
alter  his  determination  ,  and  voted  that  nothing  but  mischief 
would  come  from  his  departure. 

George  was  surprised  at  the  pertinacity  of  the  good  lady's 
opposition..  "I  know,  Mountain,"  said  he,  "that  Harry  would 
be  the  better  soldier;  but,  after  all,  to  go  is  my  duty." 

"  To  stay  is  your  duty  !  "  says  Mountain,  with  a  stamp  of 
her  foot, 

"  Why  did  not  my  mother  own  it  when  we  talked  of  the 
matter  just  now  ?  " 

"Your  mother  !  "  says  Mrs.  Mountain,  with  a  most  gloomy, 
sardonic  laugh  ;  "your  mother,  my  poor  child  !  " 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  that  mournful  countenance, 
Mountain  ?  " 

"  It  may  be  that  your  mother  wishes  you  away,  George  !  " 
Mrs.  Mountain  continued,  wagging  her  head.  "It  may  be,  my 
poor  deluded  boy,  that  you  will  find  a  father-in-law  when  you 
come  back." 

"What  in  heaven  do  you  mean  ?  "  cried  George,  the  blood 
rushing  into  his  face. 

"  Do  you  suppose  I  have  no  eyes,  and  cannot  see  what  is 
going  on  ?  I  tell  you,  child,  that  Colonel  Washington  wants  a 
rich  wife.  When  you  are  gone,  he  will  ask  your  mother  to 
marry  him,  and  you  will  find  him  master  here  when  you  come 
back  That  is  why  you  ought  not  to  go  away,  you  poor,  un- 
happy, simple  boy  !  Don't  you  see  how  fond  she  is  of  him  ? 
how  much  she  makes  of  him  ?  how  she  is  always  holding  him 
up  to  you,  to  Harry,  to  everybody  who  comes  here  ? " 

"  But  he  is  going  on  the  campaign,  too,"  cried  George. 

"  He  is  going  on  the  marrying  campaign,  child  !  "  insisted 
the  widow. 

"Nay;  General  Braddock  himself  told  me  that  Mr.  Wash- 
ington had  accepted  the  appointment  of  aide-de-camp." 

"  An  artiiice  !  an  artifice  to  blind  you,  my  poor  child  !  " 
cries  Mountain.  "  He  will  be  wounded  and  come  back — you 
will  see  if  he  does  not.  I  have  proofs  of  what  I  say  to  you — 
proofs  under  his  own  hand— look  here  !  "  And  she  took  from 
her  pocket  a  piece  of  paper  in  Mr.  Washington's  well-known 
handwriting. 

"How  came  you  by  this  paper.?"  asked  George,  turning 
ghastly  pale. 


THE  VIRGINIANS. 


67 


"  I — I  found  it  in  the  Major's  chamber !  "  says  Mrs.  Moun- 
tain, with  a  shamefaced  look. 

"  You  read  the  private  letters  of  a  guest  sta3'ing  in  our 
house?"  cried  George.  "  For  shame !  Iwill  not  look  at  the 
paper  !  "     And  he  flung  it  from  him  on  the  fire  before  him. 

"  I  could  not  help  it,  George  ;  'twas  by  chance,  I  give  you 
my  word,  by  the  merest  chance.  You  know  Governor  Din- 
widdle is  to  have  the  Major's  room,  and  the  state-room  is  got 
ready  for  Mr.  Braddock,  and  we  are  expecting  ever  so  much 
company,  and  I  had  to  take  the  things  which  the  Major  leaves 
here — he  treats  the  house  just  as  if  it  were  his  own  already — 
into  his  new  room,  and  this  half  sheet  of  paper  fell  out  of  his 
writing-book,  and  I  just  gave  one  look  at  it  by  the  merest 
chance,  and  when  I  saw  what  it  was  it  was  my  duty  to  read  it." 

"  Oh,  you  are  a  martyr  to  duty,  Mountain  !  "  George  said 
grimly.  "  I  dare  say  Mrs.  Bluebeard  thought  it  was  her  duty 
to  look  through  the  keyhole.." 

"  I  never  did  look  through  the  keyhole,  George.  It's  a 
shame  you  should  say  so  !  I,  who  have  watched  and  tended, 
and  nursed  you,  like  a  mother  ;  who  have  sat  up  whole  weeks 
with  you  in  fevers,  and  carried  you  from  your  bed  to  the  sofa 
in  these  arms.  There,  sir,  I  don't  want  you  there  now.  My 
dear  Mountain,  indeed  !  Don't  tell  me  !  You  fly  into  a 
passion,  and  call  names,  and  wound  my  feelings,  who  have 
loved  you  like  your  mother — like  your  mother  ? — I  only  hope 
she  may  love  you  half  as  well.  I  say  you  are 'all  ungrateful. 
My  Mr.  Mountain  was  a  wretch,  and  every  one  of  you  is  as 
bad." 

There  was  but  a  smouldering  log  or  two  in  the  fire-place, 
and  no  doubt  31ountain  sav/  that  the  paper  was  in  no  danger 
as  it  lay  amongst  the  ashes,  or  she  would  have  seized  it  at  the 
risk  of  burning  her  own  fingers,  and  ere  she  uttered  the  above 
passionate  defence  of  her  conduct.  Perhaps  George  was  ab- 
sorbed in  his  dismal  thoughts  ;  perhaps  his  jealousy  over- 
powered him,  for  he  did  not  resist  any  further  when  she  stooped 
down  and  picked  up  the  paper. 

"  You  should  thank  your  stars,  child,  that  I  saved  the 
letter,"  cried  she.  "  See  !  here  are  his  own  words,  in  his  great 
bi;j  handwritins:  like  a  clerk.  It  was  not  mv  fault  that  he  wrote 
them,  or  that  1  found  them.  Read  for  yourself,  I  say,  George 
Warrington,  and  be  thankful  that  your  poor  dear  old  Mounty 
is  watching  over  you  !  " 

Every  word  and  letter  upon  the  unlucky  paper  was  perfectly 
clear.     George's  eyes  could  not  help  taking  in  the  contents  of 


68  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

the  document  before  him.  "  Not  a  word  of  this,  jNIoimtain," 
he  said,  giving  her  a  frightful  look.  "  I — I  will  return  this 
paper  to  Mr.  Washington." 

Mountain  was  scared  at  his  face,  at  the  idea  of  what  she 
had  done,  and  what  might  ensue.  When  his  mother,  with 
alarm  in  her  countenance,  asked  him  at  dinner  what  ailed  him 
that  he  looked  so  pale  ?  "  Do  you  suppose,  Madam,"  says  he, 
filling  himself  a  great  bumper  of  wine,  "  that  to  leave  such  a 
tender  mother  as  you  does  not  cause  me  cruel  grief  ?  " 

The  good  lady  could  not  understand  his  words,  his  strange, 
fierce  looks,  and  stranger  laughter.  He  bantered  all  at  the 
table;  called  to  the  servants  and  laughed  at  them,  and  drank 
more  and  more.  Each  time  the  door  was  opened,  he  turned 
towards  it ;  and  so  did  Mountain,  with  a  guilty  notion  that  Mr. 
Washington  would  step  in. 


CHAPTER  Vni. 

IN    WHICH    GEORGE    SUFFERS    FROM    A    COMMON    DISEASE. 

On  the  day  appointed  for  Madam  Esmond's  entertainment 
to  the  General,  (he  house  of  Castlewood  was  set  out  with  the 
greatest  splendor ;  and  Madam  Esmond  arrayed  herself  in  a 
much  more  magnificent  dress  than  she  was  accustomed  to  wear. 
Indeed,  she  wished  to  do  every  honor  to  her  guest,  and  to 
make  the  entertainment — which,  in  reality,  was  a  sad  one  to 
her — as  pleasant  as  might  be  for  her  company.  The  General's 
new  aide-de-camp  was  the  first  to  arrive.  The  widow  received 
him  in  the  covered  gallery  before  the  house.  He  dismounted 
at  the  steps,  and  his  servants  led  away  his  horses  to  the  well- 
known  quarters.  No  young  gentleman  in  the  colony  was  better 
mounted  or  a  better  horseman  than  j\lr.  Washington. 

For  awhile  ere  the  Colonel  retired  to  divest  himself  of  his 
riding-boots,  he  and  his  hostess  paced  the  gallery  in  talk.  She 
had  much  to  say  to  him  ;  she  had  to  hear  from  him  a  confirma- 
tion of  his  own  appointment  as  aide-de-camp  to  General  Brad- 
dock,  and  to  speak  of  her  son's  approaching  departure.  The 
negro-servants  bearing  the  dishes  for  the  approaching  feast 
were  passing  perpetually  as  they  talked.  They  descended  the 
steps  down  to  the  rough  lawn  in  front  of  the  house,  and  paced 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


69 


awhile  in  the  shade.  Mr.  Washington  announced  his  Excel- 
lency's speedy  approach,  with  Mr.  Franklin  of  Pennsylvania, 
in  his  coach. 

This  Mr.  Franklin  had  been  a  common  printer's  boy,  Mrs. 
Esmond  had  heard  ;  a  pretty  pass  things  were  coming  to  when 
such  persons  rode  in  the  coach  of  the  Commander-in  Chief  ! 
Mr.  Washington  said,  a  more  shrewd  and  sensible  gentleman 
never  rode  in  coach  or  walked  on  foot.  Mrs.  Esmond  thought 
the  Colonel  was  too  liberally  disposed  towards  this  gentleman  ; 
but  Mr.  Washington  stoutly  maintained  against  the  widow  that 
the  printer  was  a  most  ingenious,  useful  and  meritorious  man. 

"  I  am  glad,  at  least,  that,  as  my  boy  is  going  to  make  the 
campaign,  he  will  not  be  with  tra^lesmen,  but  with  gentlemen, 
with  gentlemen  of  honor  and  fashion,"  says  Madam  Esmond, 
in  her  most  stately  manner. 

Mr.  Washington  had  seen  the  gentlemen  of  honor  and 
fashion  over  their  cups,  and  perhaps  thought  that  all  their  say- 
ings and  doings  were  not  j^recisely  such  as  would  tend  to  instruct 
or  edify  a  young  man  on  his  entrance  into  life  ;  but  he  wisely 
chose  to  tell  no  tales  out  of  school,  and  said  that  Harry  and 
George,  now  they  were  coming  into  the  world,  must  take  their 
share  of  good  and  bad,  and  hear  what  both  sorts  had  to  say. 

"  To  be  with  a  veteran  officer  of  the  finest  army  in  the 
world,"  faltered  the  widow ;  "  with  gentlemen  who  have  been 
bred  in  the  midst  of  the  Court ;  with  friends  of  his  Royal  High- 
ness, the  Duke " 

The  widow's  friend  only  inclined  his  head.  He  did  not 
choose^  to  allow  his  countenance  to  depart  from  its  usual  hand- 
some gravity. 

"  And  with  you,  dear  Colonel  Washington,  by  whom  my 
father  always  set  such  store.  You  don't  know  how  much  he 
trusted  in  you.  You  will  take  care  of  my  boy,  sir,  will  not  you  ? 
You  are  but  five  years  older,  yet  I  trust  to  you  more  than  to 
his  seniors ;  my  father  always  told  the  children,  I  always  bade 
them,  to  look  up  to  Mr.  Washington." 

"  You  know  I  would  have  done  anything  to  win  Colonel 
Esmond  s  favor.  Madam,  how  much  would  I  not  venture  to 
merit  his  daughter's  ?  " 

The  gentleman  bowed  with  not  too  ill  a  grace.  The  lady 
blushed,  and  dropped  one  of  the  lowest  curtseys.  (Madam 
Esmond's  curtsey  was  considered  unrivalled  over  the  whole 
province.)  "Mr.  Washington,"  she  said,  "will  be  always  sure 
of  a  mother's  affection,  whilst  he  gives  so  much  of  his  to  her 
children."     And  so  saying  she  gave  him   her  hand,  which  he 


70  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

kissed  with  profound  politeness.  The  little  lady  presently  re- 
entered her  mansion,  leaning  upon  the  tall  young  officer's  arm. 
Here  they  were  joined  by  George,  who  came  to  them,  accu- 
rately powdered  and  richly  attired,  saluting  his  parent  and  his 
friend  alike  with  low  and  respectful  bows.  Now-a-days,  a  young 
man  walks  into  his  mother's  room  with  hob-nailed  high-lows, 
and  a  wide-awake  on  his  head  ;  and  instead  of  making  her 
a  bow,  puffs  a  cigar  into  her  face. 

But  George,  though  he  made  the  lowest  possible  bow  to  Mr. 
Washington  and  his  mother,  was  by  no  means  in  good  humor 
with  either  of  them.  A  polite  smile  played  round  the  lower 
part  of  his  countenance,  whilst  watchfulness  and  wrath  glared 
out  from  the  two  upjDcr  windo\>s.  What  had  been  said  or  done  ? 
Nothing  that  might  not  be  performed  or  uttered  before  the 
most  decent,  polite,  or  pious  company.  Why  then  should 
Madam  Esmond  continue  to  blush,  and  the  brave  Colonel  to 
look  somewhat  red,  as  he  shook  his  young  friend's  hand  ? 

The  Colonel  asked  Mr.  George  if  he  had  had  good  sport  ? 
"  No,"  says  George,  curtly.  "  Have  you  ?  "  And  then  he 
looked  at  the  picture  of  his  father,  which  hung  in  the  parlor. 

The  Colonel,  not  a  talkative  man  ordinaril)-,  straightway 
entered  into  a  long  description  of  his  sport,  and  described 
where  he  had  been  in  the  morning,  and  what  woods  he  had 
hunted  with  the  king's  officers  ;  how  many  birds  they  had  shot, 
and  what  game  they  had  brought  down.  Though  not  a  jocular 
man  ordinarily,  the  Colonel  made  a  long  description  of  Mr. 
Braddock's  heavy  person  and  great  boots,  as  he  floundered 
through  the  Virginian  woods,  hunting,  as  they  called  it,  with  a 
pack  of  dogs  gathered  from  various  houses,  with  a  pack  of 
negroes  barking  as  loud  as  the  dogs,  and  actually  shooting  the 
deer  when  they  came  in  sight  of  him.  "  Great  God,  sir  !  "  says 
Mr.  Braddock,  puffing  and  blowing,  "  what  would  Sir  Robert 
have  said  in  Norfolk,  to  see  a  man  hunting  with  a  fowling-piece 
in  his  hand,  and  a  pack  of  dogs  actually  laid  on  to  a  turkey  !  " 

"  Indeed,  Colonel,  you  are  vastly  comical  this  afternoon  !  " 
cries  Madam  Esmond,  with  a  neat  little  laugh,  whilst  her  son 
listened  to  the  stor\%  looking  more  glum  than  ever.  "  What 
Sir  Robert  is  there  at  Norfolk  ?  Is  he  one  of  the  newly  arrived 
army  gentlemen  ?  " 

"The  General  meant  Norfolk  at  home,  ]Madam,,not  Norfolk 
in  Virginia,"  said  Colonel  Washington.  "  Mr.  Braddock  had 
been  talking  of  a  visit  to  Sir  Robert  Walpole,  who  lived  in  that 
county,  and  of  the  great  hunts  the  old  :\Iinister  kept  there,  and 
of  his  grand  palace,  and  his  pictures  at  Houghton.     I  should 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  71 

like  to  see  a  good  field  and  a  good  fox-chase  at  home  better 
than  any  sight  in  the  world,"  the  honest  sportsman  added  with 
a  sigh. 

"  Nevertheless,  there  is  good  sport  here,  as  I  was  sa3dng," 
said  young  Esmond,  with  a  sneer. 

"  What  sport  ?  "  cries  the  other,  looking  at  him. 

"  Why,  sure  you  know,  without  looking  at  me  so  fiercely, 
and  stamping  your  foot,  as  if  you  were  going  to  charge  me  with 
the  foils.  Are  you  not  the  best  sportsman  of  the  country-side  ? 
Are  there  not  all  the  fish  of  the  field,  and  the  beasts  of  the 
trees,  and  the  fowls  of  the  sea — no — the  fish  of  the  trees,  and 
the  beasts  of  the  sea — and  the — bah  !  You  know  what  I  mean, 
I  mean  shad,  and  salmon,  .and  rockfish,  and  roe-deer,  and  hogs, 
and  buffaloes,  and  bisons,  and  elephants,  for  what  I  know. 
I'm  no  sportsman." 

"  No,  indeed,"  said  Mr.  Washington,  with  a  look  of  scarcely 
repressed  scorn. 

"  Yes,  I  understand  you.  I  am  a  milksop.  I  have  been 
bred  at  my  mamma's  knee.  Look  at  these  pretty  apron-strings, 
Colonel !  Who  would  not  like  to  be  tied  to  them  ?  See  of 
what  a  charming  color  they  are  !  I  remember  when  they  were 
black — that  was  for  my  grandfather." 

"And  who  would  not  mourn  for  such  a  gentleman  ?"  said 
the  Colonel,  as  the  widow,  surprised,  looked  at  her  son. 

"  And,  indeed,  I  wish  my  grandfather  were  here,  and  would 
resurge,  as  he  promises  to  do  on  his  tombstone  ;  and  would 
bring  my  father,  the  Ensign,  with  him." 

"  Ah,  Harry !  "  cries  Mrs.  Esmond,  bursting  into  tears,  as 
at  this  juncture  her  second  son  entered  the  room — in  just  such 
another  suit,  gold-corded  frock,  braided  waistcoat,  silver-hilted 
sword,  and  solitaire  as  that  which  his  elder  brother  wore.  "  Oh, 
Harry,  Harry  !  "  cries  Madam  Esmond,  and  flies  to  her  younger 
son.   , 

"What  is  it,  mother?  "  asks  Harry,  taking  her  in  his  arms. 
"  What  is  the  matter,  Colonel  ?  " 

"Upon  my  life,  it  would  puzzle  me  to  say,"  answered  the 
Colonel,  biting  his  lips. 

"  A  mere  question,  Hal,  about  pink  ribbons,  which  I  think 
vastly  becoming  to  our  mother;  as,  no  doubt,  the  Colonel 
does." 

"  Sir,  will  you  please  to  speak  for  yourself  1  "  cried  the 
Colonel,  bustling  up,  and  then  sinking  his  voice  again. 

"  He  speaks  too  much  for  himself,"  wept  the  widow. 

"  I  protest  I  don't  any  more  know  the  source  of  these  tears, 


72  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

than  the  source  of  the  Nile,"  said  George,  "  and  if  the  picture 
of  my  fatlier  were  to  begin  to  cry,  I  should  almost  as  much 
wonder  at  the  paternal  tears.  What  have  I  uttered  ?  An  allu- 
sion to  ribbons  !  Is  there  some  poisoned  pin  in  them,  which 
has  been  stuck  into  my  mother's  heart  by  a  guilty  fiend  of  a 
London  mantua-maker  ?  I  professed  to  wish  to  be  led  in  these 
lovely  reins  all  my  life  long,"  and  he  turned  a  pirouette  on  his 
scarlet  heels. 

"  George  \\'arrington  !  what  devil's  dance  are  you  dancing 
now?"  asked  Harry,  who  loved  his  mother,  who  loved  Mr. 
Washington,  but  who,  of  all  creatures,  loved  and  admired  his 
brother  George. 

"  My  dear  child,  you  do  not  understand  dancing — you  care 
not  for  the  politer  arts — you  can  get  no  more  music  out  of  a 
spinnet  than  by  jDulling  a  dead  hog  by  the  ear.  By  nature  you 
were  made  for  a  man — a  man  of  w^ar — I  do  not  mean  a  seventy- 
four,  Colonel  George,  like  that  hulk  wdiich  brought  the  hulking 
Mr.  Braddocl^  into  our  river.  His  Excellency,  too,  is  a  man  of 
warlike  turn,  a  follower  of  the  sports  of  the  field.  I  am  a  milk- 
sop, as  I  have  had  the  honor  to  say." 

"You  never  showed  it  yet.  You  beat  that  great  Maryland 
man  was  twice  your  size,"  breaks  out  Harry. 

"  Under  compulsion,  Harry.  'Tis  tiipto,  my  lad,  or  else  'tis 
tuptomai,  as  thy  breech  well  knew  when  we  follow^ed  school. 
But  I  am  of  a  quiet  turn,  and  would  never  lift  my  hand  to  pull 
a  trigger,  no,  nor  a  nose,  nor  anything  but  a  rose,"  and  here  he 
took  and  handled  one  of  Madam  Esmond's  bright  pink  apron 
ribbons.  "  I  hate  sporting,  wdiich  you  and  the  Colonel  love, 
and  I  want  to  shoot  nothing  alive,  not  a  turkey,  nor  a  titmouse, 
nor  an  ox,  nor  an  ass,  nor  anything  that  has  ears.  Those  curls 
of  Mr.  Washington's  are  prettily  powdered." 

The  militia  colonel,  who  had  been  offended  by  the  first  part 
of  the  talk,  and  very  much  puzzled  by  the  last,  had  taken  a 
modest  draught  from  the  great  china  bowl  of  apple  toddy  which 
stood  to  w^elcome  the  guests  in  this  as  in  all  Virginian  houses, 
and  was  further  cooling  himself  by  pacing  the  balcony  in  a 
very  stately  manner. 

Again  almost  reconciled  with  the  elder,  the  appeased  mother 
stood  giving  a  hand  to  each  of  her  sons.  George  put  his  dis- 
engaged hand  on  Harry's  shoulder.  "  I  say  one  thing,  George," 
says  he  with  a  flushing  face. 

"  Say  twenty  things,  Don  Enrico,"  cries  the  other. 
'  If  you  are  not  fond  of  sporting  and  that,  and  don't  care  for 
killing  game  and  hunting,  being  cleverer  than  me,  w^hy  shouldst 


THE   VTRGTNIANS.  73 

thou  not  stop  at  home  and  be  quiet,  and  let  me  go  out  with 
Colonel  George  and  Mr.  Braddock  ? — that's  what  I  say,"  says 
Harry,  delivering  himself  of  his  s^Deech. 

The  widow  looked  eagerly  from  the  dark-haired  to  the  fair- 
haired  boy.     She  knew  not  from  which  she  would  like  to  part. 

One  of  our  family  must  go  because  honneur  oblige,  and  my 
name  being  number  one,  number  one  must  go  first,"  says 
George. 

"Told  you  so,"  said  poor  Harry. 

"  One  must  stay,  or  who  is  to  look  after  mother  at  home  ? 
We  cannot  afford  to  be  both  scalped  by  Indians  or  fricasseed 
by  French." 

"  Fricasseed  by  French  !  "  cries  Harry  ;  "  the  best  troops  of 
the  world.  Englishmen  !  I  should  like  to  see  them  fricasseed 
by  the  French  !  What  a  mortal  thrashing  you  will  give  them  !  " 
and  the  brave  lad  sighed  to  think  he  should  not  be  present  at 
the  battue. 

George  sat  down  to  the  harpsichord  and  played  and  sang 
"  Malbrook  s'en  va  t'en  guerre  Mironton  mironton  mirontaine," 
at  the  sound  of  which  music  the  gentleman  from  the  balcony 
entered.  "  I  am  playing  'God  save  the  King,'  Colonel,  in  com- 
pliment to  the  new  expedition."  '  • 

"  I  never  know  whether  thou  art  laughing  or  in  earnest," 
said  the  simple  gentleman,  "  but  surely  methinks  that  is  not  the 
air." 

George  performed  ever  so  many  trills  and  quavers  upon  his 
harpsichord,  and  their  guest  watched  him,  wondering,  perhaps, 
that  a  gentleman  of  George's  condition  could  set  himself  to  such 
an  effeminate  business.  Then  the  Colonel  took  out  his  watch, 
saying  that  his  Excellency's  coach  would  be  here  almost  imme- 
diately, and  asking  leave  to  retire  to  his  apartment,  and  put 
himself  in  a  fit  condition  to  appear  before  her  ladyship's  com- 
pany. 

"  Colonel  Washington  knows  the  way  to  his  room  pretty 
well !  "  said  George,  from  the  harpischord,  looking  over  his 
shoulder,  but  never  offering  to  stir. 

"  Let  me  show  the  Colonel  to  his  chamber,"  cried  the  widow, 
in  greath  wrath,  and  sailed  out  of  the  apartment,  followed  by 
the  enraged  and  bewildered  Colonel,  as  George  continued 
crashing  among  the  keys.  Her  high-spirited  guest  felt  him- 
self insulted,  he  could  hardly  say  how  ;  he  w'as  outraged  and  he 
could  not  speak  ;  he  was  almost  stifling  with  anger. 

Harry  Warrington  remarked  their  friend's  condition.  "  For 
heaven's  sake,  George,  what  does  this  all  mean  ?  "  he  asked  his 


y4  THE  VIRGINIANS. 

brother.  "  Why  shouldn't  he  kiss  her  hand  ?  "  (George  had 
just  before  fetclied  out  his  brother  from  their  Ubrary,  to  watch 
this  harmless  salute.)  "  I  tell  you  it  is  nothing  but  common 
kindness." 

"  Nothing  but  common  kindness  !  ''  shrieked  out  George. 
"  Look  at  that,  Hal  !  Is  that  common  kindness  ? "  and  he 
showed  his  junior  the  unlucky  paper  over  which  he  had  been 
brooding  for  some  time.  It  was  but  a  fragment^  though  the 
meaning  was  indeed  clear  without  the  preceding  text. 

The  paper  commenced  ..."?>  older  than  myself^  but  I, 
again,  am  older  thaji  my  years  ;  and  you  kfioia,  dear  brother,  have 
ever  been  considered  a  sober  person.  All  children  are  better  for  a 
father's  superinte?idence,  aiid  her  two,  I  trust,  will  fi?id  in  me  a 
tejider  friend  and  guard ian^ 

"  Friend  and  guardian  !  Curse  him  !  "  shrieked  out  George, 
clenching  his  fists — and  his  brother  read  on  : 

"...  The  flattering  offer  which  General  Braddock  hath  made 
me,  will,  of  course,  oblige  me  to  postpone  this  matter  until  after  the 
campaign.  When  7ve  have  given  the  French  a  sufficient  drubbing, 
I  shall  return  to  I'cpose  under  niy  own  vi7ie  and  fig-tree.'''' 

"  He  means  Castlewood.  These  are  his  vines,"  George 
criSs  again,  shaking  his  fist  at  the  creepers  sunning  themselves 
on  the  wall. 

"...  Under  7)iy  own  vine  and  fig-tree  ;  where  I  hope  soon  to 
p?'esent  my  dear  brother  to  his  fiew  sister-in-law.  She  has  a  pretty 
Scripture  name,  which  is  .  .  .  " — and  here  the  document  ended. 

"  Which  is  Rachel,"  George  went  on  bitterly.  "  Rachel  is 
by  no  means  weeping  for  her  children,  and  has  every  desire  to 
be  comforted.  Now,  Harry  !  Let  us  up  stairs  at  once,  kneel 
down  as  becomes  us,  and  say,  '  Dear  papa,  welcome  to  your 
house  of  Castlewood.'  " 


CHAPTER  IX. 

HOSPITALITIES. 

His  Excellenxy  the  Commander-in-Chief  set  forth  to  pay 
his  visit  to  Madam  Esmond  in  such  a  state  and  splendor  as 
became  the  first  personage  in  all  his  Majesty's  colonies,  plan- 
v'ations,  and  possessions  oL  North  America.  His  guard  of 
dragoons  preceded  him  out  of  \\'illiamsburg  in  the  midst  of  an 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  7^ 

immense  shouting  and  yelling  of  a  royal,  and  principally  negro, 
populajon.  The  General  rode  in  his  own  coach.  Captain 
Talmadge,  his  Excellency's  Master  of  the  Horse,  attended 
him  at  the  door  of  the  ponderous  emblazoned  vehicle,  riding 
by  the  side  of  the  carriage  during  the  journey  from  Williams- 
burg to  Madam  Esmond's  house.  Major  Danvers,  aide-de- 
camp, sat  in  the  front  of  the  carriage  with  the  little  jDOstmaster 
from  Philadelphia,  Mr.  Franklin,  who,  printer's  boy  as  he  had 
been,  was  a  wonderful  shrewd  person,  as  his  Excellency  and 
the  gentlemen  of  his  family  were  fain  to  acknowledge,  having  a 
quantity  of  the  most  curious  information  respecting  the  colony, 
and  regarding  England  too,  where  Mr.  Franklin  had  been  more 
than  once.  "  'Twas  extraordinary  how  a  person  of  such  hum- 
ble origin  should  have  acquired  such  a  variety  of  learning  and 
such  a  politeness  of  breeding  too,  Mr.  Franklin  !  "  his  Excel- 
lency was  pleased  to  observe,  touching  his  hat  graciously  to 
the  postmaster. 

The  postmaster  bowed,  said  it  had  been  his  occasional 
good  fortune  to  fall  into  the  company  of  gentlemen  like  his 
Excellency,  and  that  he  had  taken  advantage  of  his  opportunity 
to  study  their  honor's  manners,  and  adapt  himself  to  them  as 
far  as  he  might.  As  for  education,  he  could  not  boast  much 
of  that — his  father  being  but  in  straitened  circumstances,  and 
the  advantages  small  in  his  native  country  of  New  England  : 
but  he  had  done  to  the  utmost  of  his  power,  and  gathered 
what  he  could — he  knew  nothinsf  like  what  thev  had  in  Ensjland 

Mr.  Braddock  burst  out  laughing,  and  said,  "  As  for  educa- 
tion, there  were  gentlemen  of  the  army,  by  George,  who  didn't 
know  whether  they  should  spell  bull  with  two  b's  or  one.  He 
had  heard  the  Duke  of  Marlborough  was  no  special  good  pen- 
man. He  had  not  the  honor  of  serving  under  that  noble  com- 
mander— his  Grace  was  before  his  time — but  he  thrashed  the 
French  soundly,  although  he  was  no  scholar." 

Mr.  Franklin  said  he  was  aware  of  both  those  facts. 

"  Nor  is  my  Duke  a  scholar,"  went  on  Mr.  Braddock — "  aha, 
Mr.  Postmaster,  you  have  heard  that,  too — I  see  by  the  wink 
in  your  eye." 

Mr.  Franklin  instantly  withdrew  the  obnoxious  or  satirical 
wink  in  his  eye,  and  looked  into  the  General's  jolly  round  face 
with  a  pair  of  orbs  as  innocent  as  a  baby's.  "  He's  no  scholar, 
but  he  is  a  match  for  any  French  general  that  ever  swallowed 
the  English  for  p-icassee  de  capaud.  He  saved  the  crown  for 
the  best  of  kings,  his  royal  father,  his  Most  Gracious  ]\lajesty 
King  George." 


76 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


Off  went  Mr.  Franklin's  hat,  and- from  his  large  buckled 
wig  escaped  a  great  halo  of  powder. 

"  He  is  the  soldier's  best  friend,  and  has  been  the  uncom- 
promising enemy  of  all  beggarly  red-shanked  Scotch  rebels  and 
intriguing  Romish  Jesuits  who  would  take  our  liberty  from  us, 
and  our  religion  by  George.  His  royal  highness,  my  gracious, 
master,  is  not  a  scholar  neither,  but  he  is  one  of  the  finest  gen- 
tlemen in  the  world." 

"  I  have  seen  his  royal  highness  on  horseback,  at  a  review 
of  the  Guards,  in  Hyde  Park,"  says  Mr.  Franklin.  "  The  Duke 
is  indeed  a  very  fine  gentleman  on  horseback." 

"  You  shall  drink  his  health  to-day.  Postmaster.  He  is  the 
best  of  masters,  the  best  of  friends,  the  best  of  sons  to  his  royal 
old  father ;  the  best  of  gentlemen  that  ever  wore  an  epaulet." 

"  Epaulets  are  quite  out  of  my  way,  sir,"  says  Mr.  Franklin, 
laughing.     "  You  know  I  live  in  a  Quaker  city." 

"  Of  course  they  are  out  of  your  way,  my  good  friend. 
Every  man  to  his  business.  You,  and  gentlemen  of  your  class, 
to  )^our  books,  and  welcome.  We  don't  forbid  you ;  we  en- 
courage you.  \\'e,  to  fight  the  enemy  and  govern  the  country. 
Hey,  gentlemen  ?  Lord  !  wdiat  roads  you  have  in  this  colony, 
and  how  this  confounded  coach  plunges  !  Who  have  we  here, 
wdth  the  two  negro  boys  in  livery  ?     He  rides  a  good  gelding." 

"  It  is  Mr.  Washington,"  says  the  aide-de-camp. 

"  I  would  like  him  for  a  coriDoral  of  the  Horse  Grenadiers," 
said  the  general.  "  Fie  has  a  good  figure  on  a  horse.  He 
knows  the  country  too,  Mr.  Franklin." 

"Yes,  indeed." 

"  And  is  a  monstrous  genteel  young  man,  considering  the 
opportunities  he  has  had.  I  should  have  thought  he  had  the 
polish  of  Europe,  by  George  I  should." 

"  He  does  his  best,"  says  Mr.  Franklin,  looking  innocently 
at  the  stout  chief,  the  exempler  of  English  elegance,  who  sat 
swagging  from  one  side  to  the  other  of  the  carriage,  his  face 
was  scarlet  as  his  coat — swearing  at  every  word  ;  ignorant  on 
ever}^  point  of  parade,  except  the  merits  of  a  bottle  and  the 
looks  of  a  woman  ;  not  of  high  birth,  yet  absurdly  proud  of  his 
no-ancestry ;  brave  as  a  bull-dog ;  savage,  lustful,  prodigal, 
generous  ;  gentle  in  soft  moods  ;  easy  of  love  and  laughter ; 
dull  of  wit ;  utterly  unread  ;  believing  his  country  the  first  in 
the  world,  and  he  as  good  a  gentleman  as  any  in  it.  "  Yes,  he 
is  mighty  well  for  a  provincial,  upon  my  word.  He  was  beat 
at  Fort  Wliat-d'ye-call-'um  last  year,  down  by  the  Thingamy 
River.     What's  the  name  on't,  Talmadge  ?  " 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


77 


"The  Lord  knows,  sir,"  says  Talmadge  ;  "and  I  dare  say 
the  Postmaster,  too,  who  is  laughing  at  us  both." 

"  Oh,  Captain  !  " 

"  Was  caught  in  a  regular  trap.  He  had  only  militia  and 
Indians  with  him.  Good-day,  Mr.  Washington.  A  pretty  nag, 
sir.     That  was  your  first  affair,  last  year  ?  " 

"That  at  Fort  Necessity?  Yes,  sir,"  said  the  gentleman, 
gravely  saluting,  as  he  rode  up,  followed  by  a  couple  of  natty 
negro  grooms,  in  smart  livery  coats  and  velvet  hunting-caps. 
"  I  began  ill,  sir,  never  having  been  in  action  until  that  unlucky 
day." 

"  You  were  all  raw  levies,  my  good  fellow.  You  should 
have  seen  our  militia  run  from  the  Scotch,  and  be  cursed  to 
them.     You  should  have  had  some  troops  with  you." 

"  Your  Excellency  knows  'tis  my  passionate  desire  to  see 
and  serve  with  them,"  said  Mr.  Washington. 

"  By  George,  we  shall  try  and  gratif}"  you,  sir,"  said  the 
General,  with  one  of  his  usual  huge  oaths  ;  and  on  the  heavy 
carriage  rolled  towards  Castlewood  ;  Mr.  Washington  asking 
leave  to  gallop  on  ahead,  in  order  to  announce  his  Excellency's 
speedy  arrival  to  the  lady  there. 

The  progress  of  the  Commander-in-Chief  was  so  slow  that 
several  humbler  persons  who  were  invited  to  meet  his  Excel- 
lency came  up  with  his  carriage,  and,  not  liking  to  pass  the 
great  man  on  the  road,  formed  quite  a  procession  in  the  dusty 
wake  of  his  chariot-wheels.  First  came  Mr.  Dinwiddle,  the 
Lieutenant-Govenor  of  his  Majesty's  province,  attended  by  his 
negro-servants,  and  in  company  of  Parson  Broadbent,  the  jolly 
Williamsburg  chaplain.  These  were  presently  joined  by  little 
Mr.  Dempster,  the  young  gentleman's  schoolmaster,  in  his 
great  Ramillies  wig,  which  he  kept  for  occasions  of  state. 
Anon  appeared  Mr.  Laws,  the  judge  of  the  court,  with  Madam 
Laws  on  a  pillion  behind  him,  and  their  negro  man  carrying  a 
box  containing  her  ladj'ship's  cap,  and  bestriding  a  mule.  The 
procession  looked  so  ludicrous,  that  Major  Danvers  and  Mr, 
Franklin  espying  it,  laughed  outright,  though  not  so  loud  as  to 
disturb  his  Excellency,  who  was  asleep  by  this  time,  bade  the 
whole  of  this  queer  rear-guard  move  on,  and  leave  the  Com- 
mander-in-Chief and  his  escort  of  dragoons  to  follow  at  their 
leisure.  There  was  room  for  all  at  Castlewood  when  they 
came.  There  was  meat,  drink,  and  the  best  tobacco  for  his 
Majesty's  soldiers  :  and  laughing  and  jollity  for  the  negroes  j 
and  a  plenteous  welcome  for  their  masters. 

The  honest  General  required  to  be  helped  to  most   dishos 


7S 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


at  the  table,  and  more  than  once,  and  was  for  ever  holding  out 
his  glass  for  drink  ;  Nathan's  sangaree  he  pronounced  to  be 
excellent,  and  had  drunk  largely  of  it  on  arriving  before  dinner. 
There  was  cider,  ale,  brandy,  and  plenty  of  good  Bordeaux  wine, 
some  which  Colqnel  Esmond  himself  had  brought  home  with 
him  to  the  colony,  and  which  was  fit  for  pojitceficis  cosjiis,  said 
little  Mr.  Dempster,  with  a  wink  to  Mr.  Eroadbent,  the  clergyman 
of  the  adjoining  parish.  Mr.  Broadbent  returned  the  wink 
and  nod,  and  drank  the  wine  without  caring  about  the  Latin, 
as  why  should  he,  never  having  hitherto  troubled  himself 
about  the  language  ?  Mr.  Broadbent  was  a  gambling,  guz- 
zling, cock-iighting  divine,  who  had  passed  much  time  in  the 
Fleet  Prison,  at  Newmarket,  at  Hockley  in  the  Hole ;  and 
havins:  gone  of  all  sorts  of  errands  for  his  friends.  Lord 
Cinqbars,  Lord  Rmgwood's  son  (my  lady  Cinqbars's  waiting- 
woman  being  Mrs.  B.'s  mother — I  dare  say  the  modern  reader 
had  best  not  be  too  particular  regarding  Mr.  Broadbent's 
father's  pedigree),  had  been  of  late  sent  out  to  a  church-living 
in  Virginia.  He  and  young  Harry  had  fought  many  a  match 
of  cocks  together,  taken  many  a  roe  in  company,  hauled  in 
countless  quantities  of  shad  and  salmon,  slain  wild  geese  and 
wild  swans,  pigeons,  and  plovers,  and  destroyed  myriads  of 
canvas-backed  ducks.  It  was  said  by  the  envious  that  Broad- 
bent was  the  midnight  poacher  on  whom  Mr.  Washington  set 
his  dogs,  and  whom  he  caned  by  the  river  side  at  Mount 
Vernon.  The  fellow  got  away  from  his  captor's  grip,  and 
scrambled  to  his  boat  in  the  dark  ;  but  Broadbent  was  laid  up 
for  two  Sundays  afterwards,  and  when  he  came  abroad  again 
had  the  evident  remains  of  a  black  eye,  and  a  new  collar  to 
his  coat.  All  the  games  at  the  cards  had  Harry  Esmond  and 
Parson  Broadbent  played  together,  besides  hunting  all  the 
birds  in  the  air,  the  beasts  in  the  forest,  and  the  fish  of  the 
sea.  Indeed,  when  the  boys  rode  together  to  get  their  read- 
ing with  Mr.  Dempster,  I  suspect  that  Hairry  stayed  behind 
and  took  lessons  from  the  other  professor  of  European  learning 
and  accomplishments,  —  George  going  his  own  way,  reading 
his  own  books,  and,  of  course,  telling  no  tales  of  his  younger 
brother. 

All  the  birds  of  the  Virginia  air,  and  all  the  fish  of  the  sea 
in  season  were  here  laid  on  Madam  Esmond's  board  to  feed 
his  Excellency  and  the  rest  of  the  English  and  American  gen- 
tlemen. The  gumbo  was  declared  to  be  perfection  (young  Mr. 
Harry's  black  servant  was  named  after,  this  dish,  being  discov- 
ered behind  the  door  with  his  head  in  a  bowl  of  this  delicious 


THE  VIRGINIANS.  7^ 

hotch-potch  by  the  late  Colonel,  and  grimly  christened  on  the 
spot),  the  shad  were  rich  and  fresh,  the  stewed  terrapins  were 
worthy  of  London  aldermen  (before  George,  he  would  like  the 
Duke  himself  to  taste  them,  his  Excellency  deigned  to  say), 
and  indeed,  stev\"ed  terrapins  are  worthy  of  any  duke  or  even 
emperor.  The  negro-women  have  a  genius  for  cooker}^  and 
in  Castlewood  kitchens  there  were  adejDts  in  the  art  brought 
up  under  the  keen  eye  of  the  late  and  the  present  Madame 
Esmond.  Certain  of  the  dishes,  and  especially  the  sweets 
and  flajis,  ]\Iadame  Esmond  prepared  herself  with  great 
neatness  and  dexterity  ;  carving  several  of  the  principal  pieces, 
as  the  kindly  cumbrous  fashion  of  the  day  was,  putting  up 
the  laced  lappets  of  her  sleeves,  and  showing  the  prettiest 
round  arms  and  small  hands  and  wrists  as  she  performed  this 
ancient  rite  of  hospitality  not  so  languid  as  ours.  The  old 
law  of  the  table  was  that  the  mistress  was  to  press  her  guests 
with  a  decent  eagerness,  to  watch  and  see  whom  she  could 
encourage  to  farther  enjoyment,  to  know  culinary  anatomic 
secrets,  and  execute  carving  operations  upon  fowls,  fish,  game, 
joints  of  meat,  and  so  forth ;  to  cheer  her  guests  to  fresh 
efforts,  to  whisper  her  neighbor,  Mr.  Braddock  :  "  I  have  kept 
for  your  Excellency  the  jowl  of  this  salmon. — I  will  take  no 
denial  !  Mr.  Franklin,  you  drink  only  water,  sir,  though  our 
cellar  has  wholesome  wine  which  gives  no  headaches. — Mr. 
Justice,  you  love  woodcock  pie  }  " 

"  Because  I  know  who  makes  the  pastry,"  says  Mr.  Laws, 
the  Judge,  with  a  profound  bow.  "  I  wish,  Madam,  we  had 
such  a  happy  knack  of  pastry  at  home  as  you  have  at  Castle- 
wood. I  often  say  to  my  wife,  '  My  dear,  I  wish  you  had  Madam 
Esmond's  hand.' " 

'.'  It  is  a  very  pretty  hand  :  I  am  sure  others  would  like  it 
too,"  says  Mr.  Postmaster  of  Boston,  at  which  remark  Mr. 
Esmond  looks  but  half-pleased  at  the  little  gentleman. 

"  Such  a  hand  for  a  light  pie-crust,"  continues  the  Judge, 
"and  my  service  to  you.  Madam."  And  bethinks  l!ie  widow 
cannot  but  be  propitiated  by  his  compliment.  She  says  simply 
that  she  had  lessons  when  she  was  at  home  in  England  for  her 
education,  and  that  there  were  certain  dishes  which  her  mother 
taught  her  to  make,  and  which  her  father  and  sons  both  liked. 
She  was  very  glad  if  they  pleased  her  company.  More  such 
remarks  follow :  more  dishes  ;  ten  times  as  much  meat  as  is 
needful  for  the  company.  Mr.  Washington  does  not  embark  in 
I  he  general  conversation  much,  but  lie  and  Mr.  Talmadge,  and 
Major  Danvers,   and  the   Postmaster  are   deep  in  talk   about 


8o  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

roads,  rivers,  conveyances,  sumpter  horses  and  artillery  train  ; 
and  the  provincial  militia  Colonel  has  bits  of  bread  laid  al 
intervals  on  the  table  before  him,  and  stations  marked  out,  on 
which  he  has  his  finger,  and  regarding  which  he  is  talking  to  his 
brother  aides-de-camp,  till  a  negro-servant,  changing  the  courses, 
brushes  off  the  Potomac  with  a  napkin,  and  sweeps  up  the  Ohio 
in  a  spoon. 

At  the  end  of  dinner,  Mr.  Broadbent  leaves  his  place  and 
walks  up  behind  the  Lieutenant-Governor's  chair,  where  he 
says  Grace,  returning  to  his  seat  and  resuming  his  knife  and 
fork  when  this  work  of  devotion  is  over.  And  now  the  sweets 
and  puddings  are  come,  of  which  I  can  give  you  a  list,  if  you 
like ;  but  what  young  lady  cares  for  the  puddings  of  to-day, 
much  more  for  those  which  were  eaten  a  hundred  years  ago, 
and  which  Madam  Esmond  had  prepared  for  her  guests  with 
so  much  neatness  and  skill .''  Then,  the  table  being  cleared, 
Nathan,  her  chief-manager,  lays  a  glass  to  every  person,  and 
hlls  his  mistress's.  Bowing  to  the  company,  she  says  she 
drinks  but  one  toast,  but  knows  how  heartily  all  the  gentlemen 
present  will  join  her.  Then  she  calls,  "  His  Majesty,"  bowing 
to  Mr.  Braddock,  who  with  his  aides-de-camp  and  the  colonial 
gentlemen  all  loyally  repeat  the  name  of  their  beloved  and  gra- 
cious Sovereign.  And  hereupon,  having  drunk  her  glass  of 
wine  and  saluted  all  the  company,  the  widow  retires  between 
a  row  of  negro-servants,  performing  one  of  her  very  hand- 
somest curtseys  at  the  door. 

The  kind  Mistress  of  Castlewood  bore  her  part  in  the  en- 
tertainment with  admirable  spirit,  and  looked  so  gay  and  hand- 
some, and  spoke  with  such  cheerfulness  and  courage  to  all  her 
company,  that  the  few  ladies  who  were  present  at  the  dinner 
could  not  but  congratulate  Madam  Esmond  upon  the  elegance 
of  the  feast,  and  especially  upon  her  manner  of  presiding  at  it. 
But  they  were  scarcely  got  to  her  drawing-room,  when  her  arti- 
ficial courage  failed  her,  and  she  burst  into  tears  on  the  sofa 
by  Mrs.  Laws'  side,  just  in  the  midst  of  a  compliment  from 
that  lady.  "  Ah,  Madam  !  "  she  said.  ''  It  may  be  an  honor, 
as  you  say,  to  have  the  King's  representative  in  my  house,  and 
our  family  has  received  greater  personages  than  Mr.  Braddock. 
But  he  comes  to  take  one  of  my  sons  away  from  me.  Who 
knows  whether  my  boy  will  return,  or  how  ?  I  dreamed  of  him 
last  night  as  wounded,  and  quite  white  with  blood  streaming 
from  his  side.  I  would  not  be  so  ill-mannered  .as  to  let  my 
grief  be  visible  before  the  gentleman  ;  but,  my  good  Mrs.  Jus- 
tice, who  has  parted  with  children,  and  who  has   a  mother's 


THE   VIRGFiVIANS,  8i 

heart  of  her  own,  would  like  me  none  the  better,  if  mine  were 
very  easy  this  evening." 

The  ladies  administered  such  consolations  as  seemed  proper 
or  palatable  to  their  hostess,  who  tried  not  to  give  way  farther 
to  her  melanchol}-,  and  remembered  that  she  had  other  duties 
to  perform,  before  yielding  to  her  own  sad  mood.  "  It  will 
be  time  enough,  Madam,  to  be  sorry  when  they  are  gone,"  she 
said  to  the  Justice's  wife,  her  good  neighbor.  "  My  boy  must 
not  see  me  following  him  w'ith  a  wistful  face,  and  have  our 
parting  made  more  dismal  by  my  weakness.  It  is  good  that 
gentlemen  of  his  rank  and  station  should  show  themselves 
where  their  country  calls  them.  That  has  always  been  the  way 
of  the  Esmonds,  and  the  same  Power  which  graciously  pre- 
served my  dear  father  through  twenty  great  battles  in  the 
Queen's  time,  I  trust  and  pray,  will  watch  over  my  son  now 
liis  turn  is  come  to  do  his  duty."  And,  now,  instead  of  la- 
menting her  fate,  or  farther  alluding  to  it,  I  dare  say  the  reso- 
lute lady  sat  down  with  her  female  friends  to  a  pool  of  cards 
and  a  dish  of  coffee,  whilst  the  gentlemen  remained  in  the 
neighboring  parlor,  still  calling  their  toasts  and  drinking  their 
wdne.  When  one  lady  objected  that  these  latter  were  sitting 
rather  long,  Madam  Esmond  said  :  "  It  would  improve  and 
amuse  the  boys  to  be  with  the  English  gentlemen.  Such 
society  was  very  rarely  to  be  had  in  their  distant  province,  and 
though  their  conversation  somtimes  was  free,  she  was  sure  that 
gentlemen  and  men  of  fashion  w^ould  have  regard  to  the  youth 
of  her  sons,  and  say  nothing  before  them  which  young  people 
should  not  hear." 

It  was  evident  that  the  English  gentlemen  relished  the  good 
cheer  provided  for  them.  Whilst  the  ladies  were  yet  at  their 
cards,  Nathan  came  in  and  whispered  Mrs.  Mountain,  who  at 
first  cried  out — "  Xo  ;  she  would  give  no  more — the  common 
Bordeaux  they  might  have,  and  welcome,  if  they  still  wanted 
more — but  she  would  not  give  any  more  of  the  Colonel's." 
It  appeared  that  the  dozen  bottles  of  particular  claret  had  been 
already  drunk  up  by  the  gentlemen,  "  besides  ale,  cider.  Bur- 
gundy, Lisbon,  and  Madeira,"  says  Mrs.  Mountain,  enumerating 
the  supplies. 

But  Madam  Esmond  was  for  having  no  stint  in  the  hospi- 
tality of  the  night.  Mrs.  Mountain  was  fain  to  bustle  away 
with  her  keys  to  the  sacred  vault  where  the  Colonel's  particular 
Bordeaux  lay,  surviving  its  master,  who,  too,  had  long  passed 
under2:round.  As  they  went  on  their  journey,  Mrs.  Mountain 
asked  whether  any  of  the  gentlemen  had  had  too  much  t     Na- 

6 


82  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

than  thought  Mister  Broadbeiit  was  tipsy — he  always  tipsy ; 
he  then  thought  the  General  gentleman  was  tipsy ;  and  he 
thought  Master  George  was  a  lilly  drunk, 

"  Master  George  !  "  cries  Mrs,  ]\Iountain  :  "  why,  he  will 
sit  for  days  without  touching  a  drop." 

Nevertheless,  Nathan  persisted  in  his  notion  that  Master 
George  was  a  lilly  drunk.  He  was  always  filling  his  glass,  he 
had  talked,  he  had  sung,  he  had  cut  jokes,  especially  against 
Mr.  Washington,  which  made  Mr.  Washington  quite  red  and 
angry,  Nathan  said,  "  Well,  well ! "  Mrs.  Mountain  cried 
eagerly  ;  "  it  was  right  a  gentleman  should  make  himself  merry 
in  good  company,  and  pass  the  bottle  along  with  his  friends." 
And  she  trotted  to  the  particular  Bordeaux  cellar  with  only  the 
more  alacrity. 

The  tone  of  freedom  and  almost  impertinence  M^hich  young 
George  Esmond  had  adopted  of  late  days  towards  Mr.  Washing- 
ton had  very  deeply  vexed  and  annoyed  that  gentleman.  There 
was  scarce  half-a-dozen  years'  difference  of  age  between  him 
and  the  Castlewood  twins ;  but  Mr.  Washington  had  always 
been  remarked  for  a  discretion  and  sobriety  much  beyond  his 
time  of  life,  whilst  the  boys  of  Castlewood  seemed  younger  than 
theirs.  They  had  always  been  till  now  under  their  mother's 
anxious  tutelage,  and  had  looked  up  to  their  neighbor  of  Mount 
Vernon  as  their  guide,  director,  friend — as,  indeed,  almost 
everybody  seemed  to  do  who  came  in  contact  with  the  simple 
and  upright  young  man.  Himself  of  the  most  scrupulous 
gravity  and  good-breeding,  in  his  communication  with  other 
folks  he  appeared  to  exact,  or,  at  any  rate,  to  occasion,  the 
same  behavior.  His  nature  was  above  levity  and  jokes  :  they 
seemed  out  of  place  when  addressed  to  him.  He  was  slow  of 
comprehending  them :  and  they  slunk  as  it  were  abashed  out 
of  his  society.  "  He  always  seemed  great  to  me,"  says  Harry 
Warrington,  in  one  of  his  letters  many  years  after  the  date  of 
which  we  are  writing;  "and  I  never  thought  of  him  otherwise 
than  as  a  hero.  When  he  came  over  to  Castlewood  and  taught 
us  boys  surveying,  to  see  him  riding  to  hounds  was  as  if  he  was 
charging  an  army.  If  he  fired  a  shot,  I  thought  the  bird  must 
come  down,  and  if  he  flung  a  net,  the  largest  fish  in  the  river 
were  sure  to  be  in  it.  His  words  were  always  few,  but  they 
were  always  wise  ;'  they  were  not  idle,  as  our  words  are,  they 
were  grave,  sober,  and  strong,  and  ready  on  occasion  to  do 
their  duty.  In  spite  of  his  antipathy  to  him,  my  brother  re- 
spected and  admired  the  General  as  much  as  I  did — that  is  to 
say,  more  than  any  mortal  man." 


THE    VlRGTNIAiYS.  83 

Mr.  \^'ashington  was  the  first  to  leave  the  jovial  party  which 
were  doing  so  much  honor  to  Madam  Esmond's  hospitality. 
Young  George  Esmond,  who  had  taken  his  mother's  place  when 
she  left  it,  had  been  free  with  the  glass  and  with  the  tongue. 
He  had  said  a  score  of  things  to  his  guest  which  wounded  and 
chafed  the  latter,  and  to  which  Mr,  Washington  could  give  no 
reply.  Angry  beyond  all  endurance,  he  left  the  table  at  length, 
and  walked  away  through  the  open  windows  into  the  broad 
verandah  or  porch  which  belonged  to  Castlewood  as  to  all 
Virginian  houses. 

Here  Madam  Esmond  caught. sight  of  her  friend's  tall  frame 
as  it  strode  up  and  down  before  the  windows  ;  and,  the  evening 
being  warm,  or  her  game  over,  she  gave  up  her  cards  to  one  of 
the  other  ladies,  and  joined  her  good  neighbor  out  of  doors. 
He  tried  to  compose  his  countenance  as  well  as  he  could  :  it 
was  impossible  that  he  should  explain  to  his  hostess  why  and 
with  whom  he  was  angry. 

"  The  gentlemen  are  long  over  their  wine,"  she  said  ;  "gen- 
tlemen of  the  army  are  always  fond  of  it." 

"  If  drinking  makes  good  soldiers,  some  yonder  are  distin- 
guishing themselves  greatly,  Madam,"  said  Mr.  Washington. 

"  And  I  dare  say  the  General  is  at  the  head  of  his  troops  t  " 

"  No  doubt,  no  doubt,"  answered  the  Colonel,  who  always 
received  this  lady's  remarks,  playful  or  serious,  with  a  peculiar 
softness  and  kindness.  "But  the  General  is  the  General,  and 
it  is  not  for  me  to  make  remarks  on  his  Excellency's  doings  at 
table  or  elsewhere.  I  think  very  likely  that  military  gentlemen 
born  and  bred  at  home  are  different  from  us  of  the  colonies. 
We  have  such  a  hot  sun,  that  w^e  need  not  wine  to  fire  our  blood 
as  they  do.  And  drinking  toasts  seems  a  point  of  honor  with 
them.  Talmadge  hiccupped  to  me — I  should  say,  w'hispered 
to  me — just  now,  that  an  officer  could  no  more  refuse  a  toast 
than  a  challenge,  and  he  said  that  it  was  after  the  greatest 
difficulty  and  dislike  at  first  that  he  learned  to  drink.  He  has 
certainly  overcome  his  difficulty  with  uncommon  resolution.'* 

"What,  I  wonder,  can  you  talk  of  for  so  many  hours?" 
asked  the  lady. 

"  I  don't  think  I  can  tell  you  all  we  talk  of,  Madam,  and  I 
must  not  tell  tales  out  of  school..  We  talked  about  the  war, 
and  of  the  force  Mr.  Contrecoeur  has,  and  how  we  are  to  get  at 
him.  The  General  is  for  making  the  campaign  in  his  coach, 
and  makes  light  of  it  and  the  enemy.  That  we  shall  beat  them, 
if  we  meet  them,  I  trust  there  is  no  doubt." 

"  How  can  there  be  ?  "  says  the  lady,  whose  father  had 
served  under  Marlborough. 


84 


THE    FIR  G  fXTA  AS. 


*'  Mr.  Franklin,  though  lie  is  only  from  New  England,"  con- 
tinued the  gentleman,  "  spoke  great  good  sense,  and  would 
have  spoken  more  if  the  Englishmen  would  let  him  ;  but  they 
reply  invariably  that  we  are  only  raw  provincials,  and  don't 
know  what  disciplined  British  troops  can  do.  Had  they  not 
best  hasten  forwards  and  make  turnpike  roads  and  have  com- 
fortable inns  ready  for  his  Excellency  at  the  end  of  the  day's 
march  ? — '  There's  sort  of  inns,  I  suppose,'  says  Mr,  Danvers, 
'  not  so  comfortable  as  we  have  in  England,  we  can't  expect 
that.' — 'No,  you  can't  expect  that,'  says  Mr.  Franklin,  who 
seems  a  very  shrewd  and  facetious  person.  He  drinks  his 
water,  and  seems  to  laugh  at  the  Englishmen,  though  I  doubt 
whether  it  is  fair  for  a  water-drinker  to  sit  by  and  spy  out  the 
weaknesses  of  gentlemen  over  their  wine." 

"  And  my  boys  ?  I  hope  they  are  prudent  t  "  said  the 
widow,  laying  her  hand  on  her  guest's  arm.  ''  Harry  promised 
me,  and  when  he  gives  his  word,  I  can  trust  him  for  anything. 
George  is  always  moderate.     Why  do  you  look  so  grave  t  " 

"  Indeed,  to  be  frank  with  you,  I  do  not  know  what  has 
corae  over  George  in  these  last  days,"  says  Mr.  Washington. 
"  He  has  some  grievance  against  me  which  I  do  not  under- 
stand, and  of  which  I  don't  care  to  ask  the  reason.  He  spoke 
to  me  before  the  gentlemen  in  a  way  which  scarcely  became 
him.  We  are  going  the  campaign  together,  and  'tis  a  pity  we 
begin  such  ill  friends." 

"  He  has  been  ill.  He  is  always  wild  and  wayward,  and 
hard  to  understand.  But  he  has  the  most  affectionate  heart  in 
the  world.  You  will  bear  with  him,  you  will  protect  him — 
promise  me  you  will." 

"  Dear  lady,  I  will  do  so  with  my  life,"  Mr.  Washington  said 
with  great  fervor.  "  You  know  I  would  lay  it  down  cheerfully 
for  you  or  any  you  love." 

"  And  my  father's  blessing  and  mine  go  with  you,  dear 
friend  !  '  cried  the  widow,  full  of  thanks  and  affection. 

As  they  pursued  their  conversation,  they  had  quitted  the 
porch  under  which  they  had  first  began  to  talk,  and  where  they 
could  hear  the  laughter  and  toasts  of  the  gentlemen  over  their 
wine,  and  were  pacing  a  walk  on  the  rough  lawn  before  the 
house.  Young  George  Warrington,  from  his  place  at  the  head 
of  the  table  in  the  dining-room  could  see  the  pair  as  they  passed 
to  and  fro,  and  had  listened  for  some  time  past,  and  replied  in 
a  very  distracted  manner  to  the  remarks  of  the  gentlemen  round 
about  him,  who  were  too  much  engaged  with  their  own  talk  and 
jokes,  and  drinking,  to  pay  much  attention  to  their  young  host's 


A   STEP-FATHER    IN    PROSPECT. 


THE    VfRG/NfANS. 


85 


behavior.  Mr.  Braddock  loved  a  song  after  dinner,  and  Mr. 
Danvers  his  aide-de-camp,  who  had  a  fine  tenor  voice,  was  de- 
Hghting  his  General  with  the  latest  ditty  from  ]\Iarybone 
Gardens,  when  George  Warrington,  jumping  up,  ran  towards 
the  window,  and  then  returned  and  pulled  his  brother  Harry 
by  the  sleeve,  who  sat  with  his  back  towards  the  window. 

"What  is  it  ?"  says  Harr}^,  who,  for  his  part,  was  charmed 
too  with  the  song  and  chorus. 

"  Come,"  cried  George,  with  a  stamp  of  his  foot,  and  the 
younger  followed  obediently. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  continued  George,  with  a  bitter  oath.  "  Don't 
you  see  what  it  is  ?  They  were  billing  and  cooing  this  morning  \ 
they  are  billing  and  cooing  now  before  going  to  roost.  Had 
we  not  better  both  go  into  the  garden,  and  pay  our  duty  to  our 
mamma  and  papa  ?  "  and  he  pointed  to  Mr.  Washington,  who 
was  taking  the  widow's  hand  very  tenderly  in  his. 


CHAPTER  X. 

A    HOT    AFTERNOON. 


General  Braddock  and  the  other  guests  of  Castlewood 
being  duly  consigned  to  their  respective  quarters,  the  boys  re- 
tired to  their  own  room,  and  there  poured  out  to  one  another 
their  opinions  respecting  the  great  event  of  the  day.  They 
would  not  bear  such  a  marriage — no.  Was  the  representative 
of  the  Marquises  of  Esmond  to  marry  the  younger  son  of  a 
colonial  family,  who  had  been  bred  up  as  a  land-surveyor  t 
Castlewood,  and  the  boys  at  nineteen  years  of  age,  handed  over 
to  the  tender  mercies  of  a  step-father  of  three-and-twenty  !  Oh, 
it  was  monstrous  !  Harr}-  was  for  going  straightway  to  his  mother 
in  her  bed-room — where  her  black  maidens  were  divesting  her 
ladyship  of  the  simple  jewels  and  fineries  which  she  had  as- 
sumed in  compliment  to  the  feast — protesting  against  the  odious 
match  and  announcing  that  they  would  go  home,  live  upon 
their  little  property  there,  and  leave  her  for  ever,  if  the  unnatural 
union  took  place. 

George  advocated  another  way  of  stopping  it,  and  explained 
his  plan  to  his  admiring  brother.  ''  Our  mother,"  he  said, 
"  can't  marry  a  man  with  whom  one  or  both  of  us  has  been  out 


86  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

on  the  field,  and  who  has  wounded  us  or  killed  us,  or  whom  we 
have  wounded  or  killed.     We  must  have  him  out,  Harry." 

Harry  saw  the  profound  truth  conveyed  in  George's  state- 
ment, and  admired  his  brother's  immense  sagacity.  "  No, 
George,"  says  he,  "you  are  right.  Mother  can't  marry  our 
murderer  ^  she  won't  be  as  bad  as  that.  And  if  we  pink  him, 
he  is  done  for.  '  Cadit  qucestio^'  as  j\Ir.  Dempster  used  to  say. 
Shall  I  send  my  boy  with  a  challenge  to  Colonel  George  now  }  " 

"  My  dear  Harr}',"  the  elder  replied,  thinking  with  some 
complacency  of  his  affair  of  honor  at  Quebec,  "3'-ou  are  not 
accustomed  to  affairs  of  this  sort." 

"  No,"  owned  Harry,  with  a  sigh,  looking  with  envy  and 
admiration  on  his  senior. 

"We  can't  insult  a  gentleman  in  our  own  house,"  continued 
George,  with  great  majesty  ;  "  the  laws  of  honor  forbid  such 
inhospitable  treatment.  But,  sir,  we  can  ride  out  with  him, 
and,  as  soon  as  the  park  gates  are  closed,  we  can  tell  him  our 
mind." 

"  That  we  can,  by  George  !  "  cries  Harry,  grasping  his 
brother's  hand,  "  and  that  we  will,  too.  I  say,  Georgy  .  .  ." 
Here  the  lad's  face  became  very  red,  and  his  brother  asked  him 
what  he  would  say  1 

"  This  is  my  turn,  brother,"  Harry  pleaded.  "  If  you  go  the 
campaign,  I  ought  to  have  the  other  affair.  Indeed,  indeed,  I 
ought."     And  he  prayed  for  this  bit  of  promotion. 

"Again  the  head  of  the  house  must  take  the  lead,  my  dear," 
George  said,  with  a  superb  air.  "  If  I  fall,  my  Harry  will 
avenge  me.  But  I  must  fight  George  Washington,  Hal  ;  and 
'tis  best  I  should  ;  for,  indeed,  I  hate  him  the  worst.  Was  it 
not  he  counselled  my  mother  to  order  that  wretch.  Ward,  to  lay 
hands  on  me  ?  " 

"Ah,  George,"  interposed  the  more  peaceable  younger 
brother,  "you  ought  to  forget  and  forgive  !  " 

"  Forgive  ?  Never,  sir,  as  long  as  I  remember.  You  can't 
order  remembrance  out  of  a  man's  mind  ;  and  a  wrong  that  was 
a  wrong  yesterday  must  be  a  wrong  to-morrow.  I  never,  of  my 
knowledge,  did  one  to  any  man,  and  I  never  will  suffer  one,  if 
I  can  help  it.  I  think  very  ill  of  Mr.  Ward,  but  I  don't  think 
so  badly  of  him  as  to  suppose  he  will  ever  forgive  thee  that 
blow  with  the  ruler.  Colonel  Washington  is  our  enemy,  mine 
especially.  He  has  advised  one  wrong  against  me,  and  he 
meditates  a  greater.     I  tell  you,  brother,  we  must  punish  him." 

The  grandsire's  old  Bordeaux  had  set  George's  ordinarily 
pale  countenance  into  a  flame.     Harry,  his  brother's  fondest 


777^   VIRGINIANS.  87 

worshipper,  could  not  but  admire  George's  haughty  bearing  and 
rapid  declamation,  and  prepared  himself  with  his  usual  docility 
to  follow  his  chief.  So  the  boys  went  to  their  beds,  the  elder 
conveying  special  injunctions  to  his  junior  to  be  civil  to  all  the 
guests  so  long  as  they  remained  under  the  maternal  roof  on  the 
morrow. 

Good  manners,  and  a  repugnance  to  telling  tales  out  of 
school,  forbid  us  from  saying  which  of  Madam  Esmond's  guests 
was  the  first  to  fall  under  the  weight  of  her  hospitality.  The 
respectable  descendants  of  Messrs.  Talmadge  and  Danvers, 
aides-de-camp  to  his  Excellency,  might  not  care  to  hear  how 
their  ancestors  were  intoxicated  a  hundred  3^ears  ago  ;  and  yet 
the  gentlemen  themselves  took  no  shame  in  the  fact,  and  there 
is  little  doubt  they  or  their  comrades  were  tipsy  twice  or  thrice 
in  the  week. .  Let  us  fancy  them  reeling  to  bed,  supported  by 
symyathizing  negroes  ;  and  their  vinous  General,  too  stout  a 
toper  to  have  surrendered  himself  to  a  half-dozen  bottles  of 
Bordeaux,  conducted  to  his  chamber  by  the  young  gentlemen 
of  the  house,  and  speedily  sleeping  the  sleep  which  friendly 
Bacchus  gives.  The  good  lady  of  Castlewood  saw  the  condi- 
tion of  her  guests  without  the  least  surprise  or  horror:  and  was 
up  early  in  the  morning,  providing  cooling  drinks  for  their  hot 
palates,  which  the  servants  carried  to  their  respective  chambers. 
At  breakfast,  one  of  the  English  officers  rallied  Mr.  Franklin, 
who  took  no  wine  at  all,  and  therefore  refused  the  morning 
cool  draught  of  toddy,  by  shewing  how  the  Philadelphia  gentle- 
man lost  two  pleasures,  the  drink  and  the  toddy.  The  young 
fellow  said  the  disease  was  pleasant  and  the  remedy  delicious, 
and  laughingly  proposed  to  continue  repeating  them  both. 
The  General's  new  American  aide-de-camp.  Colonel  Washington, 
was  quite  sober  and  serene.  The  British  officers  vowed  they 
must  take  him  in  hand  and  teach  him  what  the  ways  of  the 
English  army  v.ere  ;  but  the  Virginian  gentleman  gravely  said 
he  did  not  care  to  learn  that  j^art  of  the  English  military 
education. 

The  widow,  occupied  as  she  had  been  with  the  cares  of  a 
great  dinner,  followed  by  a  great  breakfast  on  the  morning  en- 
suing, had  scarce  leisure  to  remark  the  behavior  of  her  sons 
very  closely,  but  at  least  saw  that  George  was  scrupulously 
polite  to  her  favorite,  Colonel  Washington,  as  to  all  the  other 
guests  of  the  house. 

Before  Mr.  Braddock  took  his  leave,  he  had  a  private 
audience  of  Madam  Esmond,  in  which  his  Excellency  formally 
offered  to  take  her  son  into  his  family  ;  and  when  the  arrange- 


88  THE    ]WRGINIANS. 

ments  for  George's  departure  were  settled  between  his  mothef 
and  future  chief,  Madam  Esmond,  though  she  might  feel  them, 
did  not  show  any  squeamish  terrors  about  the  dangers  of  the 
bottle,  which  she  saw  were  amongst  the  severest  and  most 
certain  which  her  son  would  have  to  face.  She  knew  her  bo}- 
must  take  his  part  in  the  world,  and  encounter  his  portion  of 
evil  and  good.  "  Mr,  Braddock  is  a  perfect  fine  gentleman 
in  the  morning,''  she  said  stoutly  to  her  aide-de-camp,  Mrs. 
Mountain  ;  and  though  my  papa  did  not  drink,  'tis  certain  that 
many  of  the  best  company  in  England  do."  The  jolly  General 
good-naturedly  shook  hands  with  George,  who  presented  him 
self  to  his  Excellency  after  the  maternal  interview  was  over, 
and  bade  George  welcome,  and  to  be  in  attendance  at  Frederick 
three  days  hence  ;  shortly  after  which  time  the  expedition 
would  set  forth. 

And  now^  the  great  coach  was  again  called  into  requisition, 
the  General's  escort  pranced  round  it,  the  other  guests  and 
their  servants  went  to  horse.  The  lady  of  Castlewood  attended 
his  Excellency  to  the  steps  of  the  verandah  in  front  of  her 
house,  the  young  gentlemen  followed,  and  stood  on  each  side 
of  his  coach-door.  The  guard  trumpeter  blew  a  shrill  blast,  the 
negroes  shouted  "  Huzzay,  and  God  sabe  de  King,"  as  Mr. 
Braddock  most  graciously  took  leave  of  his  hospitable  enter- 
tainers, and  rolled  away  on  his  road  to  headquarters. 

As  the  boys  went  up  the  steps,  there  was  the  Colonel  once 
more  taking  leave  of  their  mother.  No  doubt  she  had  been 
once  more  recommending  George  to  his  namesake's  care  ;  for 
Colonel  Washington  said  :  "With  my  life.  You  may  depend  on 
me,"  as  the  lads  returned  to  their  mother  and  the  few  remain- 
ing in  the  porch.  The  Colonel  was  booted  and  ready  to 
depart.  "Farewell,  my  dear  Harry,"  he  said.  "With  you, 
George,  it  is  no  adieu.  We  shall  meet  in  three  days  at  the 
camp." 

Both  the  young  men  were  going  to  danger,  perhaps  to 
death.  Colonel  Washington  was  taking  leave  of  her,  and  she 
was  to  see  him  no  more  before  the  campaign.  No  wonder  the 
widow  was  very  much  moved. 

George  Warrington  watched  his  mother's  emotion  and  in- 
terpreted it  with  a  pang  of  malignant  scorn.  "  Stay  yet  a 
moment,  and  console  our  mamma,"  he  said  with  a  steady 
countenance,  "  only  the  time  to  get  ourselves  booted,  and  my 
brother  and  I  will  ride  with  you  a  little  way,  George."  George 
Warrington  had  already  ordered  his  horses.  The  three  young 
men  were  speedily  under  w^ay,  their  negro  grooms  behind  them, 


THE    VfRG/NfAAS. 


89 


and  Mrs.  Mountain,  who  knew  she  had  made  mischief  be- 
tween them  and  trembled  for  the  result,  felt  a  vast  relief 
that  Mr.  Washington  was  gone  without  a  quarrel  with  the 
brothers,  without,  at  any  rate,  an  open  declaration  of  love  to 
their  mother. 

No  man  could  be  more  courteous  in  demeanor  than  George 
Warrington  to  his  neighbor  and  namesake,  the  Colonel.  The 
latter  was  pleased  and  surprised  at  his  young  friend's  altered 
behavior.  The  community  of  danger,  the  necessity  of  future 
fellowship,  the  softening  influence  of  the  long  friendship  which 
bound  him  to  the  Esmond  family,  the  tender  adieux  which  had 
just  passed  between  him  and  the  mistress  of  Castlewood, 
inclined  the  Colonel  to  forget  the  unpleasantness  of  the  past 
days,  and  made  him  more  than  usually  friendly  with  his  young 
companion.  George  was  quite  gay  and  easy  :  it  was  Harry  who 
was  melancholy  now ;  he  rode  silently  and  wistfully  by  his 
brother,  keeping  away  from  Colonel  Washington,  to  whose  side 
he  used  always  to  press  eagerly  before.  If  the  honest  Colonel 
remarked  his  young  friend's  conduct,  no  doubt  he  attributed  it 
to  Harry's  known  affection  for  his  brother,  and  his  natural 
anxiety  to  be  with  George  now  the  day  of  their  parting  was 
so  near. 

They  talked  further  about  the  war,  and  the  probable  end  of 
the  campaign:  none  of  the  three  doubted  its  successful  termina 
tion.  Two  thousand  veteran  British  troops  with  their  commander 
must  get  the  better  of  any  force  the  French  could  bring  against 
them,  if  only  they  moved  in  decent  time.  The  ardent  young 
Virginian  soldier  had  an  immense  respect  for  the  experienced 
valor  and  tactics  of  the  regular  troops.  King  George  H.  had 
no  more  loyal  subject  than  Mr.  Braddock's  new  aide-de-camp. 

So  the  party  rode  amicably  together,  until  they  reached  a 
certain  rude  log-house,  called  Benson's,  of  which  the  proprietor, 
according  to  the  custom  of  the  day  and  country,  did  not  disdain 
to  accept  money  from  his  guests  in  return  for  hospitalities  pro- 
vided. There  was  a  recruitmg  station  here,  and  some  officers 
and  men  of  Halkett's  regmient  assembled,  and  here  Colonel 
Washington  supposed  that  his  young  friends  would  take  leave 
of  him. 

Whilst  their  horses  were  baited,  they  entered  a  public 
room,  and  found  a  rough  meal  prepared  for  such  as  were  dis- 
posed to  partake.  George  Warrington  entered  the  place  with 
a  particularly  gay  and  lively  air,  whereas  poor  Harry's  face 
was  quite  white  and  wobegone. 

"One  would  think,  Squire  Harry,  'twas  you  who  was  going 


go  THE  VIRGINIANS. 

to  leave  home  to  fight  the  French  and  Indians,  and  not  Mr. 
George,"  says  Benson. 

"  I  may  be  alarmed  about  danger  to  my  brother,"  said 
Harry,  "though  1  might  bear  my  own  share  pretty  well.  "Fis 
not  my  fault  that  I  stay  at  home." 

"  No,  indeed,  brother,"  cries  George. 

"  Harry  Warrington's  courage  does  not  need  any  proof !  " 
cries  Mr.  Washington. 

"  You  do  the  family  honor  by  speaking  so  well  of  us, 
Colonel,"  says  Mr.  George,  with  a  low  bow.  "  I  dare  say  we 
can  hold  our  own,  if  need  be." 

Whilst  his  friend  was  vaunting  his  courage,  Harry  looked, 
to  say  the  truth,  by  no  means  courageous.  As  his  eyes  met  his 
brother's  he  read  in  George's  look  an  announcement  which 
alarmed  the  fond  faithful  lad.  "  You  are  not  going  to  do  it 
now  ?  "  he  whispered  his  brother. 

"  Yes,  now,"    Says  Mr.  George,  very  steadily. 

"  For  God's  sake  let  me  have  the  turn.  You  are  going  on 
the  campaign,  you  ought  not  to  have  everything — and  there 
may  be  an  explanation,  George.     We  may  be  all  wTong.'' 

"  Psha,  how  can  we  ?  It  must  be  done  now — don't  be 
alarmed.  No  names  shall  be  mentioned — I  shall  easily  find  a 
subject." 

A  couple  of  Halkett's  officers,  whom  our  young  gentlemen 
knew,  were  sitting  under  the  porch,  with  the  Virginian  toddy - 
bo\vl  before  them. 

"  What  are  vou  conspiring,  gentlemen  t  "  cried  one  of  them. 
"Is  it  a  drink.?" 

By  the  tone  of  their  voices  and  their  flushed  cheeks,  it  was 
clear  the  gentlemen  had  already  been  engaged  in  drinking  that 
morning. 

"  The  very  thing,  sir,"  George  said  gayly.  "  Fresh  glasses, 
Mr.  Benson  !  What,  no  glasses .''  Then  we  must  have  at  the 
bowl." 

"  Many  a  good  man  has  drunk  from  it,"  says  ]\Ir.  Benson  ; 
and  the  lads,  one  after  another,  and  bowing  first  to  their  mili- 
tary acquaintance,  touched  the  bowl  with  their  lips.  The 
liquor  did  not  seem  to  be  much  diminished  for  the  boys"  drink- 
ing, though  George  especially  gave  himself  a  toper's  airs,  and 
protested  it  was  delicious  after  their  ride.  He  called  out  to 
Colonel  Washington,  who  was  at  the  porch,  to  join  his  friends, 
and  drink. 

The  lad's  tone  was  offensive,  and  resembled  the  manner 
lately  adopted  by  him,  and  which  had  so  much  chafed  Mr. 
Washington.     He  bowed,  and  said  he  was  not  thirsty. 


THE   VIRGINIA. VS.  oi 

"Nay,  the  liquor  is  jDaid  for,"  says  George;  "never  fear, 
Colonel." 

"  I  said  I  was  not  thirsty.  I  did  not  say  the  liquor  was 
not  paid  for,"  said  the  young  Colonel,  drumming  with  his  foot. 

"  When  the  King's  health  is  proposed,  an  officer  can  hardly 
say  no.  I  drink  the  health  of  his  Majesty,  gentlemen,'*  cried 
George.  "  Colonel  Washington  can  drink  it  or  leave  it.  The 
King  ! " 

This  was  a  point  of  military  honor.  The  two  British  officers 
of  Halkett's,  Captain  Grace  and  Mr. Waring,  both  drank  "The 
King."  Harry  Warrington  drank  "The  King."  Colonel 
Washington,  with  glaring  eyes,  gulped,  too,  a  slight  draft  from 
the  bowl. 

Then  Captain  Grace  proposed  "  The  Duke  and  the  Army," 
which  toast  there  was  likewise  no  gainsaying.  Colonel  Washing- 
ton had  to  swallow  "The  Duke  and  the  Army." 

"  You  don't  seem  to  stomach  the  toast.  Colonel,"  said 
George. 

"  I  tell  you  again,  I  don't  want  to  drink,"  replied  the 
Colonel.  "  It  seems  to  me  the  Duke  and  the  Army  would  be 
served  all  the  better  if  their  healths  were  not  drunk  so  often." 

"  You  are  not  up  to  the  ways  of  regular  troops  as  yet,"  said 
Captain  Grace,  with  rather  a  thick  voice. 

"  May  be  not,  sir." 

"  A  British  officer,"  continues  Captain  Grace,  with  great 
energy  but  doubtful  articulation,  "  never  neglects  a  tgast  of 
that  sort,  nor  any  other  duty.  A  man  w'ho  refuses  to  drink  the 
health  of  the  Duke — hang  me,  such  a  man  should  be  tried  by  a 
court-martfal  !  " 

"  What  means  this  language  to  me .?  You  are  drunk,  sir  !  " 
roared  Colonel  Washington,  jumping  up,  and  striking  the  table 
with  his  fist. 

"  A  cursed  provincial  officer  say  I'm  drunk!"  shrieks  out 
Captain  Grace.     "Waring,  do  you  hear  that  ?  " 

"  I  heard  it  sir  !  "  cried  George  Warrington..  "  We  all  heard 
it.  He  entered  at  my  invitation  —  the  liquor  called  for  was 
mine  :  the  table  was  mine — and  I  am  shocked  to  hear  such 
monstrous  language  used  at  it  as  Colonel  Washington  has  just 
employed  towards  my  esteemed  guest,  Captain  Waring." 

"  Confound  your  impudence,  you  infernal  young  jackan- 
apes !  "  bellov/ed  out  Colonel  Washington.  "  Yon  dare  to  in- 
sult me  before  British  officers,  and  find  fault  with  my  language  "^ 
For  months  past,  I  have  borne  with  such  impudence  from  you, 
that  if  I  had  not  loved  your  mother — yes,  sir,  and  your  good 


Q2  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

grandfather  and  your  brother — I  would — I  would "     Here 

his  words  failed  him,  and  the  irate  Colonel,  with  glaring  eyes 
and  purple  face,  and  every  limb  quivering  with  wrath,  stood 
for  a  moment  speechless  before  his  young  enemy. 

"  You  would  what,  sir?"  says  George,  very  quietly,  "if  you 
did  not  love  my  grandfather,  and  my  brother,  and  my  mother  ? 
You  are  making  her  petticoat  a  plea  for  some  conduct  of 
yours — you  would  do  what,  sir,  may  I  ask  again  ?  " 

'•  I  would  put  you  across  my  knee  and  whip  you,  you  snarl- 
ing little  puppy,  that's  what  I  would  do ! "  cried  the  Colonel, 
who  had  found  breath  by  this  time,  and  vented  another  explo- 
sion of  fury. 

'•  Because  you  have  known  us  all  our  lives,  and  made  our 
house  your  home,  that  is  no  reason  you  should  insult  either  of 
us  !  "  here  cried  Harry,  starting  up.  "  What  you  have  said, 
George  Washington,  is  an  insult  to  me  and  my  brother  alike. 
You  will  ask  our  pardon,  sir !  " 

*'  Pardon  !  " 

"  Or  give  us  the  reparation  that  is  due  to  gentlemen,"  con- 
tinues Harry. 

The  stout.  Coloners  heart  smote  him  to  think  that  he  should 
be  at  mortal  quarrel  or  called  upon  to  shed  the  blood  of  one  of 
the  lads  he  loved.  As  Harry  stood  facing  him',  with  his  fair 
hair,  flushing  cheeks,  and  quivering  voice,  an  immense  tender- 
ness and  kindness  filled  the  bosom  of  the  elder  man.  "  I — I 
am  bewildered,"  he  said.  "  My  w^ords,  perhaps,  were  very 
hasty.  What  has  been  the  meaning  of  George's  behavior  to  me 
for  months  back?     Only  tell  me,  and  perhaps " 

The  evil  spirit  was  awake  and  victorious  in  young  George 
Warrington  :  his  black  eyes  shot  out  scorn  and  hatred  at  the 
simple  and  guileless  gentleman  before  him.  "  You  are  shirk- 
ing from  the  question,  sir,  as  you  did  from  the  toast  just  now," 
he  said.  "  I  am  not  a  boy  to  suffer  under  your  arrogance. 
You  have  publicly  insulted  me  in  a  public  place,  and  I  demand 
reparation." 

"  In  heaven's  name,  be  it !  "  says  Mr.  Washington,  with  the 
deepest  grief  in  his  face. 

"  And  you  have  insulted  me,''  continues  Captain  Grace,  reel- 
ing towards  him.  "  What  was  it  he  said  ?  Conf(^nd  the  militia 
captain — colonel,  wliat  is  he  ?  You've  insulted  me  !  Oh, 
Waring !  to  think  I  should  be  insulted  by  a  captain  of  mili- 
tia!  "  And  tears  bedewed  the  noble  captain's  cheek  as  this 
harrowing  thought  crossed  his  mind. 

"  I  insult  yoH,  you  hog  !  "  the  Colonel  again  yelled  out,  for  he 


THE   VIRGINIAiVS.  ^3 

was  little  affected  by  humor,  and  had  no  disposition  to  laugh 
as  the  others  had  at  the  scene.  And,  behold,  at  this  minute  a 
fourth  adversary  was  upon  him. 

"  Great  powers,  sir  !  "  said  Captain  Waring,  '•  are  three 
affairs  not  enough  for  you,  and  must  I  come  into  the  quarrel, 
too  ?     You  have  a  quarrel  with  these  two  young  gentlemen." 

"  Hasty  words,  sir !  "  cries  poor  Harry  once  more. 

"  Hasty  words,  sir  !  "  cries  Captain  Waring.  "  A  gentleman 
tells  another  gentleman  that  he  will  put  him  across  his  knees 
and  whip  him,  and  you  call  those  hasty  words .?  Let  me  tell 
you  if  any  man  were  to  say  it  to  me,  '  Charles  Waring,' or 
'  Captain  Waring,  I'll  put  you  across  my  knees  and  wdiip  you,' 
I'd  say,  '  I'll  drive  my  cheese-toaster  through  his  body,'  if  he 
were  as  big  as  Goliath,  I  would.  That's  one  affair  with  young 
^Ir.  George  Warrington.  Mr.  Harr)-,  of  course,  as  a  young 
man  of  spirit,  will  stand  by  his  brother.  That's  two.  Between 
Grace  and  the  Colonel  apology  is  impossible.  And,  now — run 
me  through  the  body  ! — you  call  an  ofhcer  of  my  regiment — of 
Halkett's,  sir  ! — a  hog  before  my  face  !  Great  Heavens,  sir  ! 
Mr.  Washington  !  are  you  all  like  this  in  Virginia  ?  Excuse  me, 
I  would  use  no  offensive  personality,  as,  by  George  !  I  will  suffer 
none  from  any  man  !  but,  by  Gad,  Colonel !  give  me  leave  to 
tell  you  that  you  are  the  most  quarrelsome  man  I  ever  saw  in 
my  life.  Call  a  disabled  officer  of  my  regiment — for  he  is  dis- 
abled, ain't  you,  Grace? — call  him  a  hog  before  me  I  You 
withdraw  it,  sir — you  withdraw  it  ?  " 

"  Is  this  some  infernal  conspiracy  in  which  you  are  all 
leagued  against  me.'^"  shouted  the  Colonel.  "It  would  seem 
as  if  I  was  drunk,  and  not  you,  as  you  all  are.  I  withdraw 
nothing.  I  apologize  for  nothing.  By  heavens  !  I  will  meet 
one  or  half-a-dozen  of  you  in  your  turn,  young  or  old,  drunk  or 
sober." 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  hear  myself  called  more  names,"  cried 
Mr.  George  Warrington.  "  This  affair  can  proceed,  sir,  without 
any  further  insult  on  your  part.  When  will  it  please  you  to 
give  me  the  meeting  ?" 

"  The  sooner  the  better,  sir  !  "  said  the  Colonel,  fuming 
with  rage. 

"  The  sooner  the  beter  1  "  hiccupped  Captain  Grace,  with 
many  oaths  needless  to  print — (in  those  days  oaths  were  the 
customary  garnish  of  all  gentlemen's  conversation) — and  he 
rose  staggering  from  his  seat,  and  reeled  towards  his  sword, 
which  he  had  laid  by  the  door,  and  fell  as  he  reached  the  wea- 
pon.      "  The  sooner  the  better  !  "   the  poor  tipsy  wretch  again 


94  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

cried  out  from  the  ground,  waving  his  weapon  and  knocking 
his  own  hat  over  his  eyes. 

"  At  any  rate,  this  gentleman's  business  will  keep  cool  till 
to-morrow,"  the  Militia  Colonel  said,  turning  to  the  other  King's 
officer.  "  You  will  hardly  bring  your  man  out  to-day,  Captain 
Waring  ?  " 

"  I  confess  that  neither  his  hand  nor  mine  are  particularly 
steady." 

"  Mine  is  !  "  cried  Mr.  Warrington,  glaring  at  his  enemy. 

His  comrade  of  former  days  was  as  hot  and  as  savage.  "  Be 
it  so — with  what  weapon,  sir  ?  "  Washington  said  sternly. 

"  Not  with  small  swords,  Colonel,  ^^'e  can  beat  you  with 
them.  You  know  that  from  our  old  bouts.  Pistols  had  better 
be  the  word." 

"  As  you  please,  George  Warrington — and  God  forgive  3»ou, 
George  !  God  pardon  you,  Harry  !  for  bringing  me  into  this 
quarrel,"  said  the  Colonel,  with  a  face  full  of  sadness  and 
gloom. 

Harry  hung  his  head,  but  George  continued  with  perfect 
calmness  :  "  I,  sir  ?  It  was  not  I  who  called  names,  who  talked 
of  a  cane,  who  insulted  a  gentleman  in  a  public-place  before 
gentlemen  of  the  army  ?  It  is  not  the  first  time  you  have 
chosen  to  take  me  for  a  negro,  and  talked  of  the  whip  forme." 

The  Colonel  started  back,  turning  very  red,  and  as  if  struck 
by  a  sudden  remembrance. 

"  Great  heavens,  George  !  is  it  that  boyish  quarrel  you  are 
still  recalling  ?  " 

'•  Who  made  you  the  overseer  of  Castlewood  ?  "  said  the 
boy,  grinding  his  teeth.  "  I  am  not  your  slave,  George  Wash- 
ington, and  I  never  will  be.  I  hated  you  then,  and  I  hate  you 
now.  And  you  have  insulted  me,  and  I  am  a  gentleman,  and 
so  are  you.     Is  that  not  enough  ?  " 

"  Too  much,  only  too  much,"  said  the  Colonel,  with  a  gen- 
uine grief  on  his  face,  and  at  his  heart.  "  Do  you  bear  malice 
too,  Harry  ?     I  had  not  thought  this  of  thee  !  " 

"  I  stand  b}^  my  brother,"  said  Harry,  turning  away  from 
the  Colonel's  look,  and  grasping  George's  hand.  The  sadness 
on  their  adversary's  face  did  not  depart.  "  Heaven  be  good  to 
us  !  'Tis  all  clear  now,"  he  muttered  to  himself.  '*  The  time 
to  write  a  few  letters,  and  I  am  at  your  service,  i\Ir.  Warring- 
ton," he  said. 

"  You  have  your  own  pistols  at  your  saddle.  I  did  not  ride 
out  with  any  ;  but  will  send  Sady  back  for  mine.  That  will 
give  you  time  enough,  Colonel  Washington  ?  " 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  gr 

"  Plenty  of  time,  sir,"  And  each  gentleman  made  the  other 
a  low  bow,  and,  putting  his  arm  in  his  brother's,  George  walked 
away.  The  Virginian  officer  looked  towards  the  two  unlucky 
captains,  who  were  by  this  time  helpless  with  liquor.  Captain 
Benson,  the  master  of  the  tavern,  was  propping  the  hat  of  one 
of  them  over  his  head. 

"  It  is  not  altogether  their  fault,  Colonel,"  said  my  landlord, 
with  a  grim  look  of  humor.  "  Jack  Firebrace  and  Tom  Hum- 
bold  of  Spotsylvania  was  here  this  morning,  chanting  horses 
with  'em.  And  Jack  and  Tom  got  'em  to  play  cards  ;  and  they 
didn't  win — the  British  Captains  didn't.  And  Jack  and  Tom 
challenged  them  to  drink  for  the  honor  of  Old  England,  and 
they  didn't  win  at  that  game  neither  much.  They  are  kind, 
free-handed  fellows  when  they  are  sober,  but  they  are  a  pretty 
pair  of  fools — they  are." 

"  Captain  Benson,  you  are  an  old  frontier  man,  and  an 
officer  of  ours,  before  you  turned  farmer  and  taverner.  You 
will  help  me  in  this  matter  with  yonder  young  gentleman  ?  "  said 
the  Colonel. 

'•  I'll  stand  by  and  see  fair  play.  Colonel.  I  won't  have  no 
hand  in  it,  beyond  seeing  fair  play.  Madam  Esmond  has  helped 
me  many  a  time,  tended  my  poor  wife  in  her  lying-in,  and 
doctored  our  Betty  in  the  fever.  You  ain't  a  goin'  to  be  very 
hard  with  them  poor  boys  ?  Though  I  see  'em  both  shoot  :  the 
fair  one  hunts  well  as  you  know,  but  the  old  one's  a  wonder  at 
an  ace  of  spades." 

''  Will  you  be  pleased  to  send  my  man  with  my  valise,  Cap- 
tain, into  any  private  room  which  you  can  spare  me  ?  I  must 
write  a  few  letters  before  this  business  comes  on.  God  grant 
it  were  well  over  !  "  And  the  Captain  led  the  Colonel  into 
almost  the  only  other  room  of  his  house,  calling,  with  many 
oaths,  to  a  pack  of  negro  servants  to  disperse  thence,  who 
were  chattering  loudly  among  one  another,  and  no  doubt  dis- 
cussing the  quarrel  which  had  just  taken  place.  Edwin,  the 
Colonel's  man,  returned  with  his  master's  portmanteau,  and,  as 
he  looked  from  the  window,  he  saw  Sady,  George  Warrington's 
negro,  galloping  away  upon  his  errand,  doubtless,  and  in  the 
direction  of  Castlewood.  The  Colonel,  young  and  naturally 
hot-headed,  but  the  most  courteous  and  scrupulous  of  men,  and 
ever  keeping  his  strong  passions  under  guard,  could  not  but 
think  with  amazement  of  the  position  in  which  he  found  him- 
self, and  of  the  three,  perhaps  four  enemies,  who  appeared  sud- 
denly before  him,  menacing  his  life.  Hovv^  had  this  strange 
series  of   quarrels  been  brought  about  ?     He  had  ridden  away 


96 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


a  few  hours  since  from  Castlewoocl,  with  his  young  companionSj 
and  to  all  seeming  they  were  perfect  friends.  A  shower  of  rain 
sends  them  into  a  tavern,  where  there  are  a  couple  of  recruiting 
officers,  and  they  are  not  seated  for  half  an  hour,  at  a  social 
table,  but  he  has  quarrelled  with  the  whole  company,  called  this 
one  names,  agreed  to  meet  another  in  combat,  and  threatened 
chastisement  to  a  third,  the  son  of  his  most  intimate  friend ! 


CHAPTER  XL 

WHEREIN    THE    TWO    GEORGES    PREPARE    FOR    BLOOD. 

The  Virginian  Colonel  remained  in  one  chamber  of  the 
tavern,  occupied  wath  gloomy  preparations  for  the  ensuing 
meeting  :  his  adversary  in  the  other  room  thought  fit  to  make 
his  testamentary  dispositions,  too,  and  dictated  by  his  obedient 
brother  and  secretar}',  a  grandiloquent  letter  to  his  mother,  of 
whom,  and  by  that  writing,  he  took  a  solemn  farewell.  She 
would  hardly,  he  supposed,  pursue  the  scheme  which  she  had  in 
view  (a  peculiar  satirical  emphasis  was  laid  upon  the  scheme 
which  she  had  in  view),  after  the  event  of  that  morning,  should 
he  fall,  as,  probably,  would  be  the  case. 

"  My  dear,  dear  George,  don't  say  that !  "  cried  the  affrighted 
secretary. 

"  As  probably  will  be  the  case,"  George  persisted  with 
great  majesty.  "  You  know  what  a  good  shot  Colonel  George 
is,  Harry.  I,  myself,  am  pretty  fair  at  a  mark,  and  'tis  probable 
that  one  or  both  of  us  will  drop. — '  I  scarcely  suppose  you  will 
carry  out  the  intentions  you  have  at  present  in  view.'  "  This 
was  uttered  in  a  tone  of  still  greater  bitterness  than  George 
had  used  even  in  the  previous  phrase.  Harry  wept  as  he  took 
it  down. 

"  You  see  I  say  nothing  ;  Madam  Esmond's  name  does  not 
even  appear  in  the  quarrel.  Do  you  not  remember,  in  our 
grandfather's  life  of  himself,  how  he  says  that  Lord  Castlewood 
fought  Lord  Mohun  on  a  joretext  of  a  quarrel  at  cards  'i  and 
never  so  much  as  hinted  at  the  lady's  name,  who  was  the  real 
cause  of  the  duel  ?     I  took  my  hint,  I  confess,  from  that,  Harry. 

Our  mother  is  not  compromised  in  the .     Why,  child,  what 

have  you  been  writing,  and  who  taught  thee  to  spell  ?  "  Harry 
had  written  the  last  words  "  in  view,"  in  vew,  and  a  great  blot 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  cj^ 

of  salt  water  from  his  honest,  boyish  eyes  may  have  obliterated 
some  other  bad  spelling. 

"  I  can't  think  about  the  spelling  now,  Georgy,"  whimpered 
George's  clerk.  "  I'm  too  miserable  for  that.  I  begin  to 
think,  perhaps,  it's  all  nonsense,  perhaps  Colonel  George 
never " 

"  Never  meant  to  take  possession  of  Castlewood  ;  never 
gave  himself  airs,  and  patronized  us  there  ;  never  advised  my 
mother  to  have  me  flogged,  never  intended  to  marry  her ; 
ne\-er  insulted  me,  and  was  insulted  before  the  King's  officers  ; 
never  wrote  to  his  brother  to  say  we  should  be  the  better  for 
his  parental  authority?  The  paper  is  there,"  cried  the  young 
man,  slapping  his  breast-pocket,  "  and  if  anything  happens  to 
me,  Harry  Warrington,  you  will  find  it  on  my  corpse  !  " 

''  Write  yourself,  Georgy,  I  caiit  write,"  says  Harry,  digging 
his  fists  into  his  eyes,  and  smearing  over  the  whole  composition, 
bad  spelling  and  all,  with  his  elbows. 

On  this,  George  taking  another  sheet  of  paper,  sat  down  at 
his  brother's  place,  and  produced  a  composition  in  which  he 
introduced  the  longest  words,  the  grandest  Latin  quotations, 
and  the  most  profound  satire  of  which  the  youthful  scribe  w^as 
master.  He  desired  that  his  negro  boy,  Sady,  should  be  set 
free  ;  that  his  "  Horace,"  a  choice  of  his  books,  and,  if  pos- 
sible, a  suitable  provision  should  be  made  for  his  affectionate 
tutor,  Mr.  Dempster  ;  that  his  silver  fruit-knife,  his  music-books, 
and  harpsichord,  should  be  given  to  little  Fanny  Mountain  3 
and  that  his  brother  should  take  a  lock  of  his  hair,  and  wear  it 
in  memory  of  his  ever  fond  and  faithfully  attached  George. 
And  he  sealed  the  document  with  the  seal  of  arms  that  his 
grandfather  had  worn. 

"  The  watch,  of  course,  will  be  yours,"  said  George,  taking 
out  his  grandfather's  gold  watch,  and  looking  at  it.  "  Why 
two  hours  and  a  half  are  gone  !  'Tis  time  that  Sady  should  be 
back  with  the  pistols.     Take  the  watch,  Harry  dear." 

"  It's  no  good  !  "  cried  out  Harry,  flinging  his  arms  round 
his  brother.     "  If  he  fights  you,  I'll  fight  him,  too.     If  he  kills 

my  Georgy, him,  he  shall  have  a   shot  at  me  ! "   and  the 

poor  lad  uttered  more  than  one  of  those  expressions,  which  are 
said  peculiarly  to  affect  recording  angels,  who  have  to  take 
them  down  at  celestial  chanceries. 

Meanwhile,  General  Braddock's  new  aide-de-camp  had 
written  five  letters  in  his  large  resolute  hand,  and  sealed  them 
with  his  seal.  One  was  to  his  mother,  at  Mount  Vernon  ;  one 
to  his  brother  ;  one  was  addressed  M.  C.  only  ;   and  one  to  his 

7 


c)8  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

Excellency,  Major-General  Braddock.  "  And  one,  young  gentle- 
men, is  for  your  mother,  Madam  Esmond,"  said  the  boys'  in- 
formant. 

Again  the  recording  angel  had  to  fly  off  with  a  violent 
expression,  which  parted-from  the  lips  of  George  Warrington. 
The  chancery  previously  mentioned  was  crowded  with  such 
cases,  and  the  messengers  must  have  been  for  ever  on  the 
wing.  But  I  fear  for  young  George  and  his  oath  there  was  no 
excuse  ;  for  it  was  an  execration  uttered  from  a  heart  full  of 
hatred,  and  rage,  and  jealousy. 

It  was  the  landlord  of  the  tavern  who  communicated  these 
facts  to  the  young  men.  The  Captain  had  put  on  his  old 
militia  uniform  to  do  honor  to  the  occasion,  and  informed  the 
boys  that  the  "  Colonel  was  walking  up  and  down  the  garden  a 
waiting  for  'em,  and  that  the  Reg'lars  was  a'most  sober,  too,  by 
this  time." 

A  plot  of  ground  near  the  Captain's  log-house  had  been  en- 
closed with  shingles,  and  cleared  for  a  kitchen-garden  ;  there 
indeed  paced  Colonel  Washington,  his  hands  behind  his  back, 
his  head  bowed  down,  a  grave  sorrow  on  his  handsome  face. 
The  negro  servants  were  crowded  at  the  palings,  and  looking 
over.  The  officers  under  the  porch  had  wakened  up  also,  as 
their  host  remarked.  Captain  Waring  was  walking,  almost 
steadily,  under  the  balcony  formed  by  the  sloping  porch  and 
roof  of  the  wooden  house  ;  and  Captain  Grace  was  lolling  over 
the  railing,  with  eyes  which  stared  very  much,  though  perhaps 
they  did  not  see  very  clearly.  Benson's  was  a  famous  rendez- 
vous for  cock-fights,  horse-matches,  boxing,  and  wrestling- 
matches,  such  as  brought  the  Virginian  countr3^-folks  together. 
There  had  been  many  brawls  at  Benson's,  and  men  who  came 
thither  sound  and  sober  had  gone  thence  with  ribs  broken  and 
eyes  gouged  out.  And  squires,  and  farmers,  and  negroes,  all 
participated  in  the  sport. 

There,  then,  stalked  the  tall  young  Colonel,  plunged  in  dis- 
mal meditation.  There  was  no  way  out  of  his  scrape,  but  the 
usual  cruel  one,  which  the  laws  of  honor  and  the  practice  of  the 
country  ordered.  Goaded  into  fury  by  the  impertinence  of  a 
boy,  he  had  used  insulting  words.  The  young  man  had  asked 
for  reparation.  He  was  shocked  to  think  that  George  War- 
rington's jealousy  and  revenge  should  have  rankled  in  the 
young  fellows  so  long  :  but  the  wrong  had  been  the  Colonel's, 
and  he  was  bound  to  pay  the  forfeit. 

A  great  hallooing  and  shouting,  such  as  negroes  use,  who 
love  noise  at  all  times,  and  especially  delight  to  yell  and  scream 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  gg 

when  galloping  on  horseback,  was  now  heard  at  a  distance,  and 
all  the  heads,  woolly  and  powdered,  were  turned  in  the  direction 
of  this  outcry.  It  came  from  the  road  over  which  our  travellers 
had  themselves  passed  three  hours  before,  and  presently  the 
clattering  of  a  horse's  hoofs  was  heard,  and  now  Mr.  Sady 
made  his  appearance  on  his  foaming  horse,  and  actually  fired  a 
pistol  off  in  the  midst  of  a  prodigious  uproar  from  his  woolly 
iDrethren ;  then  he  fired  another  pistol  off  :  to  which  noises 
Sady's  horse,  which  had  carried  Harry  Warrington  on  many  a 
hunt,  was  perfectly  accustomed.  And  now  he  was  in  the  court- 
yard, surrounded  by  a  score  of  his  bawling  comrades,  and  was 
descending  amidst  fluttering  fowls  and  turkeys,  kicking  horses 
and  shrieking  frantic  pigs  ;  and  brother  negroes  crowded  round 
him,  to  whom  he  instantly  began  to  talk  and  chatter. 

"  Sady,  sir,  come  here  !  "  roars  out  Master  Harry. 

"  Sady,  come  here,  confound  you  !  "  shouts  Master  George. 
(Again  the  recording  angel  is  in  requisition,  and  has  to  be  off 
on  one  of  his  endless  errands  to  the  register  office.)  "  Come 
directly,  Mas'r,"  says  Sady,  and  resumes  his  conversation  with 
his  woolly  brethren.  He  grins.  He  takes  the  pistols  out  of  the 
holster.  He  snaps  the  locks.  He  points  them  at  a  grunter, 
which  plunges  through  the  farm-yard.  He  points  down  the 
road,  over  which  he  has  just  galloped,  and  towards  which  the 
woolly  heads  again  turn.  He  says  again,  "  Comin',  Mas'r. 
Everybody  a-comin'."  And  now,  the  gallop  of  other  horses  is 
heard.  And  who  is  yonder  ?  Little  Mr.  Dempster,  spurring 
and  digging  into  his  pony  ;  and  that  lady  in  a  riding-habit  on 
jNIadam  Esmond's  little  horse — can  it  be  Madam  Esmond  .-* 
No.  It  is  too  stout.  As  I  live  it  is  Mrs.  Mountain  on 
Madam's  gray  ! 

"  O  Lor'  !  O  Golly  !  Hoop  !  Here  dey  come  !  Hurray  !" 
A  chorus  of  negroes  rises  up.  "  Here  dey  are  ! "  Dr.  Dempster 
and  Mrs.  Mountain  have  clattered  into  the  yard,  have  jumped 
from  their  horses,  have  elbowed  through  the  negroes,  have 
rushed  into  the  house,  ha\e  run  through  it  and  across  the  porch, 
where  the  British  officers  are  sitting  in  muzzy  astonishment ; 
have  run  down  the  stairs  to  the  garden  where  George  and 
Harry  are  walking,  their  tall  enemy  stalking  opposite  to  them ; 
and  almost  ere  George  Warrington  has  had  time  sternly  to  say, 
"What  do  you  do  here,  Madam  ?'■  Mrs.  Mountain  has  flung 
her  arms  round  his  neck  and  cries  :  ''  Oh,  George,  my  darling ! 
It's  a  mistake  !     It's  mistake,  and  is  all  my  fault !  " 

'•  What's  a  mistake  ?  "  asks  George,  majestically  separating 
himself  from  the  embrace. 


lOo  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

"What  is  it,  Mounty  ?  "  cries  Harry,  all  of  a  tremble. 

"  That  paper  I  took  out  of  his  portfolio,  that  paper  I  picked 
up,  children  ;  where  the  Colonel  says  he  is  going  to  marry  a 
widow  with  two  children.  Who  should  it  be  but  you,  children, 
and  who  should  it  be  but  your  mother  ?  " 

''  Well  ? " 

"  Well,  it's — it's  not  your  mother.  It's  that  little  widow 
Curtis  whom  the  Colonel  is  going  to  marry.  He'd  always  take 
a  rich  one ;  I  knew  he  would.  It's  not  Mrs.  Rachel  Warrington. 
He  told  IMadam  so  to-day,  just  before  he  was  going  away,  and 
that  the  marriage  was  to  come  off  after  the  campaign.  And — 
and  your  mother  is  furious,  boys.  And  when  Sady  came  for 
the  pistols,  and  told  the  whole  house  how  you  were  going  to 
fight,  I  told  him  to  fire  the  pistols  off ;  and  I  galloped  after 
him,  and  I've  nearly  broken  my  poor  old  bones  in  coming 
to  you." 

"  I  have  a  mind  to  break  Mr.  Sady's,"  growled  George.  "  I 
specially  enjoined  the  villain  not  to  say  a  word." 

"Thank  God  he  did,  brother,"  said  poor  Harry.  "Thank 
God,  he  did  !  " 

"  What  will  Mr.  Washington  and  those  gentlemen  think  of 
my  servant  telling  my  mother  at  home  that  I  was  going  to  fight 
a  duel.?"  asks  Mr.  George,  still  in  wrath. 

"  You  have  shown  your  proofs  before,  George,"  says  Harry, 
respectfully.  "  And,  thank  heaven,  you  are  not  going  to  fight 
our  old  friend — our  grandfather's  old  friend.  For  it  was  a 
mistake  :  and  there  is  no  quarrel  now,  dear,  is  there  ?  You 
were  unkind  to  hinv  under  a  wrong  impression." 

"  I  certainly  acted  under  a  wrong  impression,"  owns  George, 
"but " 

"  George  !  George  Washington  !  "  Harry  here  cries  out, 
springing  over  the  cabbage-garden  towards  the  bowling-green, 
wliere  the  Colonel  was  stalking,  and  though  v/e  cannot  hear 
him,  we  see  him,  with  both  his  hands  out,  and  with  the  eager- 
ness of  youth,  and  with  a  hundred  blunders,  and  with  love  and 
affection  thrilling  in  his  honest  voice,  we  imagine  the  lad  telling 
his  tale  to  his  friend. 

There  was  a  custom  in  those  days  which  has  disappeared 
from  our  manners  now,  but  which  then  lingered.  When  Harry 
had  finished  his  artless  story,  his  friend  the  Colonel  took  him 
fairly  to  his  arms,  and  held  him  to  his  heart :  and  his  voice 
faltered  as  he  said,  "  Thank  God,  thank  God  for  this  !  " 

"Oh,  George,"  said  Harry,  who  felt  now  how  he  loved  his 
friend  with  all  his  heart,  "  how  I  wish  I  was  going  with  you  on 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  lOi 

the  campaign  !  "  The  other  pressed  both  the  boy's  hands,  in 
a  grasp  of  friendship,  which,  each  knew,  never  would  slacken. 

Then  the  Colonel  advanced,  gravely  holding  out  his  hand 
to  Harry's  elder  brother.  Perhaps  Harry  wondered  that  the 
two  did  not  embrace  as  he  and  the  Colonel  had  just  done. 
But,  though  hands  were  joined,  the  salutation  was  only  formal 
and  stern  on  both  sides. 

"  I  find  I  have  done  you  a  wrong.  Colonel  Washington," 
George  said,  "  and  must  apologize,  not  for  the  error,  but  for 
much  of  my  late  behavior  which  has  resulted  from  it." 

"  The  error  was  mine  !  It  wa^>  I  who  found  that  paper  in 
your  room,  and  showed  it  to  GeDrge,  and  was  jealous  of  you, 
Colonel.     All  women  are  jealous,"'  cried  Mrs.  Mountain. 

"  'Tis  a  pity  you  could  not  have  kept  your  eyes  off  my 
paper.  Madam,"  said  Mr.  Washington.  "  You  will  permit  me 
to  say  so.  A  great  deal  of  mischief  has  come  because  I  chose 
to  keep  a  secret  which  concerned  only  myself  and  another  per- 
son. For  a  long  time  George  Warrington's  heart  has  been 
black  with  anger  against  me,  and  my  feeling  towards  him  has, 
I  own,  scarce  been  more  friendly.  All  this  pain  might  have 
been  spared  to  both  of  us,  had  my  private  papers  only  been 
read  by  those  for  whom  they  were  written.  I  shall  say  no 
more  now,  lest  my  feelings  again  should  betray  me  into  hasty 
words.  Heaven  bless  thee,  Harry  !  Farewell,  George  !  And 
take  a  true  friend's  advice,  and  try  and  be  less  ready  to  think 
evil  of  your  friends.  We  shall  meet  again  at  the  camp,  and 
will  keep  our  weapons  for  the  enemy.  Gentlemen !  if  you  re- 
member this  scene  to-morrow,  you  will  know  where  to  find 
me."  And  with  a  very  stately  bow  to  the  English  officers,  the 
Colonel  left  the  abashed  compan}',  and  speedily  rode  away. 


CHAPTER  XH. 

NEWS    FROM    THE    CAMP. 


W^E  must  fancy  that  the  parting  between  the  brothers  is 
over,  that  George  has  taken  his  place  in  Mr.  Braddock's 
family,  and  Harry  has  returned  home  to  Castlewood  and  his 
duty.  His  heart  is  with  the  army,  and  his  pursuits  at  home 
offer  the  boy  no  pleasure.     He  does  not  care  to  own  how  deep 


I02  THE   FIR  GIN/ A, VS. 

his  disappointment  is,  at  being  obliged  to  stay  under  the 
homely,  quiet  roof,  now  more  melancholy  than  ever  since 
George  is  away.  Harry  passes  his  brother's  empty  chamber 
with  an  averted  face  ;  takes  George's  place  at  the  head  of  the 
table,  and  sighs  as  he  drinks  from  his  silver  tankard.  Madam 
Warrington  calls  the  toast  of  "The  King"  stoutly  every  day; 
and  on  Sundays,  when  Harry  reads  the  Service,  and  prays  for 
all  travellers  by  land  and  by  water,  she  says,  "  We  beseech 
Thee  to  hear  us,"  with  a  peculiar  solemnity.  She  insists  on 
talking  about  George  constantly,  but  quite  cheerfully,  and  as  if 
his  return  was  certain.  She  walks  into  his  vacant  room,  with 
head  upright,  and  no  outward  signs  of  emotion.  She  sees  that 
his  books,  linen,  papers,  &c.,  are  arranged  with  care  ;  talking  of 
him  with  a  very  special  respect,  and  specially  appealing  to  the 
old  servants  at  meals,  and  so  forth,  regarding  things  which  are 
to  be  done  "  when  j\Ir.  George  comes  home,"  Mrs.  Mountain  is 
constantly  on  the  whimper  when  George's  name  is  mentioned, 
and  Harry's  face  wears  a  look  of  the  most  ghastly  alarm  ;  but 
his  mother's  is  invariably  grave  and  sedate.  She  makes  more 
blunders  at  picquet  and  backgammon  than  you  would  expect 
from  her  ;  and  the  ser\'ants  find  her  awake  and  dressed,  how- 
ever early  they  may  rise.  She  has  prayed  Mr.  Dempster  to 
come  back  into  residence  at  Castlewood.  She  is  not  severe  or 
haughty  (as  her  wont  certainly  was)  with  any  of  the  party,  but 
quiet  in  her  talk  with  them,  and  gentle  in  assertion  and  reply. 
She  is  for  ever  talking  of  her  father  and  his  campaigns,  who 
came  out  of  them  all  with  no  very  severe  wounds  to  hurt  him  ; 
and  so  she  hopes  and  trusts  will  her  eldest  son. 

George  writes  frequent  letters  home  to  his  brother,  and, 
now  the  army  is  on  its  march,  compiles  a  rough  journal,  which 
he  forwards' as  occasion  serves.  This  document  is  perused 
with  great  delight  and  eagerness  by  the  youth  to  whom  it  is 
addressed,  and  more  than  once  read  out  in  family  council,  on 
the  long  summer  nights,  as  Madam  Esmond  sits  upright  at  her 
tea-table — (she  never  condescends  to  use  the  back  of  a  chair) 
—as  little  Fanny  Mountain  is  busy  with  her  sewing,  as  Mr. 
Dempster  and  Mrs.  Mountain  sit  over  their  cards,  as  the 
hushed  old  servants  of  the  house  move  about  silently  in  the 
gloaming,  and  listen  to  the  words  of  the  young  master. 
Hearken  to  Harry  Warrington  reading  out  his  brother's  letter ! 
As  we  look  at  the  slim  characters  on  the  yellow  page,  fondly 
kept  and  put  aside,  we  can  almost  fancy  him  alive  who  wrote 
and  who  read  it — and  yet,  lo  !  they  are  as  if  they  never  had 
been  ;  their  portraits  faint  images  in  frames  of  tarnished  gold. 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  103 

Were  they  real  once,  or  are  they  mere  phantasms  ?  Did  they 
Uve  and  die  once  ?  Did  they  love  each  other  as  true  brothers, 
and  loyal  gentlemen  ?  Can  we  hear  their  voices  in  the  past? 
Sure  I  know  Harry's,  and  yonder  he  sits  in  the  warm  summer 
evening   and  reads  his  young  brother's  simple  story  : — 

"  It  must  be  owned  that  the  provinces  are  acting  scurvily 
by  his  Majesty  King  George  II.,  and  his  representative  here  is 
in  a  flame  of  fury.  Virginia  is  bad  enough,  and  poor  Mary- 
land not  much  better,  but  Pennsylvania  is  worst  of  all.  We 
pray  them  to  send  us  troops  from  home  to  fight  the  French  ; 
and  we  promise  to  maintain  the  troops  when  they  come.  We 
not  only  don't  keep  our  promise,  and  make  scarce  any  provi- 
sion for  our  defenders,  but  our  jDCople  insist  upon  the  most  ex- 
orbitant prices  for  their  cattle  and  stores,  and  actually  cheat 
the  soldiers  who  are  come  to  fight  their  battles.  No  wonder 
the  General  swears,  and  the  troops  are  sulky.  The  delays  have 
been  endless.  Owing  to  the  failure  of  the  several  provinces  to 
provide  their  promised  stores  and  means  of  locomotion,  weeks 
and  months  have  elapsed,  during  which  time,  no  doubt,  the 
French  have  been  strengthening  themselves  on  our  frontier 
and  in  the  forts  they  have  turned  us  out  of.  Though  there 
never  will  be  any  love  lost  between  me  and  Colonel  Washing- 
ton, it  must  be  owned  that  your  favorite  (I  am  not  jealous,  Hal) 
is  a  brave  man  ard  a  good  officer.  The  family  respect  him 
very  much,  and  the  General  is  always  asking  his  opinion.  In- 
deed, he  is. almost  the  only  man  who  has  seen  the  Indians  in 
their  war-paint,  and  I  own  I  think  he  was  right  in  firing  upon 
Mons.  Jumonville  last  year. 

"  There  is  to  be  no  more  suite  to  that  other  quarrel  at  Ben- 
son's Tavern  than  there  was  to  the  proposed  battle  between 
Colonel  W.  and  a  certain  young  gentleman  who  shall  be  name- 
less. Captain  Waring  wished  to  pursue  it  on  coming  into 
camp,  and  brought  the  message  from  Captain  Grace,  which 
your  friend,  who  is  as  bold  as  Hector,  was  for  taking  up,  and 
employed  a  brother  aide-de-camp,  Colonel  Wingfield,  on  his 
side.  But  when  Wingfield  heard  the  circumstances  of  the 
quarrel,  how  it  had  arisen  from  Grace  being  drunk,  ^nd  was 
fomented  by  Waring  being  tipsy,  and  how  the  two  44th  gentle- 
men had  chosen  to  insult  a  militia  officer,  he  swore  that  Colonel 
Washington  should  not  meet  the  44th  men  ;  that  he  would 
carry  the  matter  straightway  to  his  Excellency,  who  would 
bring  the  two  captains  to  a  court-martial  for  brawling  with  the 
militia,  and  drunkenness,  and  indecent  behavior,  and  the  cap- 
tains were  fain  to  put  up  their  toasting-irons,  and  swallow  their 


I04 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


wrath.  They  were  good-natured  enough  out  of  their  cups,  and 
ate  their  humble  pie  with  very  good  appetites  at  a  reconciUa- 
tion  dinner  which  Colonel  W.  had  with  the  44th,  and  where  he 
was  as  perfectly  stupid  and  correct  as  Prince  Pettyman  need 
be.  Hang  him!  He  has  no  faults,  and  that's  why  I  dislike 
him.  When  he  marries  that  widow — ah  me  !  what  a  drear}^  life 
she  will  have  of  it." 

'"  I  wonder  at  the  taste  of  some  men,  and  the  effrontery  of 
some  women,"  said  Madam  Esmond,  laying  her  teacup  down. 
"  I  wonder  at  a7iy  woman  who  has  been  married  once,  so  for- 
getting herself  as  to  marry  again  !     Don't  you,  INIountain  ?  " 

"  Monstrous  !  "  says  Mountain,  with  a  queer  look. 

Dempster  keeps  his  eyes  steadily  fixed  on  his  glass  of 
punch.  Harry  looks  as  if  he  was  choking  with  laughter,  or 
with  some  other  concealed  emotion,  but  his  mother  says,  "  Go 
on,  Harry  !  Continue  with  your  brother's  journal.  He  writes 
well :  but,  ah,  will  he  ever  be  able  to  write  like  my  papa  ?  " 

Harry  resumes  :  "  We  keep  the  strictest  order  here  in 
camp,  and  the  orders  against  drunkenness  and  ill-behavior  on 
the  part  of  the  men  are  very  severe.  The  roll  of  each  com- 
pany is  called  at  morning,  noon,  and  night,  and  a  return  of  the 
absent  and  disorderly  is  given  in  by  the  officer  to  the  command- 
ing officer  of  the  regiment,  who  has  to  see  that  they  are  prop- 
erly furnished.  The  mc?i  are  punished,  and  the  drummers 
are  always  at  work.  Oh,  Harry,  but  it  made  one  sick  to  see 
the  first  blood  drawn  from  a  great  strong  white  back,  and  to 
hear  the  piteous  yell  of  the  poor  fellow." 

"  Oh,  horrid  !  "  says  Madam  Esmond. 

"  I  think  I  should  have  murdered  Ward  if  he  had  flogged 
me.  Thank  heaven  he  got  off  with  only  a  crack  of  the  ruler  ! 
The  inen^  I  say,  are  looked  after  carefully  enough.  I  wish  the 
officers  were.  The  Indians  have  just  broken  up  their  camp, 
and  retired  in  dudgeon,  because  the  young  officers  were  for 
ever  drinking  with  the  squaws — and — and — hum — ha."  Here 
Mr.  Harry  pauses,  as  not  caring  to  proceed  with  the  narrative, 
in  the  presence  of  little  Fanny,  very  likely,  who  sits  primly  in 
her  chair  by  her  mother's  side,  working  her  little  sampler. 

"  Pass  over  that  about  the  odious  tipsy  creatures,"  says 
Madam.  And  Harry  commences,  in  a  loud  tone,  a  much  more 
satisfactory  statement :  "  Each  regiment  has  Divine  Service 
performed  at  the  head  of  its  colors  every  Sunday.  The  Gen- 
eral does  everything  in  the  power  of  mortal  man  to  prevent 
plundering,  and  to  encourage  the  people  round  about  to  bring 
in  provisions.     He  has  declared  soldiers  will  be  shot  who  dare 


THE    VIRGINIANS.  105 

to  interrupt  or  molest  the  market  people.  He  has  ordered  the 
price  of  provisions  to  be  raised  a  penny  a  pound,  and  has  lent 
money  out  of  his  own  pocket  to  provide  the  camp.  Altogether, 
he  is  a  strange  compound,  this  General.  He  flogs  his  men 
without  mercy,  but  he  gives  without  stint.  He  swears  most 
tremendous  oaths  in  conversation,  and  tells  stories  which 
Mountain  would  be  shocked  to  hear " 

"  Why  me  ?  "  asks  Mountain ;  ""  and  what  have  I  to  do  with 
the  General's  silly  stories  ?  " 

"  Never  mind  the  stories  ;  and  go  on,  Harry,"  cries  the 
mistress  of  the  house. 

" — would  be  shocked  to  hear  after  dinner;  but  he  never 
misses  service.  He  adores  his  Great  Duke,  and  has  his  name 
constantly  on  his  lips.  Our  two  regiments  both  served  in 
Scotland,  where  I  dare  say  Mr.  Dempster  knew  the  color  of 
their  facings." 

"  We  saw  the  tails  of  their  coats,  as  well  as  their  facings," 
groAvls  the  little  Jacobite  tutor. 

"  Colonel  Washington  has  had  the  fever  very  smartly,  and 
has  hardly  been  w^ell  enough  to  keep  up  with  the  march.  Had 
he  not  better  go  home  and  be  nursed  by  his  widow  ?  When 
either  of  us  is  ill,  we  are  almost  as  good  friends  again  as  ever. 
But  I  feel  somehow  as  if  I  can't  forgive  him  for  having  wronged 
him.  Good  Powers  !  How  I  have  been  hating  him  for  these 
months  past !  Oh,  Harry  !  I  w^as  in  a  fury  at  the  tavern  the 
other  day,  because  Mountain  came  up  so  soon,  and  put  an  end 
to  our  difference.  We  ought  to  have  burned  a  little  gunpow- 
der between  us,  and  cleared  the  air.  But  though  I  don't  love 
him  as  you  do,  I  know  he  is  a  good  soldier,  a  good  officer,  and 
a  brave,  honest  man  ;  and,  at  any  rate,  shall  love  him  none  the 
worse  for  not  wanting  to  be  our  step-father." 

"A  step-father,  indeed!"  cries  Harr}^'s  mother.  "Why, 
jealousy  and  prejudice  have  perfectly  maddened  the  poor  child  ! 
Do  you  suppose  the  Marquis  of  Esmond's  daughter  and  heiress 
could  not  have  found  other  step-fathers  for  her  sons  than  a 
mere  provincial  surveyor  ?  If  there  are  any  more  such  allu- 
sions in  George's  journal,  I  beg  you  skip  'em,  Harr}^,  my  dear. 
About  this  piece  of  folly  and  blundering,  there  hath  been  quite 
talk  enough  already." 

"'Tis  a  pretty  sight,"  Harry  continued,  reading  from  his 
brother's  journal,  "  to  see  a  long  line  of  red  coats,  threading 
through  the  woods  or  taking  their  ground  after  the  march. 
The  care  against  surprise  is  so  great  and  constant,  that  we 
defy  prowling  Indians   to   come   unawares  upon  us,  and   our 


io6  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

advanced  sentries  and  savages  have  on  the  contrary  fallen  in 
with  the  enemy  and  taken  a  scalp  or  two  from  them.  They 
are  such  cruel  villains,  these  French  and  their  painted  allies, 
that  we  do  not  think  of  showing  them  merc}'.  Only  think,  we 
found  but  yesterday  a  little  boy  scalped  but  yet  alive  in  a  lone 
house,  where  his  parents  had  been  attacked  and  murdered  by 
the  savage  enemy,  of  whom — so  great  is  his  indignation  at  their 
cruelty — our  general  has  offered  a  reward  of  5/.  for  all  the 
Indian  scalps  brought  in. 

"  When  our  march  is  over,  you  should  see  our  camp,  and 
all  the  care  bestowed  on  it.  Our  baggage  and  our  General's 
tents  and  guards  are  placed  quite  in  the  centre  of  the  camp. 
We  have  outlying  sentries  by  twos,  by  threes,  by  tens,  by  whole 
companies.  At  the 'least  surprise,  they  are  instructed  to  run  in 
on  the  main  body  and  rally  round  the  tents  and  baggage,  v.hich 
are  so  arranged  themselves  as  to  be  a  strong  fortification.  Sady 
and  I,  you  must  know,  are  marching  on  foot  now,  and  my 
horses  are  carr}-ing  baggage.  The  Pennsylvanians  sent  such 
rascally  animals  into  camp  that  they  speedily  gave  in.  What 
good  horses  were  left  'twas  our  duty  to  give  up  :  and  Roxana 
has  a  couple  of  packs  upon  her  back  instead  of  her  young  mas- 
ter. She  knows  me  right  well,  and  whinnies  when  she  sees  me, 
and  I  walk  by  her  side,  and  we  have  many  a  talk  together  on 
the  march. 

"  July  4.  To  guard  against  surprises,  we  are  all  warned  to 
pay  especial  attention  to  the  beat  of  the  drum  ;  always  halting 
when  we  hear  the  long  roll  beat,  and  marching  at  the  beat  of 
the  long  march.  We  are  more  on  the  alert  regarding  the 
enemy  now^  We  have  our  advanced  pickets  doubled,  and  two 
sentries  at  ever}^  post.  The  men  on  the  advanced  pickets  are 
constantly  under  arms,  with  fixed  bayonets,  all  through  the 
night,  and  relieved  every  two  hours.  The  half  that  are  relieved 
lie  down  by  their  arms,  but  are  not  suffered  to  leave  their 
pickets.  'Tis  evident  that  we  are  drawing  very  near  to  the 
enemy  now.  This  packet  goes  out  with  the  General's  to  Colo- 
nel Dunbar's  camp,  who  is  thirty  miles  behind  us  ;  and  will  be 
carried  thence  to  Frederick,  and  thence  to  my  honored  mother's 
house  at  Castlewood,  to  whom  I  send  my  duty,  with  kindest 
remembrances,  as  to  all  friends  there,  and  how  much  love  I 
need  not  say  to  my  dearest  brother  from  his  affectionate  George 
E.  Warrington." 

The  whole  land  was  now  lying  parched  and  scorching  in  the 
July  heat.  For  ten  days  no  news  had  come  from  the  column 
advancing  on  the   Ohio.     Their  march,   though   it  toiled  but 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  107 

slowly  through  the  painful  forest,  must  bring  them  ere  long 
up  with  the  enemy ;  the  troops  led  by  consummate  captains, 
were  accustomed  now  to  the  wilderness,  and  not  afraid  of  sur- 
prise. Every  precaution  had  been  taken  against  ambush.  It 
was  the  outlying  enemy  who  were  discovered,  pursued,  de~ 
stroyed,  by  the  vigilant  scouts  and  skirmishers  of  the  British 
force.  The  last  news  heard  was  that  the  army  had  advanced 
considerably  beyond  the  ground  of  Mr.  Washington's  discom- 
fiture in  the  previous  year,  and  two  days  after  must  be  within  a 
day's  march  of  the  French  fort.  About  taking  it  no  fears 
were  entertained ;  the  amount  of  the  French  reinforcements 
from  Montreal  was  known.  Mr.  Braddock,  with  his  two  veteran 
regiments  from  Britain,  and  their  allies  of  Virginia  and  Penn- 
sylvania, were  more  than  a  match  for  any  troops  that  could 
be  collected  under  the  white  flag. 

Such  continued  to  be  the  talk,  in  the  sparse  towns  of  our 
Virginian  province,  at  the  gentry's  houses,  and  the  rough  road- 
side taverns,  where  people  met  and  canvassed  the  war.  The 
few  messengers  who  were  sent  back  by  the  General  reported 
well  of  the  main  force.  'Twas  thought  the  enemy  would  not 
stand  or  defend  himself  at  all.  Had  he  intended  to  attack,  he 
might  have  seized  a  dozen  occasions  for  assaulting  our  troops 
at  passes  through  which  they  had  been  allowed  to  go  entirely 
free.  So  George  had  given  up  his  favorite  mare,  like  a  hero 
as  he  was,  and  was  marching  a-foot  with  the  line?  Madam 
Esmond  vowed  that  he  should  have  the  best  horse  in  Virginia 
or  Carolina  in  place  of  Roxana,  There  were  horses  enough  to 
be  had  in  the  provinces,  and  for  money.  It  was  only  for  the 
King's  service  that  they  were  not  forthcoming. 

Although  at  their  family  meetings  and  repasts  the  inmates 
of  Castlewood  always  talked  cheerfully,  never  anticipating  any 
but  a  triumphant  issue  to  the  campaign,  or  acknowledging  any 
feeling  of  disquiet,  yet,  it  must  be  owned  they  were  mighty 
uneasy  when  at  home,  quitting  it  ceaselessly,  and  for  ever  on  the 
trot  from  one  neighbor's  house  to  another  in  quest  of  news.  It 
was  prodigious  how  quickly  reports  ran  and  spread.  When, 
for  instance,  a  certain  noted  border  warrior,  called  Colonel 
Jack,  had  offered  himself  and  his  huntsmen  to  the  General, 
who  had  declined  the  ruffian's  terms  or  his  proffered  service, 
the  defection  of  Jack  and  his  men  was  the  talk  of  thousands  of 
tongues  immediately.  The  house  negroes,  in  their  midnight 
gallops  about  the  country,  in  search  of  junketing  or  sweet- 
hearts, brought  and  spread  news  over  amazingly  wide  districts. 
They  had  a  curious  knowledge  of  the  incidents  of  the  march 


io8  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

for  a  fortnight  at  least  after  its  commencement.  They  knew 
and  laughed  at  the  cheats  practised  on  the  army  for  horses, 
provisions,  and  the  like  ;  for  a  good  bargain  over  the  foreigner 
was-  not  an  unfrequent  or  unpleasant  practice  among  New 
Yorkers,  Pennsylvanians,  or  Marylanders  ;  though  'tis  known 
that  American  folks  have  become  perfectly  artless  and  simple 
in  later  times,  and  never  grasp,  and  never  overreach,  and  are 
never  selfish  now.  For  three  weeks  after  the  army's  departure, 
the  thousand  reports  regarding  it  were  cheerful  ;  and  when  our 
Castlewood  friends  met  at  their  supper,  their  tone  was  confi- 
dent and  their  news  pleasant. 

But  on  the  loth  of  July  a  vast  and  sudden  gloom  spread 
over  the  province.  A  look  of  terror  and  doubt  seemed  to  fall 
upon  every  face.  Affrighted  negroes  wistfully  eyed  their  mas- 
ters and  retired,  and  hummed  and  whispered  with  one  another. 
The  fiddles  ceased  in  the  quarters :  the  song  and  laugh  of  those 
cheery  black  folk  were  hushed.  Right  and  left,  everybody's 
servants  were  on  the  gallop  for  news.  The  country  taverns 
were  thronged  with  horsemen,  who  drank  and  cursed  and 
brawled  at  the  bars,  each  bringing  his  gloomy  story.  The  army 
had  been  surprised.  The  troops  had  fallen  into  an  ambuscade, 
and  had  been  cut  up  almost  to  a  man.  All  the  officers  were 
taken  down  by  the  French  marksmen  and  the  savages.  The 
General  had  been  wounded,  and  carried  off  the  field  in  his  sash. 
Four  days  afterwards  the  report  was  that  the  General  was  dead, 
and  scalped  by  a  French  Indian. 

Ah,  what  a  scream  poor  Mrs.  Mountain  gave,  when  Gumbo 
brought  the  news  from  across  the  James  River,  and  little  Fanny 
sprang  cr}-ing  to  her  mother's  arms  !  "  Lord  God  Almighty, 
watch  over  us,  and  defend  my  boy  !  "  said  Mrs.  Esmond,  sink- 
ing down  on  her  knees,  and  lifting  her  rigid  hands  to  Heaven. 
The  gentlemen  were  not  at  home  when  this  rumor  arrived,  but 
they  came  in  an  hour  or  two  afterwards,  each  from  his  hunt  for 
news.  The  Scots  tutor  did  not  dare  to  look  up  and  meet  the 
widow's  agonizing  looks.  Harry  Warrington  was  as  pale  as  his 
mother.  It  might  not  be  true  about  the  manner  of  the  General's 
death — but  he  was  dead.  The  army  had  been  surprised  by 
Indians,  and  had  fled,  and  been  killed  without  seeing  the 
enemy.  An  express  had  arrived  from  Dunbar's  camp.  Fugi- 
tives were  pouring  in  there.  Should  he  go  and  see  ?  He  must 
go  and  see.  He  and  stout  little  Dempster  armed  them- 
selves and  mounted,  taking  a  couple  of  mounted  servants  with 
them. 

They  followed  the  northward  track  which  the  expeditionary 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


109 


army  had  hewed  out  for  itself,  and  at  every  step  which  brought 
them  nearer  to  the  scene  of  action,  the  disaster  of  the  fearfu) 
day  seemed  to  magnify.  The  day  after  the  defeat  a  number  of 
the  miserable  fugitives  from  the  fatal  battle  of  the  9th  July  had 
reached  Dunbar's  camp,  fifty  miles  from  the  field.  Thither 
poor  Harry  and  his  companions  rode,  stopping  stragglers,  ask- 
ing news,  giving  money,  getting  from  one  and  all  the  same 
gloomy  tale — A  thousand  men  were  slain — two-thirds  of  the 
officers  were  down — all  the  General's  aides-de-camp  were  hit. 
Were  hit  ? — but  were  they  killed  ?  Those  who  fell  never  rose 
again.  The  tomahawk  did  its  work  upon  them.  O  brother, 
brother !  All  the  fond  memories  of  their  youth,  all  the  dear 
remembrances  of  their  childhood,  the  love  and  the  laughter, 
the  tender  romantic  vows,  which  they  had  pledged  to  each  other 
as  lads,  were  recalled  by  Harry  with  pangs  inexpressibly  keen. 
Wounded  men  looked  up  and  were  softened  by  his  grief : 
rough  women  melted  as  they  saw  the  woe  written  on  the  hand- 
some young  face  :  the  hardy  old  tutor  could  scarcely  look  at 
him  for  tears,  and  grieved  for  him  even  more  than  for  his 
dear  pupil  who  lay  dead  under  the  savage  Indian  knife. 


CHAPTER   XHI. 

PROFITLESS      QUEST 


At  every  step  which  Harry  Warrington  took  towards  Penn- 
sylvania, the  reports  of  the  British  disaster  were  magnified  and 
confirmed.  Those  two  famous  regiments  which  had  fought  in 
the  Scottish  and  Continental  wars,  had  fled  from  an  enemy 
almost  unseen,  and  their  boasted  discipline  and  valor  had  not 
enabled  them  to  face  a  band  of  savages  and  a  few  French 
infantry.  The  unfortunate  commander  of  the  expedition  had 
shown  the  utmost  bravery  and  resolution.  Four  times  his  horse 
had  been  shot  under  him.  Twice  he  had  been  wounded,  and 
the  last  time  of  the  mortal  hurt  which  ended  his  life  three  days 
after  the  battle.  More  than  one  of  Harr}^'s  informants  described 
the  action  to  the  poor  lad, — the  passage  of  the  river,  the  long 
line  of  advance  through  the  wilderness,  the  firing  in  front,  the 
vain  struggle  of  the  men  to  advance,  and  the  artillery  to  clear 
the  way  of  the  enemy ;  then  the  ambushed   fire  from  behind 


no  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

every  bush  and  tree,  and  the  murderous  fusilade,  by  which  at 
least  half  of  the  expeditionary  force  had  been  shot  down.  But 
not  all  the  GeneraFs  suite  were  killed,  Harry  heard.  One  of 
his  aides-de  camp,  a  Virginian  gentleman,  was  ill  of  fever  and 
exhaustion  at  Dunbar's  camp. 

One  of  them — but  which  .'*  To  the  camp  Harry  hurried,  and 
reached  it  at  length.  It  was  George  Washington  Harry  found 
stretched  in  a  tent  there,  and  not  his  brother.  A  sharper  pain 
than  that  of  the  fever  Mr.  \^'ashington  declared  he  felt,  when 
he  saw  Harry  Warrington,  and  could  give  him  no  news  of 
George. 

Mr.  Washington  did  not  dare  to  tell  Harry  all.  For  three 
days  after  the  fight  his  duty  had  been  to  be  near  the  General. 
On  the  fatal  9th  of  July,  he  had  seen  George  go  to  the  front 
with  orders  from  the  chief,  to  whose  side  he  never  returned. 
After  Braddock  himself  died,  the  aide-de-camp  had  found 
means  to  retrace  his  course  to  the  field.  The  corpses  which 
remained  there  were  stripped  and  horribly  mutilated.  One 
body  he  buried  which  he  thought  to  be  George  Warrington's. 
His  own  illness  was  increased,  perhaps  occasioned,  by  the 
anguish  which  he  underwent  in  his  search  for  the  unhappy 
young  volunteer. 

*'  Ah,  George  !  If  you  had  loved  him  you  would  have  found 
him  dead  or  alive,"  Harry  cried  out.  Nothing  would  satisfy 
him  but  that  he,  too,  should  go  to  the  ground  and  examine  it. 
With  money  he  procured  a  guide  or  two.  He  forded  the  river 
at  the  place  where  the  army  had  passed  over ;  he  went  from  one 
end  to  the  other  of  the  dreadful  field.  It  was  no  longer  haunted 
by  Indians  now.  The  birds  of  prey  were  feeding  on  the  man- 
gled festering  carcases.  Save  in  his  own  grandfather,  lying  very 
calm,  with  a  sweet  smile  on  his  lip,  Harry  had  never  yet  seen 
the  face  of  Death.  The  horrible  spectacle  of  mutilation  caused 
him  to  turn  away  with  shudder  and  loathing.  What  news  could 
the  vacant  woods,  or  those  festering  corpses  lying  under  the 
trees,  give  the  lad  of  his  lost  brother  ?  He  was  for  going, 
unarmed  and  with  a  white  flag,  to  the  French  fort,  whither,  after 
their  victory,  the  enemy  had  returned  ;  but  his  guides  refused 
to  advance  with  him.  The  French  might  possibly  respect  them, 
but  the  Indians  would  not.  "  Keep  your  hair  for  your  lady- 
mother,  my  young  gentleman,"  said  the  guide.  "  'Tis  enough 
that  she  loses  one  son  in  this  campaign." 

When  Harr}^  returned  to  the  English  encampment  at  Dun- 
bar's, it  was  his  turn  to  be  down  with  the  fever.  Delirium  set 
in  upon  him,  and   he  lay  some  time  in  the  tent  and  on  the  bed 


THE   riRGIXIAA'S.  Til 

from  which  his  friend  had  just  risen  convalescent.  For  some 
days  he  did  not  know  who  watched  him  :  and  poor  Dempster, 
who  had  tended  him  in  more  than  one  of  tliese  maladies, 
thought  the  widow  must  lose  both  her  children  ;  but  the  fever 
was  so  far  subdued  that  the  boy  was  enabled  to  rally  some- 
what, and  get  to  horseback.  Mr.  Washington  and  Dempster 
both  escorted  him  home.  It  was  with  a  heavy  heart,  no  doubt, 
that  all  three  beheld  once  more  the  gates  of  Castlewood. 

A  servant  in  advance  had  been  sent  to  announce  their  com- 
ing. First  camx  Mrs.  Mountain  and  her  little  daughter,  wel- 
coming Harry  with  many  tears  and  embraces  ;  but  she  scarce 
gave  a  nod  of  recognition  to  Mr.  Washington ;  and  the  little 
girl  caused  the  young  officer  to  start,  and  turn  deadly  pale,  by 
coming  up  to  him  with  her  hands  behind  her,  and  asking,  "  Why 
have  you  not  brought  George  back,  too  ?  "  Harry  did  not  hear. 
The  sobs  and  caresses  of  his  good  friend  and  nurse  luckily  kept 
him  from  listening  to  little  Fanny. 

Dempster  was  graciously  received  by  the  two  ladies. 
"  Whatever  could  be  done,  we  know  yoti  would  do,  Mr.  Demp- 
ster," says  Mrs.  Mountain,  giving  him  her  hand.  "  Make  a 
curtsey  to  Mr.  Dempster,  Fann}^,  and  remember,  child,  to  be 
grateful  to  all  who  have  been  friendly  to  our  benefactors.  Will 
it  please  you  to  take  any  refreshment  before  you  ride.  Colonel 
Washington  ?  " 

Mr.  Washington  had  had  a  sufficient  ride  alread}',  and 
counted  as  certainly  upon  the  hospitality  of  Castlewood  as  he 
would  upon  the  shelter  of  his  own  house. 

"  The  time  to  feed  my  horse,  and  a  glass  of  water  for  my- 
self, and  I  will  trouble  Castlewood  hospitality  no  farther,"  Mr. 
Washington  said. 

"  Sure,  George,  you  have  your  room  here,  and  my  mother  is 
above  stairs  getting  it  ready  !  "  cries  Harry.  "  That  poor  horse 
of  yours  stumbled  with  you,  and  can't  go  farther  this  evening." 

"  Hush !  Your  mother  won't  see  him,  child,"  whispered 
Mrs.  Mountain. 

"  Not  see  George  ?  Why,  he  is  like  a  son  of  the  house," 
cries  Harry. 

"  She  had  best  not  see  him.  /  don't  meddle  any  more  in 
family  matters,  child :  but  when  the  Colonel's  servant  rode  in, 
and  said  you  were  coming.  Madam  Esmond  left  this  room,  my 
dear,  where  she  was  sitting  reading  '  Drelincourt,'  and  said  she 
felt  she  could  not  see  Mr.  Washington.  Will  you  go  to  her  ?  " 
Harry  took  his  friend's  arm,  and  excusing  himself  to  the  Colo- 
nel, to  whom  he  said  he  would  return  in  a  few  minutes,  he  left 


112  THE  VIRGINIANS. 

the  parlor  in  which  they  had  assembled,  and  went  to  the  iippei 
rooms,  where  Madam  Esmond  was. 

He  was  hastening  across  the  corridor,  and,  with  an  averted 
head,  passing  by  one  especial  door,  which  he  did  not  like  to  look 
at,  for  it  was  that  of  his  brother's  room  ;  but  as  he  came  to  it, 
Madam  Esmond  issued  from  it,  and  folded  him  to  her  heart, 
and  led  him  in.  A  settee  was  by  the  bed,  and  a  book  of  psalms 
lay  on  the  coverlet.  All  the  rest  of  the  room  was  exactly  as 
George  had  left  it. 

"  My  poor  child  !  How  thin  thou  art  grown — how  haggard 
you  look  !  Never  mind.  A  mother's  care  will  make  thee  well 
again.  'Twas  nobly  done  to  go  and  brave  sickness  and  danger 
in  search  of  your  brother.  Had  others  been  as  faithful,  he 
might  be  here  now.  Never  mind,  my  Harry  ;  our  hero  will 
come  back  to  us, — I  know  he  is  not  dead.  One  so  good,  and 
so  brave,  and  so  gentle,  and  so  clever  as  he  was,  I  know  is  not 
lost  to  us  altogether."  (Perhaps  Harry  thought  within  himself 
that  his  mother  had  not  always  been  accustomed  so  to  speak  of 
her  eldest  son.)  "  Dry  up  thy  tears,  my  dear  !  He  will  come 
back  to  us,  I  know  he  will  come."  And  when  Harry  pressed 
her  to  give  a  reason  for  her  belief,  she  said  she  had  seen  her 
father  two  nights  running  in  a  dream,  and  he  had  told  her  that 
her  boy  was  a  prisoner  among  the  Indians. 

Madam  Esmond's  grief  had  not  prostrated  her  as  Harry's 
had  when  first  it  fell  upon  him  ;  it  had  rather  stirred  and  ani- 
mated her :  her  eyes  were  eager,  her  countenance  angry  and 
revengeful.  The  lad  wondered  almost  at  the  condition  in  which 
he  found  his  mother. 

But  when  he  besought  her  to  go  down  stairs,  and  give  a  hand 
of  welcome  to  George  Washington,  who  had  accompanied  him, 
the  lady's  excitement  painfully  increased.  She  said  she  should 
shudder  at  touching  his  hand.  She  declared  Mr.  Washington 
had  taken  her  son  from  her,  she  could  not  sleep  under  the  same 
roof  with  him. 

"  He  gave  me  his  bed  when  I  was  ill,  mother  ;  and  if  our 
George  is  alive,  how  has  George  Washington  a  hand  in  his 
death?  Ah!  please  God  it  be  only  as  you  say,"  cried  Harry, 
in  bewilderment. 

"  If  your  brother  returns,  as  return  he  will,  it  will  not  be 
through  Mr.  Washington's  help,"  said  Madam  Esmond.  ''  He 
neither  defended  George  on  the  field,  nor  would  he  bring  him 
out  of  it." 

"  But  he  tended  me  most  kindly  in  my  fever,"  interposed 
Harry.     "  He  was  yet  ill  when  he  gave  up  his  bed  to  me,  and 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  113 

was  thinking  of    his   friend,  when   any  other   man  would  ha\  e 
thought  only  of  himself." 

"  A  friend  !  A  pretty  friend  !  "  sneers  the  lady.  ''  Of  all 
his  Excellency's  aides-de-camp,  my  gentleman  is  the  only  one 
who  comes  back  unwounded.  The  brave  and  noble  fall,  but  he, 
to  be  sure,  is  unhurt.  I  confide  my  boy  to  him,  the  pride  of 
my  life,  whom  he  will  defend  with  his,  forsooth  !  And  he  leaves 
my  George  in  the  forest,  and  brings  me  back  himself  !  .Oh,  a 
pretty  welcome  I  must  give  him  !  " 

"  No  gentleman,"  cried  Harr)-,  warmly,  "  was  ever  refused 
shelter  under  my  grandfathers  roof." 

"Oh,  no, — no  ge?itie?Jia?i  /^'  exclaims  the  little  widow;  •'  let 
us  go  down,  if  you  like,  son,  and  pay  our  respects  to  this  one. 
Will  you  please  to  give  me  your  arm  ?  "  and  taking  an  arm 
which  was  very  little  able  to  give  her  supjDort,  she  walked  down 
the  broad  stairs,  and  into  the  apartment  where  the  Colonel  sat. 

She  made  him  a  ceremonious  curtse3%  and  extended  one  of 
the  little  hands,  which  she  allowed  for  a  moment  to  rest  in  his. 
"  I  wish  that  our  meeting  had  been  happier,  Colonel  Washing- 
ton," she  said. 

"  You  do  not  grieve  more  than  I  do  that  it  is  otherwise, 
Madam,"  said  the  Colonel. 

"  I  might  have  wished  that  the  meeting  had  been  spared, 
that  I  might  not  have  kept  you  from  friends  whom  you  are 
naturally  anxious  to  see, — that  my  boy's  indisposition  had  not 
detained  you.  Home  and  his  good  nurse  Mountain,  and  his 
mother  and  our  good  Doctor  Dempster  will  soon  restore  him. 
'Twas  scarce  necessary.  Colonel,  that  you  who  have  so  many 
affairs  on  your  hands,  military  and  domestic,  should  turn  doctor 
too." 

*'  Harry  was  ill  and  weak,  and  I  thought  it  was  my  duty  to 
ride  by  him,"  faltered  the  Colonel. 

"  You  yourself,  sir,  have  gone  through  the  fatigues  and 
dangers  of  the  campaign  in  the  most  wonderful  manner,"  said 
the  widow,  curtseying  again,  and  looking  at  him  with  her  im- 
penetrable black  eyes. 

"  I  wish  to  Heaven,  Madam,  some  one  else  had  come  back 
in  my  place  !  "  .     ' 

"  Nay,  sir,  you  have  ties  which  must  render  your  life  more 
than  ever  valuable  and  dear  to  you,  and  duties  to  which,  I  know, 
you  must  be  anxious  to  betake  yourself.  In  our  present  de- 
plorable state  of  doubt  and  distress,  Castlewood  can  be  a 
welcome  place  to  no  stranger,  much  less  to  you,  and  so  I  know, 
sir,  you  will  be  for  leaving  us  ere  long,     Awd  you  will  pardon 

8 


114  "^^^   VIRGINIANS. 

me  if  the  state  of  my  own  spirits  obliges  me  for  the  most  jDart 
to  keep  my  chamber.  But  my  friends  here  will  bear  you  com- 
pany as  long  as  you  favor  us,  whilst  I  nurse  my  poor  Harry 
up  stairs.  Mountain  !  you  will  have  the  cedar  room  on  the 
ground-floor  ready  for  Mr.  Washington,  and  anything  in  the 
house  is  at  his  command.  Farewell,  sir.  Will  you  be  pleased 
to  present  my  compliments  to  your  mother,  who  will  be  thank- 
ful to- have  her  son  safe  and  sound  out  of  the  war, — as  also  to 
my  young  friend  IMartha  Curtis,  to  whom  and  to  whose  children 
I  wish  every  happiness.  Come,  my  son  !  ''  and  with  these 
words,  and  another  freezing  curtsey,  the  pale  little  woman 
retreated,  looking  steadily  at  the  Colonel,  who  stood  dumb  on 
the  floor. 

Strong  as  Madam  Esmond's  belief  appeared  to  be  respect- 
ing her  son's  safety,  the  house  of  Castlewood  naturally  remained 
sad  and  gloomy.  She  might  forbid  mourning  for  herself  and 
famil)^ ;  but  her  heart  was  in  black,  whatever  face  the  resolute 
little  lady  persisted  in  wearing  before  the  world.  To  look  for 
her  son  was  hoping  against  hope.  No  authentic  account  of  his 
death  had  indeed  arrived,  and  no  one  appeared  who  had  seen 
him  fall ;  but  hundreds  more  had  been  so  stricken  on  that 
fatal  day,  with  no  eyes  to  behold  their  last  pangs,  save  those  of 
the  lurking  enemy  and  the  comrades  dying  by  their  side.  A 
fortnight  after  the  defeat,  when  Harry  was  absent  on  his  quest, 
George's  servant,  Sady,  reappeared  wounded  and  maimed  at 
Castlewood.  But  he  could  give  no  coherent  account  of  the 
battle,  only  of  his  flight  from  the  centre,  where  he  was  with  the 
baggage.  He  had  no  news  of  his  master  since  the  morning  of 
the  action.  For  many  days  Sady  lurked  in  the  negro  quarters 
away  from  the  sight  of  Madam  Esmond,  whose  anger  he  did 
not  dare  to  face.  That  lady's  few  neighbors  spoke  of  her  as 
laboring  under  a  delusion.  So  strong  was  it,  that  there  weie 
times  when  Harry  and  the  other  members  of  the  little  Castle- 
wood family  were  almost  brought  to  share  in  it.  It  seemed 
nothing  strange  to  her,  that  her  father  out  of  another  world 
should  promise  her  her  son's  life.  In  this  world  or  the  next, 
that  family  sure  must  be  of  consequence,  she  thought.  Nothing 
had  ever  yet  happened  to  her  sons  :  no  accident,  no  fever,  no 
important  illness,  but  she  had  a  prevision  of  it.  She  could 
enumerate  half-a-dozen  instances,  which,  indeed,  her  household 
was  obliged  more  or  less  to  confirm,  how,  when  anything  had 
happened  to  the  boys  at  ever  so  great  a  distance,  she  had  known 
of  their  mishap  and  its  consequences.     No,  George  was  not 


k 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  n^ 

dead ;  George  was  a  prisoner  among  the  Indians  ;  George 
would  come  back  and  rule  over  Castlewood  ;  as  sure,  as  sure 
as  his  Majesty  would  send  a  great  force  from  home  to  recover 
the  tarnished  glory  of  the  British  arms,  and  to  drive  the  French 
out  of  the  Americas. 

As  for  Mr.  Washington,  she  would  never,  with  her  own  good 
will,  behold  him  again.  He  had  promised  to  protect  George 
with  his  life.  Why  was  her  son  gone  and  the  Colonel  alive  ? 
How  dared  he  to  face  her  after  that  promise,  and  appear  before 
a  mother  without  her  son  1  She  trusted  she  knew  her  duty. 
She  bore  ill  will  to  no  one  :  but  as  an  Esmond,  she  had  a  sense 
of  honor,  and  Mr.  Washington  had  forfeited  his  in  letting  her 
son  out  of  his  sight.  He  had  to  obey  superior  orders  (some  one 
perhaps  objected)  t  Psha  !  a  promise  was  a  promise.  He  had 
promised  to  guard  George's  life  with  his  own,  and  where  was 
her  boy  ?  And  was  not  the  Colonel  (a  pretty  Colonel,,  indeed !) 
sound  and  safe  ?  "  Do  not  tell  me  that  his  coat  and  hat  had 
shots  through  them !  "  (This  was  her  answer  to  another  hum- 
ble plea  in  Mr.  Washington's  behalf.)  "  Can't  I  go  into  the 
study  this  instant  and  fire  two  shots  with  my  papa's  pistols 
through  this  paduasoy  skirt, — and  should  /  be  killed  ?  "  She 
laughed  at  the  notion  of  death  resulting  from  any  such  opera- 
tion ;  nor  was  her  laugh  very  pleasant  to  hear.  The  satire  of 
people  who  have  little  natural  humor  is  seldom  good  sport  for 
b3'standers.     I  think  dull  m^w' ^  facetice  are  mostly  cruel. 

So,  if  Harry  wanted  to  meet  his  friend,  he  had  to  do  so  in 
secret,  at  court-houses,  taverns,  or  various  places  of  resort  ;  or 
in  their  little  towns,  where  the  provincial  gentry  assembled.  No 
man  of  spirit,  she  vowed,  could  meet  Mr.  Washington  after  his 
base  desertion  of  her  family.  She  was  exceedingly  excited  when 
she  heard  that  the  Colonel  and  her  son  absolutely  had  met. 
What  a  heart  must  Harry  have  to  give  his  hand  to  one  whom  she 
considered  as  little  better  than  George's  murderer  !  For  shame 
to  say  so  !  "  For  shame  upon  you^  ungrateful  boy,  forgetting 
the  dearest,  noblest,  most  perfect  of  brothers,  for  that  tall, 
gawky,  fox-hunting  Colonel,  with  his  horrid  oaths  !  How  can 
he  be  George's  murderer,  when  I  say  my  boy  is  not  dead  ?  He 
is  not  dead,  because  my  instinct  never  deceived  me  :  because, 
as  sure  as  I  see  his  picture  now  before  me, — only  'tis  not  near 
so  noble  or  so  good  as  he  used  to  look, — so  surely  two  nights 
running  did  my  papa  appear  to  me  in  my  dreams.  You  doubt 
about  that,  very  likely  ?  'Tis  because  you  never  loved  anybody 
sufficiently,  my  poor  Harry  ;  else  you  might  have  leave  to  see 
them  in  dreams,  as  has  been  vouchsafed  to  some." 


Ii5  THE   VIRGINTANS. 

*•  I  think  I  loved  George,  mother,"  cried  Harr^^  "I  have 
often  prayed  that  I  might  dream  about  him,  and  I  don't." 

'•  How  you  can  talk,  sir,  of  loving  George,  and  then  go  and 
meet  3-our  Mr.  Washington  at  horse-races,  I  can't  understand  ! 
Can  you.  Mountain  ?  " 

"We  can't  understand  many  things  in  our  neighbor's  char- 
acters. I  can  understand  that  our  boy  is  unhappy,  and  that  he 
does  not  get  strength,  and  that  he  is  doing  no  good  here,  in 
Castlewood,  or  moping  at  the  taverns  and  court-houses  with 
horse-coupers  and  idle  company,"  grumbled  Mountain  in  reply 
to  her  patroness  ;  and,  in  truth,  the  dependent  was  rigl   . 

There  was  not  only  grief  in  the  Castlewood  House,  but  there 
was  disunion.  "  I  cannot  tell  how  it  came,"  said  Harr)-,  as  he 
brought  the  story  to  an  end,  which  we  have  narrated  in  the  pre- 
ceding pages,  and  which  he  confided  to  his  new-found  English 
relative,  Madame  de  Bernstein ;  "  but  since  that  fatal  day  of 
July,  last  year,  and  my  return  home,  my  mother  never  has  been 
the  same  woman.  She  seemed  to  love  none  of  us  as  she  used. 
She  was  for  ever  praising  George,  and  yet  she  did  not  seem  as 
if  she  liked  him  much  when  he  was  with  us.  She  hath  plunged 
more  deeply  than  ever  into  her  books  of  devotion,  out  of  which 
she  only  manages  to  extract  grief  and  sadness,  as  I  think. 
Such  gloom  has  fallen  over  our  wretched  A'irginian  House  of 
Castlewood,  that  we  all  grew  ill,  and  pale  as  ghosts,  who  in- 
habited it.  ^lountain  told  me,  Madam,  that,  for  nights,  my 
mother  would  not  close  her  eyes.  I  have  had  her  at  my  bed- 
side, looking  so  ghastly,  that  I  have  started  from  my  own  sleep, 
fancying  a  ghost  before  me.  By  one  means  or  other  she  has 
wrought  herself  into  a  state  of  excitement  which,  if  not  delirium, 
is  akin  to  it.  I  was  again  and  again  struck  down  by  the  fever, 
and  all  the  Jesuits'  bark  in  America  could  not  cure  me.  We 
have  a  tobacco-house  and  some  land  about  the  new  town  of 
Richmond,  in  our  province,  and  I  went  thither,  as  Williamsburg 
is  no  wholesomer  than  our  own  place  ;  and  there  I  mended  a 
little,  but  still  did  not  get  quite  well,  and  the  physicians  strongly 
counselled  a  sea-voyage.  My  mother,  at  one  time,  had  thoughts 
of  coming  with  me,  but  " — (and  here  the  lad  blushed  and  hung 
his  head  down)  *'  we  did  not  agree  very  well,  though  I  know 
we  loved  each  other  very  heartily,  and  'twas  determined  that  I 
should  see  the  world  for  myself.  So  I  took  passage  in  our  ship 
from  the  James  River,  and  was  landed  at  Bristol.  And  'twas 
only  on  the  9th  of  July,  this  year,  at  sea,  as  had  been  agreed 
between  me  and  Madam  Esmond,  that  I  put  mourning  on  for 
my  dear  brother." 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  117 

So  that  little  Mistress  of  the  Virginian  Castlewood,  for  whom, 
I  am  sure,  we  have  all  the  greatest  respect,  had  the  knack  of 
rendering  the  people  round  about  her  uncomfortable  ;  quarrelled 
with  those  she  loved  best,  and  exercised  over  them  her  way- 
ward jealousies  and  imperious  humors,  until  they  were  not  sorry 
to  leave  her.  Here  was  money  enough,  friends  enough,  a  good 
position,  and  the  respect  of  the  world  ;  a  house  stored  with  all 
manner  of  plenty,  and  good  things,  and  poor  Harry  Warrington 
was  glad  to  leave  them  all  behind  him.  Happy !  Who  is 
happy  1  What  good  in  a  stalled  ox  for  dinner  every  day,  and 
no  content  therewith  ?  Is  it  best  to  be  loved  and  plagued  by 
those  you  love,  or  to  have  an  easy,  comfortable  indifference  at 
home ;  to  follow  your  fancies,  live  there  unmolested,  and  die 
without  causing  any  painful  regrets  or  tears  ? 

To  be  sure,  when  her  boy  was  gone.  Madam  Esmond  forgot 
all  these  little  tiffs  and  differences.  To  hear  her  speak  of  both 
her  children,  you  would  fancy  they  were  perfect  characters,  and 
had  never  caused  her  a  moment's  worry  or  annoyance.  These 
gone.  Madam  fell  naturally  upon  Mrs.  Mountain  and  her  little 
daughter,  and  worried  and  annoyed  them.  But  women  bear 
with  hard  words  more  easily  than  men,  are  more  ready  to  for- 
give injuries,  or,  perhaps,  to  dissemble  anger.  Let  us  trust  that 
Madam  Esmond's  dependents  found  their  life  tolerable,  that 
they  gave  her  ladyship  sometimes  as  good  as  they  got,  that  if 
they  quarrelled  in  the  morning  they  were  reconciled  at  night, 
and  sat  down  to  a  tolerably  friendly  game  at  cards  and  an 
amicable  dish  of  tea. 

But,  without  the  boys,  the  great  house  of  Castlewood  was 
dreary  to  the  widow.  She  left  an  overseer  there  to  manage  her 
estates,  and  only  paid  the  place  an  occasional  visit.  She  en- 
larged and  beautified  her  house  in  the  pretty  little  city  of  Rich- 
mond, which  began  to  grow  daily  in  importance.  She  had  com- 
pany there,  and  card  assemblies,  and  preachers  in  plenty  ;  and 
set  up  her  little  throne  there,  to  which  the  gentlefolks  of  the 
province  were  welcome  to  come  and  bow.  All  her  domestic 
negroes,  who  loved  society  as  negroes  will  do,  were  delighted 
to  exchange  the  solitude  of  Castlewood  for  the  gay  and  merry 
little  town  ;  where,  for  a  time,  and  while  we  pursue  Harry 
Warrington's  progress  in  Europe,  we  leave  the  good  lady. 


Ii8  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

HARRY      IN      ENGLAND. 

When  the  famous  Trojan  wanderer  narrated  his  escapes 
and  adventures  to  Queen  Dido,  her  Majesty,  as  we  read,  took 
the  very  greatest  interest  in  the  fascinating  story-teller  who  told 
his  jDCrils  so  eloquently.  A  history  ensued,  more  pathetic  than 
an)^  of  the  previous  occurrences  in  the  life  of  Pius  yEneas,  and 
the  poor  princess  had  reason  to  rue  the  day  when  she  listened 
to  that  glib  and  dangerous  orator.  Harry  Warrington  had  not 
pious  vEneas's  power  of  speech,  and  his  elderly  aunt,  we  may 
presume,  was  by  no  means  so  soft-hearted  as  the  sentimental 
Dido  ;  but  yet  the  lad's  narrative  was  touching,  as  he  delivered 
it  with  his  artless  eloquence  and  cordial  voice  ;  and  more  than 
once,  in  the  course  of  his  story,  Madam  Bernstein  found  her- 
self moved  to  a  softness  to  which  she  had  very  seldom  before 
allowed  herself  to  give  way.  There  were  not  many  fountains 
in  that  desert  of  a  life — not  many  sweet  refreshing  resting- 
places.  It  had  been  a  long  loneliness,  for  the  most  part,  until 
this  friendly  voice  came  and  sounded  in  her  ears  and  caused 
her  heart  to  beat  with  strange  pangs  of  love  and  sympathy. 
She  doted  on  this  lad,  and  on  this  sense  of  compassion  and 
regard  so  new  to  her.  Save  once,  faintly,  in  very,  ver}^  earl)^ 
youth,  she  had  felt  no  tender  sentiment  for  any  human  being. 
Such  a  woman  would,  no  doubt,  watch  her  own  sensations  very 
keenly,  and  must  have  smiled  after  the  appearance  of  this  boy, 
to  mark  how  her  pulses  rose  above  their  ordinary  beat.  She 
longed  after  him.  She  felt  her  cheeks  flush  with  happiness 
w^hen  he  came  near.  Her  eyes  greeted  him  with  welcome,  and 
followed  him  with  fond  pleasure.  "  Ah,  if  she  could  have  had 
a  son  like  that,  how  she  would  have  loved  him!"  "Wait," 
says  Conscience,  the  dark  scoffer  mocking  within  her,  "wait, 
Beatrix  Esmond  !  You  know  you  Vvill  weary  of  this  inclina- 
tion, as  you  have  of  all.  You  know,  when  the  passing  fancy 
has  subsided,  that  the  boy  may  perish,  and  3'ou  won't  have  a 
tear  for  him  ;  or  talk,  and  you  weary  of  his  stories  ;  and  that 
your  lot  in  life  is  to  be  lonely — lonely."  Well  ?  suppose  life  be 
a  desert  ?  There  are  halting-places  and  shades,  and  refreshing 
waters  ;  let  us  profit  by  them  for  to-day.  We  know  that  we 
must  march  when  to-morrow  comes,  and  tramp  on  our  destiny 
onward. 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  ng 

She  smiled  inwardly,  whilst  following  the  lad's  narrative,  to 
recognize  in  his  simple  tales  about  his  mother  traits  of  family 
resemblance.  Madam  Esmond  was  very  jealous  ?  Yes,  that 
Harry  owned.  She  was  fond  of  Colonel  Washington  ?  She 
liked  him,  but  only  as  a  friend,  Harry  declared.  A  hundred 
times  he  had  heard  his  mother  vow  that  she  had  no  other  feel- 
ing towards  him.  He  was  ashamed  to  have  to  own  that  he 
himself  had  been  once  absurdly  jealous  of  the  Colonel.  "  Well, 
you  will  see  that  my  half-sister  will  never  forgive  him,"  said 
Madam  Beatrix.  "And  you  need  not  be  sur^Drised,  sir,  at 
women  taking  a  fancy  to  men  younger  than  themselves  ;  for 
don't  I  dote  upon  you ;  and  don't  all  these  Castlewood  jDeoi^le 
crevent  with  jealousy  .?  " 

However  great  might  be  their  jealousy  of  Madame  de  Bern- 
stein's new  favorite,  the  family  of  Castlewood  allowed  no  feel- 
ing of  ill  will  to  appear  in  their  language  or  behavior  to  their 
young  guest  and  kinsman.  After  a  couple  of  days'  stay  in  the 
ancestral  house,  Mr.  Harry  Warrington  had  become  Cousin 
Harr}'-  with  young  and  middle-aged.  Especially  in  Madame 
Bernstein's  presence,  the  Countess  of  Castlewood  was  most 
gracious  to  her  kinsman,  and  she  took  many  amiable  private 
opportunities  of  informing  the  Baroness  how  charming  the 
young  Huron  was,  of  vaunting  the  elegance  of  his  manners  and 
appearance,  and  wondering  how,  in  his  distant  province,  the 
child  should  ever'have  learned  to  be  so  polite  ? 

These  notes  of  admiration  or  interrogation,  the  Baroness 
took  with  equal  complacency.  (Speaking  parenthetically,  and, 
for  his  own  part,  the  jDresent  chronicler  cannot  help  putting  in 
a  little  respectful  remark  here,  and  signifying  his  admiration  of 
the  conduct  of  ladies  towards  one  another,  and  of  the  things 
which  they  say,  which  they  forbear  to  say,  and  which  they  say 
behind  each  other's  backs.  With  what  smiles  and  curtseys 
they  stab  each  other !  with  what  compliments  they  hate  each 
other  !  with  what  determination  of  long-suffering  they  won't  be 
offended  !  with  what  innocent  dexterity  they  can  drop  the  drop 
of  poison  into  the  cup  of  conversation,  hand  round  the  goblet, 
smiling,  to  the  whole  family  to  drink,  and  make  the  dear 
domestic  circle  miserable  !) — I  burst  out  of  my  parenthesis.  I 
fancy  my  Baroness  and  Countess  smiling  at  each  other  a 
hundred  years  ago,  and  giving  each  other  the  hand  or  the 
cheek,  and  calling  each  other.  My  dear.  My  dear  creature,  I\Iy 
dear  Countess,  My  dear  Baroness,  My  dear  sister — even,  when 
they  were  most  ready  to  fight. 

"  You  wonder,  my  dear  Maria,  that  the  boy  should  be  so 


I20  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

polite?"  cries  Madame  de  Bernstein.  "  His  mother  was  bred 
up  by  two  ver}'  perfect  gentlefolks.  Colonel  Esmond  had  a 
certain  grave  courteousness,  and  a  grand  manner,  which  I  do 
not  see  among  the  gentlemen  now-a-days." 

"  Eh,  my  dear,  we  all  of  us  praise  our  own  time  !  My 
grandmamma  used  to  declare  there  was  nothing  like  Whitehall 
and  Charles  the  Second." 

"  My  mother  saw  King  James  the  Second's  court  for  a  short 
while,  and  though  not  a  court-educated  person,  as  you  know — 
her  father  was  a  countr}'  clerg}nTian — ^yet  was  exquisitely  well 
bred.  The  Colonel,  her  second  husband,  was  a  person  of 
great  travel  and  experience,  as  well  as  of  learning,  and  had 
frequented  the  finest  company  of  Europe.  They  could  not  go 
into  their  retreat  and  leave  their  good  manners  behind  them, 
and  our  boy  has  had  them  as  his  natural  inheritance." 

"  Nay,  excuse  me,  my  dear,  for  thinking  you  too  partial 
about  your  mother.  She  could  not  have  been  that  perfection 
which  your  filial  fondness  imagines.  She  left  off  liking  her 
daughter — my  dear  creature,  you  have  owned  that  she  did — 
and  I  cannot  fancy  a  complete  woman  who  has  a  cold  heart. 
No,  no,  my  dear  sister-in-law  !  Manners  are  very  requisite,  no 
doubt,  and,  for  a  country  parson's  daughter,  your  mamma  was 
very  well — I  have  seen  many  of  the  cloth  who  are  ver)'  well. 
j^.Ir.  Sampson,  our  chaplain,  is  very  well.  Dr.  Young  is  very 
well.  Mr.  Dodd  is  very  well ;  but  they  have  not  the  true  air — 
as  how  should  they  ?  I  protest,  I  beg  pardon  !  I  forgot  my 
lord  bishop,  3'our  ladyship's  first  choice.  But,  as  I  said  before, 
to  be  a  complete  woman,  one  must  have,  what  you  have,  what 
I  may  say,  and  bless  heaven  for,  I  think  /have — 2,  good\\&-a,x\. 
Without  the  affections,  all  the  world  is  vanity,  my  love  !  I 
protest  I  only  live,  exist,  eat,  drink,  rest,  for  my  sweet,  sweet 
children  ! — for  my  wicked  Willy,  for  my  self-willed  Fanny,  dear 
naughty  loves  !  "  (She  rapturously  kisses  a  bracelet  on  each 
arm  which  contains  the  miniature  representations  of  those  two 
young  persons.)  "  Yes,  Mimi !  yes,  Fanchon  !  you  know  I  do, 
you  dear,  dear  little  things  !  and  if  they  were  to  die,  or  you 
were  to  die,  your  poor  mistress  would  die,  too  !  "  Mimi  and 
Fanchon,  two  quivering  Italian  greyhounds,  jump  into  their 
lady's  arms,  and  kiss  her  hands,  but  respect  her  cheeks,  which 
are  covered  with  rouge.  "  No,  my  dear !  For  nothing  do  I 
bless  heaven  so  much  (though  it  puts  me  to  excruciating  torture 
very  often)  as  for  having  endowed  me  with  sensibility  and  a 
feeUng  heart  !  " 

"  You  are  full   of  feeling,  dear  Anna,"  says  the  Baroness. 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  121 

"  You  are  celebrated  for  you  sensibility.  You  must  give  a 
little  of  it  to  our  American  nephew — cousin — I  scarce  know  his 
relationship." 

"  Nay,  I  am  here  but  as  a  guest  in  Castlewood  now.  The 
house  is  my  Lord  Castlewood's,  not  mine,  or  his  lordship's 
whenever  he  shall  choose  to  claim  it.  What  can  I  do  for  the 
young  Virginian  that  has  not  been  done  ?  He  is  charming. 
Are  we  even  jealous  of  him  for  being  so,  my  dear  ?  and  though 
we  see  what  a  fancy  the  Baroness  de  Bernstein  has  taken  for 
him,  do  your  ladyship's  nephews  and  nieces — your  rtY?/ nephews 
and  nieces — cry  out  ?  My  poor  children  might  be  mortified, 
for  indeed,  in  a  few  hours,  the  charming  young  man  has  made 
as  much  way  as  my  poor  things  have  been  able  to  do  in  all 
their  lives  :  but  are  they  angry  ?  Willy  hath  taken  him  out  to 
ride.  This  morning,  was  not  Maria  playing  the  harpsichord 
whilst  my  Fanny  taught  him  the  minuet  ?  'Twas  a  charming 
young  group,  I  assure  you,  and  it  brought  tears  into  my  eyes  to 
look  at  the  young  creatures.  Poor  lad  !  we  are  as  fond  of  him 
as  you  are,  dear  Baroness  !  " 

Now,  Madame  de  Bernstein  had  happened,  through  her  own 
ears  or  her  maid's,  to  overhear  what  really  took  place  in  con- 
sequence of  this  harmless  little  scene.  Lady  Castlewood  had 
come  into  the  room  vvhere  the  young  people  were  thus  engaged 
in  amusing  and  instructing  tlemselves,  accompanied  by  her  son 
William,  who  arrived  in  his  boots  from  the  kennel. 

"  Bravi,  bravi !  Oh,  charming  !  "  said  the  Countess,  clap- 
ping her  hands,  nodding  with  one  of  her  best  smiles  to  Harry 
Warrington,  and  darting  a  look  at  his  partner,  which  my  Lady 
Fanny  perfectly  understood  ;  and  so,  perhaps,  did  my  Lady 
Maria  at  her  harpsichord,  for  she  played  with  redoubled 
energy,  and  nodded  her  waving  curls  over  the  chords. 

"  Infernal  young  Choctaw  !  Is  he  teaching  Fanny  the  war- 
dance  ?  and  is  Fan  going  to  try  her  tricks  upon  him  now  ?  " 
asked  Mr,  William,  whose  temper  was  not  of  the  best. 

And  that  was  what  Lady  Castlewood's  look  said  to  Fanny. 
"  Are  you  going  to  try  your  tricks  upon  him  now .''  " 

She  made  Harry  a  very  low  curtsey,  and  he  blushed,  and 
they  both  stopped  dancing,  somewhat  disconcerted.  Lady 
Maria  rose  from  her  harpsichord  and  walked  away. 

''  Nay,  go  on  dancing,  young  people  !  Don't  let  me  spoil 
sport,  and  let  me  play  for  you,"  said  the  Countess  ;  and  she 
sat  down  to  the  instrument  and  played. 

"  I  don't  know  how  to  dance,"  says  Harry,  hanging  his  head 
down,  with  a  blush  that  the  Countess's  finest  carmine  could  not 
equal. 


122  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

"  And  Fanny  was  teaching  you  ?  Go  on  teaching  him, 
dearest  Fanny  !  " 

"  Go  on,  do  !  "  says  William,  with  a  sidelong  growl. 

''  I — I  had  better  not  show  off  my  awkwardness  in  company," 
adds  Harry,  recovering  himself.  "  When  I  know  how  to  dance 
a  minuet,  be  sure  I  will  ask  my  cousin  to  walk  one  with  me." 

"  That  will  be  very  soon,  dear  Cousin  Warrington,  I  am 
certain,"  remarks  the  Countess,  with  her  most  gracious  air. 

"  What  game  is  she  hunting  now  ?  "  thinks  Mr.  William  to 
himself,  who  cannot  penetrate  his  mother's  ways ;  and  that 
lady,  fondly  calling  her  daughter  to  her  elbow,  leaves  the 
room. 

They  are  no  sooner  in  the  tapestried  passage  leading  away 
to  their  own  apartment,  but  Lady  Castlewood's  bland  tone 
entirely  changes.  "  You  booby !  "  she  begins  to  her  adored 
Fanny.  "  You  double  idiot !  What  are  you  going  to  do  with 
the  Huron  ?  You  don't  want  to  marry  a  creature  like  that,  and 
be  a  squaw  in  a  wigwam  ?  " 

"  Don't,  mamma  !  "  gasped  Lady  Fanny.  Mamma  was 
pinching  her  ladyship's  arm  black  and  blue.  "  I  am  sure  our 
cousin  is  very  well,"  Fann}^  whimjDers,  '' and  you  said  so  your- 
self." 

"  Very  well !  Yes  ;  and  heir  to  a  swamp,  a  negro,  a  log- 
cabin  and  a  barrel  of  tobacco  !  My  Lady  Frances  Esmond  do 
you  remember  what  your  ladyship's  rank  is,  and  what  your 
name  is,  and  who  was  your  ladyship's  mother,  when,  at  three 
days'  acquaintance,  you  commence  dancing — a  pretty  dance, 
indeed  ! — with  this  brat,  out  of  Virginia." 

"  Mr.  Warrington  is  our  cousin,"  pleads  Lady  Fanny. 

"  A  creature  come  from  nobody  knows  where  is  not  your 
cousin  !  How  do  we  know  he  is  your  cousin  ?  He  may  be  a 
valet  who  has  taken  his  master's  portmanteau,  and  run  away 
in  his  postchaise." 

"  But  Madame  de  Bernstein  says  he  is  our  cousin,"  inter- 
poses Fanny  ;  "  and  he  is  the  image  of  the  Esmonds." 

"  Madame  de  Bernstein  has  her  likes  and  dislikes,  takes  up 
people  and  forgets  people  ;  and  she  chooses  to  profess  a  mighty 
fancy  for  this  young  man.  Because  she  likes  him  to-day,  is 
that  any  reason  why  she  should  like  him  to-morrow  ?  Before 
company,  and  in  your  aunt's  presence,  your  ladyship  will  please 
to  be  as  civil  to  him  as  necessary  ;  but,  in  private,  I  forbid  you 
to  see  him  or  encourage  him." 

"  I  don't  care.  Madam,  whether  your  ladyship  forbids  me 
or  not !  "  cries  out  Lady  Fanny,  wrought  up  to  a  pitch  of  revolt. 


THE   VIRGTmAN^S: 


123 


•'  Very  good,  Fanny  !  then  I  speak  to  my  lord,  and  we  return 
to  Kensington.  If  I  can't  bring  vou  to  reason,  vour  brother 
will." 

At  this  juncture  the  conversation  between  mother  and 
daughter  stopped,  or  Madame  de  Bernstein's  informer  had  no 
further  means  of  hearing  or  reporting  it. 

It  was  only  in  after-days  that  she  told  Harry  Warrington  a 
part  of  what  she  knew.  At  present  he  but  saw  that  his  kins- 
folks received  him  not  unkindly.  Lady  Castlewood  was  per- 
fectly civil  to  him  ;  the  young  ladies  pleasant  and  pleased  ;  my 
Lord  Castlewood,  a  man  of  cold  and  haughty  demeanor,  was 
not  more  reserved  towards  Harry  than  to  any  of  the  rest  of  the 
family ;  Mr.  William  was  ready  to  drink  with  him,  to  ride  with 
him,  to  go  to  races  with  him,  and  to  play  cards  with  him. 
When  he  proposed  to  go  away,  they  one  and  all  pressed  him  to 
stay.  Madame  de  Bernstein  did  not  tell  him  how  it  arose  that 
he  was  the  object  of  such  eager  hospitality.  He  did  not  know 
what  schemes  he  was  serving  or  disarranging,  whose  or  what 
anger  he  was  creating.  He  fancied  he  was  welcome  because 
those  around  him  were  his  kinsmen,  and  never  thought  that 
those  could  be  his  enemies  out  of  whose  cup  he  was  drinking, 
and  whose  hand  he  was  pressing  every  night  and  morning. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

A    SUNDAY    AT    CASTLEWOOD. 


The  second  day  after  Harry's  arrival  at  Castlewood  was  a 
Sunday.  The  chapel  appertaining  to  the  castle  was  the  village 
church.  A  door  from  the  house  communicated  with  a  great 
state  pew  which  the  family  occupied,  and  here,  after  due  time, 
they  all  took  their  places  in  order,  whilst  a  rather  numerous 
congregation  from  the  village  filled  the  seats  below.  A  few 
ancient  dusty  banners  hung  from  the  church  roof  ;  and  Harry 
pleased  himself  in  imagining  that  they  had  been  borne  by 
retainers  of  his  family  in  the  Commonwealth  wars,  in  which,  as 
he  knew  well,  his  ancestors  had  taken  a  loyal  and  distinguished 
part.  Within  the  altar-rails  was  the  effigy  of  the  Esmond  of 
the  time  of  King  James  the  First,  the  common  forefather  of  all 
the  group  assembled  in  the  family-pew.     Madame  de  Bernstein, 


124 


THE  VIRGINIANS. 


in  her  quality  of  Bishop's  widow,  never  failed  in  attendance, 
and  conducted  her  devotions  with  a  gravity  almost  as  exemplary 
as  that  of  the  ancestor  yonder,  in  his  square  beard  and  red 
gown,  for  ever  kneeling  on  his  stone  hassock  before  his  great 
marble  desk  and  book,  under  his  emblazoned  shield  of  arms. 
The  clergyman,  a  tall,  high-colored,  handsome  young  man, 
read  the  service  in  a  lively,  agreeable  voice,  giving  almost  a 
dramatic  point  to  the  chapters  of  Scripture  which  he  read. 
The  music  was  good — one  of  the  young  ladies  of  the  family 
touching  the  organ — and  would  have  been  better  but  for  an  in- 
terruption and  something  like  a  burst  of  laughter  from  the  ser- 
vants' pew,  which  was  occasioned  by  Mr.  Warrington's  lacquey 
Gumbo,  who,  knowing  the  air  given  out  for  the  psalm,  began  to 
sing  it  in  a  voice  so  exceedingly  loud  and  sweet,  that  the  whole 
congregation  turned  towards  the  African  warbler  ;  the  parson 
himself  put  his  handkerchief  to  his  mouth,  and  the  liveried 
gentlemen  from  London  were  astonished  out  of  all  propriety. 
Pleased,  perhaps,  with  the  sensation  which  he  had  created,  Mr. 
Gumbo  continued  his  performance  until  it  became  almost  a 
solo,  and  the  voice  of  the  clerk  himself  was  silenced.  For  the 
truth  is,  that  though  Gumbo  held  on  to  the  book,  along  with 
pretty  Molly,  the  porter's  daughter,  who  had  been  the  first  to 
welcome  the  strangers  to  Castlewood,  he  sang  and  recited  by 
ear  and  not  by  note,  and  could  not  read  a  syllable  of  the  verses 
in  the  book  before  him. 

This  choral  performance  over,  a  brief  sermon  in  due  course 
followed,  which,  indeed,  Harry  thought  a  deal  too  short.  In  a 
lively,  familiar,  striking  discourse  the  clergyman  described  a 
scene  of  which  he  had  been  witness  the  previous  week — the 
execution  of  a  horse-stealer  after  Assizes.  He  described  the 
man  and  his  previous  good  character,  his  family,  the  love  they 
bore  one  another,  and  his  agony  at  parting  from  them.  He 
depicted  the  execution  in  a  manner  startling,  terrible  and  pic- 
turesque. He  did  not  introduce  into  his  sermon  the  Scripture 
phraseology,  such  as  Harry  had  been  accustomed  to  hear  from 
those  somewhat  Calvinistic  preachers  whom  his  mother  loved 
to  frequent,  but  rather  spoke  as  one  man  of  tLe  world  to  other 
sinful  people,  who  might  be  likely  to  profit  by  good  advice. 
The  unhappy  man  just  gone  had  begun  as  a  farmer  of  good 
prospects  ;  he  had  taken  to  drinking,  card-playing,  horse-racing, 
cock-fighting,  the  vices  of  the  age  :  against  which  the  3'oung 
clergyman  was  generously  indignant.  Tl.en  he  had  got  to 
poaching  and  to  horse-stealing;,  for  which  he  suffered.  The 
divine  rapidly  drew  striking  and  fearful  pictures  of  these  rustic 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  125 

crimes.  He  startled  his  hearers  by  showing  that  the  Eye  of 
Law  was  watching  the  poacher  at  midnight,  and  setting  traps 
to  catch  the  criminal.  He  galloped  the  stolen  horse  over  high- 
way and  common,  and  from  one  county  into  another,  but 
showed  Retribution  ever  galloping  after,  seizing  the  malefactor 
in  the  country  fair,  carrying  him  before  the  justice,  and  never 
unlocking  his  manacles  till  he  dropped  them  at  the  gallows'- 
foot.  Heaven  be  pitiful  to  the  sinner  !  The  clergyman  ac  ed 
the  scene.  He  whispered  in  the  criminal's  ear  at  the  cart.  He 
dropped  his  handkerchief  on  the  clerk's  head.  Harry  started 
back  as  that  handkerchief  dropped.  The  clergyman  had  been 
talking  for  more  than  twenty  minutes.  Harry  could  have  heard 
him  for  an  hour  more,  and  thought  he  had  not  been  five  min- 
utes in  the  pulpit.  The  gentlefolks  in  the  great  pew  were  very 
much  enlivened  by  the  discourse.  Once  or  twice,  Harry,  who 
could  see  the  pew  where  the  house  servants  sat,  remarked  these 
very  attentive  ;  and  especially  Gumxbo,  his  own  man,  in  an  atti- 
tude of  intense  consternation.  But  the  smock-frocks  did  not 
seem  to  heed,  and  clamped  out  of  church  quite  unconcerned. 
Gaffer  Brown  and  Gammer  Jones  took  the  matter  as  it  came, 
and  the  rosy-cheeked,  red-cloaked  village  lasses  sat  under  their 
broad  hats  entirely  unmoved.  My  lord,  from  his  pew,  nodded 
slightly  to  the  clergyman  in  the  pulpit,  when  that  divine's  head 
and  wig  surged  up  from  the  cushion. 

"  Sampson  has  been  strong  to-day,"  said  his  lordship.  "  He 
has  assaulted  the  Philistines  in  great  force." 

"  Beautiful,  beautiful !  "  says  Harry. 

"  Bet  five  to  four  it  was  his  Assize  sermon.  He  has  been 
over  to  Winton  to  preach,  and  to  see  those  dogs,"  cries  Wil- 
liam. 

The  organist  had  played  the  little  congregation  out  into  the 
sunshine.  Only  Sir  Francis  Esmond,  temp.  Jac.  I.,  still  knelt 
on  his  marble  hassock,  before  his  prayer-book  of  stone.  Mr. 
Sampson  came  out  of  his  vestry  in  his  cassock,  and  nodded  to 
the  gentlemen  still  lingering  in  the  great  pew. 

"  Come  up,  and  tell  us  about  those  dogs,"  says  Mr.  Wil- 
liam, and  the  divine  nodded  a  laughing  assent. 

The  gentlemen  passed  out  o^  the  church  into  the  gallery  of 
their  house,  which  connected  them  with  that  sacred  building. 
Mr.  Sampson  made  his  way  through  the  court,  and  presently 
joined  them.  He  w^as  presented  by  my  lord  to  the  Virginian 
cousin  of  the  family,  Mr.  Warrington  :  the  chaplain  bowed  very 
profoundly,  and  hoped  Mr.  Warrington  w^ould  benefit  by  the 
virtuous  example  of  his  European  kinsmen.     Was  he  related 


126  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

to  Sir  Miles  Warrington  of  Norfolk  ?  Sir  Miles  was  Mr.  War- 
rington's father's  elder  brother.  What  a  joity  he  had  a  son  ! 
'Twas  a  pretty  estate,  and  Mr.  Warrington  looked  as  if  he 
would  become  a  baronetcy,  and  a  fine  estate  in  Norfolk. 

"  Tell  me  about  my  uncle,"  cried  Virginian  .Harry. 

"  Tell  us  about  those  dogs  !  "  said  English  Will,  in  a  breath. 

•'  Two  more  jolly  dogs,  two  more  drunken  dogs,  saving 
your  presence,  Mr.  Warrington,  than  Sir  Miles  and  his  son,  I 
never  saw.  Sir  Miles  was  a  staunch  friend  and  neighbor  of  Sir 
Robert's.  He  can  drink  down  any  man  in  the  county,  except 
his  son  and  a  few  more.  The  other  dogs  about  which  Mr. 
William  is  anxious,  for  heaven  hath  made  him  a  pre}^  to  dogs 
and  all  kinds  of  birds,  like  the  Greeks  in  the  Iliad — " 

"  I  know  that  line  in  the  Iliad,"  says  Harry,  blushing.  "  1 
only  know  five  more,  but  I  know  that  one."  And  his  head 
fell.  He  was  thinking,  "  Ah,  my  dear  brother  George  knew  all 
the  Iliad  and  all  the  Odyssey,  and  almost  every  book  that  was 
ever  written  besides  !  " 

"  What  on  earth  "  (only  he  mentioned  a  place  under  the 
earth)  "are  you  talking  about  now.?"  asked  Will  of  his  rev- 
erence. 

The  chaplain  reverted  to  the  dogs  and  their  performance. 
He  thought  Mr.  William's  dogs  were  more  than  a  match  for 
them.  From  dogs  they  went  off  to  horses.  Mr.  William  was 
very  eager  about  the  Six  Year  Old  Plate  at  Huntingdon. 
"  Have  you  brought  an}^  news  of  it.  Parson  ?  " 

"  The  odds  are  five  to  four  on  Brilliant  against  the  field," 
says  the  Parson,  gravely,  "  but,  mind  you,  Jason  is  a  good 
horse." 

"  Whose  horse  ?  "  asks  my  lord. 

"  Duke  of  Ancaster's.  By  Cartouche  out  of  Miss  Langley," 
says  the  divine.  "  Have  you  horse-races  in  A^irginia,  Mr.  War- 
rington ?  " 

"  Haven't  we  !  "  cries  Harry  ;  "  but  oh  !  I  long  to  see  a 
good  English  race  !  " 

"  Do  you — do  3^ou — bet  a  little  ?  "   continues  his  reverence. 

"  I  have  done  such  a  thing,"  replies  Harry  with  a  smile. 

"  I'll  take  Brilliant  even  a2,"ainst  the  field,  for  ponies  with 
you,  cousin  !  "  shouts  out  Mr.  William. 

"  I'll  give  or  take  three  to  one  against  Jason  ! "  says  the 
clergyman. 

"  I  don't  bet  on  horses  I  don't  know."  said  Harry,  wonder- 
ing to  hear  the  chaplain  now,  and  remembering  his  sermon  half 
an  hour  before. 


THE   VIRGINTANS. 


127 


''  Hadn't  you  better  write  home,  and  ask  your  mother  ?  " 
says  Mr.  William,  with  a  sneer. 

"  Will,  Will  !  "  calls  out  my  lord,  "  our  cousin  Warrington 
is  free  to  bet,  or  not,  as  he  likes.  Have  a  care  how  you 
venture  on  either  of  them,  Harry  Warrington.  Will  is  an  old 
file,  in  spite  of  his  smooth  face,  and  as  for  Parson  Sampson,  I 
defy  our  ghostly  enemy  to  get  the  better  of  him." 

"  Him  and  all  his  works,  my  lord  !  "  said  Mr.  Sampson, 
with  a  bow. 

Harry  was  highly  indignant  at  this  allusion  to  his  mother, 
"  I'll  tell  you  what,  Cousin  Will,"  he  said,  "  I  am  in  the  habit 
of  managing  my  own  affairs  in  my  own  way,  without  asking  any 
lady  to  arrange  them  for  me.  And  I'm  used  to  make  my  own 
bets  upon  my  own  judgment,  and  don't  need  any  relations  to 
select  them  for  me,  thank  you.  But  as  I  am  3-our  guest,  and, 
no  doubt,  you  want  to  show  me  hospitality,  I'll  take  your  bet — 
there.     And  so  Done  and  Done." 

"  Done,"  says  Will,  looking  askance. 

"  Of  course  it  is  the  regular  odds  that's  in  the  paper  which 
you  give  me,  cousin  }  " 

"  Well,  no,  it  isii't^^^  growled  Will.  "  The  odds  are  five  to 
four,  that's  the  fact,  and  you  may  have  'em,  if  you  like." 

*'  Nay,  cousin,  a  bet  is  a  bet  ;  and  I  take  you,  too,  Mr. 
Sampson." 

"  Three  to  one  against  Jason.  I  lay  it.  Very  good,"  says 
Mr.  Sampson. 

''  Is  it  to  be  ponies  too,  Mr.  Chaplain  ?  "  asks  Harry  with  a 
superb  air,  as  if  he  had  Lombard  Street  in  his  pocket. 

"  No,  no.  Thirty  to  ten.  It  is  enough  for  a  poor  priest  to 
win." 

"  Here  goes  a  great  slice  out  of  my  quarter's  hundred," 
thinks  Harry.  "  Well,  I  sha'n't  let  these  Englishmen  fancy 
that  I  am  afraid  of  them.  I  didn't  begin,  but  for  the  honor  of 
Old  Virginia  I  won't  go  back." 

These  pecuniary  transactions  arranged,  William  Esm.ond 
went  away  scowling  towards  the  stables,  where  he  loved  to 
take  his  pipe  with  the  grooms  ;  the  brisk  parson  went  off  to  pay 
his  court  to  the  ladies,  and  partake  of  the  Sunday  dinner  which 
would  presently  be  served.  Lord  Castle  wood  and  Harry  re- 
mained for  a  while  together.  Since  the  Virginian's  arrival  my 
lord  had  scarcely  spoken  with  him.  In  his  manners  he  was 
perfectly  friendly,  but  so  silent  that  he  would  often  sit  at  the 
head  of  his  table,  and  leave  it  without  uttering  a  word. 

"  I  suppose  yonder  property  of  yours  is  a  fine  one  by  this 
time  ?  "  said  my  lord  to  Harry. 


J  28  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

"  I  reckon  it's  almost  as  big  as  an  English  county,"  answered 
Harry,  "  and  the  land's  as  good,  too,  for  many  things."  Harry 
would  not  have  the  Old  Dominion,  nor  his  share  in  it,  under- 
rated. 

"  Indeed  !  "  said  my  lord,  with  a  look  of  surprise.  "  When 
it  belonged  to  my  father  it  did  not  yield  much." 

"  Pardon  me,  my  lord.  You  know  hoiv  it  belonged  to  your 
father,"  cried  the  youth  with  some  spirit.  "  It  was  because  my 
grandfather  did  not  choose  to  claim  his  right."  * 

"  Of  course,  of  course,"  said  my  lord,  hastily. 

"  I  mean,  cousin,  that  we  of  the  Virginian  house  owe  you 
nothing  but  our  own,"  continued  Harry  Warrington  ;  "  but  our 
own,  and  the  hospitality  which  you  are  now  showing  me." 

"  You  are  heartily  welcome  to  both.  You  were  hurt  by  the 
betting  just  now  ?  " 

"  Well,"  replied  the  lad,  "  I  am  sort  o'  hurt.  Your  welcome, 
you  see,  is  different  to  our  welcome,  and  that's  the  fact.  At 
home  Ave  are  glad  to  see  a  man,  hold  out  a  hand  to  him  and 
give  him  of  our  best.  Here  you  take  us  in,  give  us  beef  and 
claret  enough,  to  be  sure,  and  don't  seem  to  care  when  we 
come,  or  when  we  go.  That's  the  remark  which  I  have  been 
making  since  I  have  been  in  your  lordship's  house  ;  I  can't 
help  telling  it  out,  you  see,  now  'tis  on  my  mind  ;  and  I  think 
I  am  a  little  easier  now  I  have  said  it."  And  with  this  the 
excited  young  fellow  knocked  a  billiard-ball  across  the  table, 
and  then  laughed,  and  looked  at  his  elder  kinsman. 

"  A  la  bonne  heure  !  We  are  cold  to  the  stranger  within 
and  without  our  gates.  We  don't  take  Mr.  Harry  Warrington 
into  our  arms,  and  cry  when  we  see  our  cousin.  We  don't  cry 
when  he  goes  away — but  do  we  pretend  ? " 

"  No,  you  don't.  But  you  try  to  get  the  better  of  him  in  a 
bet,"  says  Harry,  indignantly. 

"  Is  there  no  such  practice  in  Virginia,  and  don't  sporting 
men  there  try  to  overreach  one  another  1  What  was  that  story 
I  heard  you  telling  our  aunt,  of  the  British  officers  and  Tom 
Somebody  of  Spotsylvania  ?  " 

"  That's  fair  !  "  cries  Harry.  "  That  is  it's  usual  practice, 
and  a  stranger  must  look  out.  I  don't  mind  the  parson ;  if  he 
wins,  he  may  have,  and  welcome.  But  a  relation  !  To  think 
that  my  own  blood  cousin  wants  money  out  of  me  !  " 

"  A  Newmarket  man  would  get  the  better  of  his  father. 

*  This  matter  is  discussed  in  the  Author's  previous  work,  "  The  Memoirs  of  ColoneJ 
Esmond." 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  129 

My  brother  has  been  on  the  turf  since  he  rode  over  to  it  from 
Cambridge.  If  you  play  at  cards  with  him — and  he  will  if  you 
will  let  him — he  will  beat  you  if  he  can."' 

"  Well,  I'm  ready,"  cries  Harry.  "  I'll  play  any  game  with 
him  that  I  know,  or  I'll  jump  with  him,  or  I'll  ride  with  him, 
or  I'll  row  with  him,  or  I'll  wrestle  with  him,  or  I'll  shoot  with 
him — there  now." 

The  senior  was  greatly  entertained,  and  held  out  his  hand 
to  the  boy.  "  Anything,  but  don't  fight  with  him,"  said  my 
lord. 

"  If  I  do,  I'll  whip  him  !  hanged  if  I  don't  !  "  cried  the  lad. 
But  a  look  of  surprise  and  displeasure  on  the  nobleman's  part 
recalled  him  to  better  sentiments.  "  A  hundred  pardons,  my 
lord  !  "  he  said,  blushing  very  red,  and  seizing  his  cousin's  hand. 
"  I  talked  of  ill  manners,  being  angry  and  hurt  just  now  ;  but 
'tis  doubly  ill  mannered  of  me  to  show  my  anger,  and  boast 
about  my  prowess  to  my  own  host  and  kinsman.  It's  not  the 
practice  with  us  Americans  to  boast,  believe  me,  it's  not." 

"  You  are  the  first  I  ever  met,"  says  my  lord,  with,  a  smile, 
"  and  I  take  you  at  your  word.  And  I  give  you  fair  warning 
about  the  cards,  and  the  betting,  that  is  all,  my  boy." 

"  Leave  a  Virginian  alone  !  We  are  a  match  for  most  men, 
we  are,"  resumed  the  boy. 

Lord  Castlewood  did  not  laugh.  His  eyebrows  only  arched 
for  a  moment,  and  his  gray  eyes  turned  towards  the  ground. 
"  So  you  can  bet  fifty  guineas  and  aft'ord  to  lose  them  ?  So 
much  the  better  for  you,  cousin.  Those  great  Virginian  estates 
yield  a  great  revenue,  do  they  t  " 

"  More  than  sufficient  for  all  of  us — for  ten  times  as  many 
as  we  are  now,"  replied  Harry.  ("  What,  he  is  pumping  me," 
thought  the  lad.) 

"  And  your  mother  makes  her  son  and  heir  a  handsome 
allowance  ? " 

"  As  much  as  ever  I  choose  to  draw,  my  lord  !  "  cried  Harry. 

"  Teste  !  I  wish  I  had  such  a  mother  ! "  cried  my  lord. 
"  But  I  have  only  the  advantage  of  a  step-mother,  and  she 
draws  on  me.  There  is  the  dinner-bell.  Shall  we  go  into  the 
eating-room  ?  "  And  taking  his  young  friend's  arm,  my  lord 
led  him  to  the  apartment  where  that  meal  was  waiting. 

Tarson  Sampson  formed  the  delight  of  the  entertainment, 
and  amused  the  ladies  with  a  hundred  agreeable  stories.  Be- 
sides being  chaplain  to  his  lordship,  he  was  a  preacher  in 
London,  at  the  new  chapel  in  May  Fair,  for  which  my  Lady 
Whittlesea  (so  well  known  in  the  reign  of  George  I.)  had  left 

9 


130 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


an  endowment.  He  had  the  choicest  stories  of  all  the  clubs 
and  coteries — the  very  latest  news  of  who  had  run  away  with 
whom — the  last  bon-mot  of  Mr.  Selwin — the  last  wild  bet  of 
March  and  Rockingham.  He  knew  how  the  old  king  had 
quarrelled  with  Madame  Walmoden,  and  the  Duke  was  sus- 
pected of  having  a  new  love  ;  who  was  in  favor  at  Carlton  House 
with  the  Princess  of  Wales  ;  and  who  was  hung  last  Monday, 
and  how  well  he  behaved  in  the  cart.  My  lord's  chaplain 
poured  out  all  this  intelligence  to  the  amused  ladies  and  the 
delighted  young  provincial,  seasoning  his  conversation  wdth 
such  plain  terms  and  lively  jokes  as  made  Harry  stare,  who 
was  newly  arrived  from  the  colonies,  and  unused  to  the  elegan- 
cies of  London  life.  The  ladies,  old  and  young,  laughed  quite 
cheerfully  at  the  lively  jokes.  Do  not  be  frightened,  ye  fair 
readers  of  the  present  day !  We  are  not  going  to  outrage  your 
sweet  modesties,  or  call  blushes  on  your  maiden  cheeks.  But 
'tis  certain  that  their  ladyships  at  Castlewood  never  once 
thought  of  being  shocked,  but  sat  listening  to  the  parson's 
funny  tales  until  the  chapel  bell,  clinking  for  afternoon  service, 
summoned  his  reverence  away  for  half-an-hour.  There  was  no 
sermon.  He  would  be  back  in  the  drinking  of  a  bottle  of  Bur- 
gundy. Mr.  Will  called  a  fresh  one,  and  the  chaplain  tossed 
off  a  glass  ere  he  ran  out. 

Ere  the  half-hour  was  over,  Mr.  Chaplain  was  back  again 
bawling  for  another  bottle.  This  discussed,  they  joined  the 
ladies,  and  a  couple  of  card  tables  were  set  out,  as,  indeed,  they 
were  for  many  hours  every  day,  at  which  the  whole  of  the  family 
party  engaged.  Madame  de  Bernstein  could  beat  any  one  of 
her  kinsfolk  at  picquet,  and  there  was  only  Mr.  Chaplain  in  the 
whole  circle  who  was  at  all  a  match  for  her  ladyship. 

In  this  easy  manner  the  Sabbath  day  passed.  The  evening 
was  beautiful,  and  there  was  talk  of  adjourning  to  a  cool  tankard 
and  a  game  of  whist  in  a  summer-house ;  but  the  company 
voted  to  sit  indoors,  the  ladies  declaring  they  thought  the 
aspect  of  three  honors  in  their  hand,  and  some  good  court 
cards,  more  beautiful  than  the  loveliest  scene  of  nature  ;  and 
so  the  sun  went  behind  the  elms,  and  still  they  were  at  their 
cards ;  and  the  rooks  came  home  cawing  their  even  song,  and 
they  never  stirred  except  to"  change  partners  ;  and  the  chapel 
clock  tolled  hour  after  hour  unheeded,  so  delightfully  were  they 
spent  over  the  pasteboard  ;  and  the  moon  and  stars  came  out ; 
and  it  was  nine  o'clock,  and  the  groom  of  the  chambers 
announced  that  supper  was  ready. 

Whilst  they  sat  at  that  meal,  the  postboy's  twanging  horn 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  131 

was  heard,  as  he  trotted  into  the  village  with  his  letter-bag.  My 
lord's  bag  was  brought  in  presently  from  the  village,  and  his 
letters,  which  he  put  aside,  and  his  newspaper  which  he  read. 
He  smiled  as  he  came  to  a  paragraph,  looked  at  his  Virginian 
cousin,  and  handed  the  paper  over  to  his  brother  Will,  who  by 
this  time  was  very  comfortable,  having  had  pretty  good  luck  all 
the  evening,  and  a  great  deal  of  liquor. 

"  Read  that,  Will,"  says  my  lord. 

Mr.  William  took  the  paper,  and,  reading  the  sentence 
pointed  out  by  his  brother,  uttered  an  exclamation  which  caused 
all  the  ladies  to  cry  out. 

"  Gracious  heavens,  William  !  What  has  happened  ?  "  cries 
one  or  the  other  fond  sister. 

"  Mercy,  child,  why  do  you  swear  so  dreadfully  ? "  asks  the 
young  man's  fond  mamma. 

"  What's  the  matter  ? "  inquires  Madame  de  Bernstein,  who 
has  fallen  into  a  doze  after  her  usual  modicum  of  punch  and 
beer. 

"  Read  it,  Parson  !  "  says  Mr.  William,  thrusting  the  paper 
over  to  the  chaplain,  and  looking  as  fierce  as  a  Turk. 

"  Bit,  by  the  Lord  !  "  roars  the  chaplain,  dashing  down  the 
paper. 

"Cousin  Harr}^,  you  are  in  luck,"  said  my  lord,  taking  up 
the  sheet,  and  reading  from  it.  "  The  Six  Year  Old  Plate  at 
Huntingdon  was  won  by  Jason,  beating  Brilliant,  Pytho,  and 
Ginger.  The  odds  were  five  to  four  on  Brilliant  against  the 
field,  three  to  one  against  Jason,  seven  to  two  against  Pytho, 
and  twenty  to  one  against  Ginger." 

"  I  owe  you  a  half-year's  income  of  my  poor  living,  Mr. 
Warrington,"  groaned  the  parson.  "  I  will  pay  when  my  noble 
patron  settles  with  me." 

"  A  curse  upon  the  luck !  "  growls  Mr.  William  ;  "  that  comes 
of  betting  on  a  Sunda}^" — and  he  sought  consolation  in  another 
great  bumper. 

"  Nay,  Cousin  Will.  It  was  but  in  jest,"  cried  Harry.  "  I 
can't  think  of  taking  my  cousin's  money." 

"  Curse  me,  sir.  do  you  suppose,  if  I  lose,  I  can't  pay  ? " 
asks  Mr.  William  ;  ••'and  that  I  want  to  be  beholden  to  any  man 
alive  ?     That  is  a  good  joke.     Isn't  it.  Parson  ?  " 

"  I  think  I  have  heard  better,"  said  the  clergyman  ;  to  which 
William  replied,  "  Hang  it,  let  us  have  another  bowl." 

Let  us  hope  the  ladies  did  not  wait  for  this  last  replenish- 
ment of  liquor,  for  it  is  certain  they  had  had  plenty  already 
during  the  evening. 


,^2  THE   VIRGINIANS. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

IN  WHICH  GUMBO  SHOWS  SKILL  WITH  THE  OLD  ENGLISH  WEAPON. 

Our  voung  Virginian  having  won  these  sums  of  money  from 
his  cousin  and  the  chaplain,  was  in  duty  bound  to  give  them  a 
chance  of  recovering  their  money,  and  I  am  afraid  his  mamma 
and  other  sound  moralists  would  scarcely  approve  of  his  way  of 
life.  He  played  at  cards  a  great  deal  too  much.  Besides  the 
daily  whist  or  quadrille  with  the  ladies,  which  set  in  soon  after 
dinner  at  three  o'clock,  and  lasted  until  supper  time,  there  oc- 
curred games  involving  the  gain  or  loss  of  very  considerable 
sums  of  money,  in  which  all  the  gentlemen,  my  lord  included, 
took  part.  Since  their  Sunday's  conversation,  his  lordship  was 
more  free  and  confidential  with  his  kinsman  than  he  had  pre- 
viously been,  betted  with  him  quite  affably,  and  engaged  him  at 
backgammon  and  picquet.  Mr.  William  and  the  pious  chaplain 
liked  a  little  hazard ;  though  this  diversion  was  enjoyed  on  the 
sly,  and  unknown  to  the  ladies  of  the  house,  who  had  exacted 
repeated  promises  from  Cousin  Will,  that  he  would  not  lead  the 
Virginian  into  mischief,  and  that  he  would  himself  keep  out  of 
it.  So  Will  promised  as  much  as  his  aunt  or  his  mother  chose 
to  demand  from  him,  gave  them  his  word  that  he  would  never 
play — no,  never ;  and'when  the  family  retired  to  rest,  Air.  Will 
would  walk  over  with  a  dice-box  and  a  rum-bottle  to  Cousin 
Harry's  quarters,  where  he  and  Hal,  and  his  reverence,  would 
sit  and  play  until  daylight. 

When  Harry  gave  to  Lord  Castlewood  those  flourishing 
descriptions  of  the  maternal  estate  in  America,  he  had  not 
wished  to  mislead  his  kinsman,  or  to  boast,  or  to  tell  falsehoods, 
for  the  lad  was  of  a  very  honest  and  truth-telling  nature  ;  but, 
in  his  life  at  home,  it  must  be  owned  that  the  young  fellow  had 
had  acquaintance  with  all  sorts  of  queer  company, — horse- 
jockeys,  tavern  loungers,  gambling  and  sporting  men,  of  whom 
a  great  number  were  found  in  his  native  colony.  A  landed 
aristocracy,  with  a  population  of  negroes  to  work  their  fields, 
and  cultivate  their  tobacco  and  corn,  had  little  other  way  of 
amusement  than  in  the  hunting-field,  or  over  the  cards  and  the 
punch-bowl.  The  hospitality  of  the  province  was  unbounded  : 
every  man's  house  was  his  neighbor's  ;   and  the  idle  gentlefolks 


THE  VIRGINIANS.  133 

rode  from  one  mansion  to  another,  finding  in  each  pretty  much 
the  same  sport — welcome,  and  rough  plenty.  The  Virginian 
Squire  had  often  a  barefooted  valet,  and  a  cobbled  saddle  ;  but 
there  was  plenty  of  corn  for  the  horses,  and  abundance  of  drink 
and  venison  for  the  master  within  the  tumble-down  fences,  and 
behind  the  cracked  windows  of  the  hall.  Harry  had  slept  on 
many  a  straw  mattress,  and  engaged  in  endless  jolly  night-bouts 
over  claret  and  punch  in  cracked  bowls  till  morning  came,  and 
it  was  time  to  follow  the  hounds.  His  poor  brother  was  of  a 
much  more  sober  sort,  as  the  lad  owned  with  contrition.  So  it 
is  that  Nature  makes  folks ;  and  some  love  books  and  tea,  and 
some  like  Burgundy  and  a  gallop  across  country.  Our  young 
fellow's  tastes  were  speedily  made  visible  to  his  friends  in 
England.  None  of  them  were  partial  to  the  Puritan  discipline  ; 
nor  did  they  like  Harry  the  worse  for  not  being  the  least  of  a 
milksop.  Manners,  you  see,  were  looser  a  hundred  years  ago  ; 
tongues  were  vastly  more  free  and  easy  ;  names  were  named, 
and  things  were  done,  which  we  should  screech  now  to  hear 
mentioned.  Yes,  Madam,  we  are  not  as  our  ancestors  were. 
Ought  we  not  to  thank  the  Fates  that  have  improved  our  morals 
so  prodigiously,  and  made  us  so  eminently  virtuous  1 

So,  keeping  a  shrewd  keen  eye  upon  people  round  about 
him,  and  fancying,  not  incorrectly,  that  his  cousins  were  dis- 
posed to  pump  him,  Harr}'  Warrington  had  thought  fit  to  keep 
his  own  counsel  regarding  his  own  affairs,  and  in  all  games  of 
chance  or  matters  of  sport  was  quite  a  match  for  the  three  gen- 
tlemen into  whose  company  he  had  fallen.  Even  in  the  noble 
game  of  billiards  he  could  hold  his  own  after  a  few  days'  play 
with  his  cousins  and  their  revered  pastor.  His  grandfather 
loved  the  game,  and  had  over  from  Europe  one  of  the  very  few 
tables  which  existed  in  his  Majesty's  province  of  A^'irginia.  Nor 
though  Mr.  Will  could  beat  him  at  the  commencement,  could 
he  get  undue  odds  out  of  the  young  gamester.  After  their  first 
bet,  Harr}'  was  on  his  guard  with  Mr.  Will,  and  cousin  William 
owned,  not  without  respect,  that  the  American  was  his  match 
in  most  things,  and  his  better  in  many.  But  though  Harry 
played  so  well  that  he  could  beat  the  parson,  and  soon  was  the 
equal  of  Will,  who  of  course  could  beat  both  the  girls,  how 
came  it,  that  in  the  contests  with  these,  especially  with  one  of 
them,  Mr.  Warrington  frequently  came  off  second  ?  He  was 
profoundly  courteous  to  every  being  who  wore  a  petticoat  :  nor 
has  that  traditional  politeness  yet  left  his  country.  All  the 
women  of  the  Castlewood  establishment  loved  the  young  gen- 
tleman.    The  grim  housekeeper  v,as   mollified  by  him  :  the  fat 


134  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

cook  greeted  him  with  blowsy  smiles  ;  the  ladies"-maids,  whether 
of  the  French  or  the  Enghsh  nation,  smirked  and  giggled  in 
his  behalf  ;  the  pretty  porter's  daughter  at  the  lodge  had  always 
a  kind  word  in  reply  to  his.  Madame  de  Bernstein  took  note 
of  all  these  things,  and,  though  she  said  nothing,  watched  care- 
fully the  boy's  disposition  and  behavior. 

Who  can  say  how  old  Lady  Maria  Esmond  was  ?  Books  of 
the  Peerage  were  not  so  many  in  those  days  as  they  are  in  our 
blessed  times,  and  I  cannot  tell  to  a  few  years,  or  even  a  lustre 
or  two.  When  Will  used  to  say  she  was  five-and-thirty,  he  was 
abusive,  and,  besides,  was  always  given  to  exaggeration.  Maria 
was  Will's  half  sister.  She  and  my  lord  were  children  of  the 
late  Lord  Castlewood's  first  wife,  a  German  lady,  whom,  'tis 
known,  my  lord  married  in  the  time  of  Queen  Anne's  wars. 
Baron  Bernstein,  who  married  Maria's  Aunt  Beatrix,  Bishop 
Tusher's  widow,  w^as  also  a  German,  a  Hanoverian  nobleman, 
and  relative  of  the  first  Lady  Castlewood.  If  my  Lady  Maria 
was  born  under  George  I.,  and  his  Majesty  George  IL  had 
been  thirty  years  on  the  throne,  how  could  she  be  seven-and- 
twenty,  as  she  told  Harry  Warrington  she  was  ?  "  I  am  old, 
child,"  she  used  to  say.  She  used  to  call  Harr}'  "  child  "  when 
they  were  alone.  *'  I  am  a  hundred  years  old.  I  am  seven- 
and-twenty.  I  might  be  your  mother  almost."  To  which 
Harry  would  reply,  "  Your  ladyship  might  be  the  mother  of  all 
the  cupids,  I  am  sure.  You  don't  look  twenty,  on  my  word  you 
do  not ! " 

Lady  Maria  looked  any  age  you  liked.  She  was  a  fair 
beauty  with  a  dazzling  white  and  red  complexion,  an  abun- 
dance of  fair  hair  which  flowed  over  her  shoulders,  and  beautiful 
round  arms  which  showed  to  uncommon  advantage  when  she 
played  at  billiards  with  Cousin  Harry.  When  she  had  to 
stretch  across  the  table  to  make  a  stroke,  that  youth  caught 
glimpses  of  a  little  ankle,  a  little  clocked  stocking,  and  a  little 
black  satin  slipper  with  a  little  red  heel,  which  filled  him  with 
unutterable  rapture,  and  made  him  swear  that  there  never  was 
such  a  foot,  ankle,  clocked  stocking,  satin  slipper  in  the  world. 
And  yet,  O  you  foolish  Harry  !  your  mother's  foot  was  ever  so 
much  more  slender,  and  half  an  inch  shorter,  than  Lady 
Maria's.  But,  somehow,  boys  do  not  look  at  their  mammas' 
slippers  and  ankles  with  rapture. 

No  doubt  Lady  Maria  was  very  kind  to  Harry  when  they 
were  alone.  Before  her  sister,  aunt,  stepmother,  she  made  light 
of  him,  calling  him  a  simpleton,  a  chit,  and  who  knows  what 
trivial  names  t     Behind  his  back,  and  even  before  his  face,  she 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  13^ 

mimicked  his  accent,  which  smacked  somewhat  of  his  province. 
Harry  blushed  and  corrected  the  faulty  intonation,  under  his 
English  monitresses.  His  aunt  pronounced  that  they  would 
soon  make  him  a  pretty  fellow. 

Lord  Castlewood,  we  have  said,  became  daily  more  familiar 
and  friendly  with  his  guest  and  relative.  Till  the  crops  were 
off  the  ground  there  was  no  sporting,  except  an  occasional 
cock-match  at  Winchester,  and  a  bull-baiting  at  Hexton  Fair. 
Harry  and  Will  rode  off  to  many  jolly  fairs  and  races  round 
about :  the  young  Virginian  was  presented  to  some  of  the 
county  families — the  Henleys  of  the  Grange,  the  Crawleys  of 
Queen's  Crawley,  the  Redmaynes  of  Lionsden,  and  so  forth. 
The  neighbors  came  in  their  great  heavy  coaches,  and  passed 
two  or  three  days  in  country  fashion.  More  of  them  would 
have  come,  but  for  the  fear  all  the  Castlewood  family  had  of 
offended  Madame  de  Bernstein.  She  did  not  like  country' 
company  ;  the  rustical  society  and  conversation  annoyed  her. 
"  We  shall  be  merrier  when  my  aunt  leaves  us,"  the  young 
folks  owned.  "  We  have  cause,  as  you  may  imagine,  for  being 
very  civil  to  her.  You  know  what  a  favorite  she  was  with  our 
papa  ?  And  with  reason.  She  got  him  his  earldom,  being 
very  well  indeed  at  court  at  that  time  with  the  King  and  Queen. 
She  commands  here  naturally,  perhaps  a  little  too  much.  We 
are  all  afraid  of  her :  even  my  elder  brother  stands  in  awe  of 
her,  and  my  stepmother  is  much  more  obedient  to  her  than  she 
ever  was  to  my  papa,  whom  she  ruled  with  a  rod  of  iron.  But 
Castlewood  is  merrier  when  our  aunt  is  not  here.  At  least  we 
have  much  more  company.  You  will  come  to  us  in  our  gay 
days,  Harry,  won't  you  ?  Of  course  you  will :  this  is  your  home, 
sir.  I  was  so  pleased — oh,  so  pleased — when  my  brother  said 
he  considered  it  was  your  home  !  " 

A  soft  hand  is  held  out  after  this  pretty  speech,  a  pair  of 
very  well-preserved  blue  eyes  look  exceedingly  friendly.  Harry 
grasps  his  cousin's  hand  with  ardor,  I  do  not  know  what 
privilege  of  cousinship  he  would  not  like  to  claim,  only  he  is  so 
timid.  They  call  the  English  selfish  and  cold.  He  at  first 
thought  his  relatives  were  so  :  but  how  mistaken  he  was  !  How 
kind  and  affectionate  they  are,  especially  the  Earl,  and  dear, 
dear  Maria  !  How  he  wishes  he  could  recall  that  letter  which 
he  had  written  to  Mrs.  Mountain  and  his  mother,  in  which  he 
hinted  that  his  welcome  had  been  a  cold  one  !  The  Earl  his 
cousin  was  everything  that  was  kind,  had  promised  to  introduce 
him  to  London  society,  and  present  him  at  Court,  and  at  White's. 
He  was  to  consider  Castlewood  as  his  English  home.     He  had 


136  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

been  most  hasty  in  his  judgment  regarding  his  relatives  in 
Hampshire.  All  this,  with  many  contrite  expressions,  he  wrote 
in  his  second  despatch  to  Virginia.  And  he  added,  for  it  hath 
been  hinted  that  the  young  gentleman  did  not  spell  at  this  early 
time  with  especial  accuracy,  "  My  cousin,  the  Lady  Maria,  is  a 
perfect  Angle.'' 

"  Ille prcEfer  07?mes  augulus  ridet^''  muttered  little  Mr.  Demp- 
ster, at  home  in  Virginia. 

"  The  child  can't  be  falling  in  love  with  his  angle,  as  he 
calls  her  !  "  cries  out  Mountain. 

"  Pooh,  pooh  !  my  niece  Maria  is  forty  !  "  says  Madam 
Esmond.  "  I  perfectly  well  recollect  her  wdien  I  was  at  home 
— a  great  gawky  carroty  creature,  with  a  foot  like  a  pair  of 
bellows."  Where  is  truth,  forsooth,  and  who  knoweth  it  ?  Is 
Beauty  beautiful,  or  is  it  only  our  eyes  that  make  it  so  "i  Does 
Venus  squint  ?  Has  she  got  a  splay-foot,  red  hair,  and  a  crooked 
back  }  Anoint  my  eyes,  good  Fairy  Puck,  so  Jhat  I  may  ever 
consider  the  Beloved  Object  a  paragon  !  Above  all,  keep  on 
anointing  my  mistress's  dainty  peepers  with  the  very  strongest 
ointment,  so  that  my  noddle  may  ever  appear  lovely  to  her,  and 
that  she  may  continue  to  crown  my  honest  ears  with  fresh 
roses  ! 

Now,  not  only  was  Harry  Warrington  a  favorite  with  some 
in  the  drawing-room,  and  all  the  ladies  of  the  ser\ants'-hall, 
but,  like  master  like  man,  his  valet  Gumbo  was  very  much 
admired  and  respected  by  very  many  of  the  domestic  circle. 
Gumbo  had  a  hundred  accomplishments.  He  was  famous  as  a 
fisherman,  huntsman,  blacksmith.  He  could  dress  hair  beauti- 
fully, and  improved  himself  in  the  art  under  my  lord's  own 
Swiss  gentleman.  He  was  great  at  cooking  many  of  his  Vir- 
ginian dishes,  and  learned  many  new  culinary  secrets  from  my 
lord's  French  man.  We  have  heard  how  exquisitely  and  melo- 
diously he  sang  at  church  ;  and  he  sang  not  only  sacred  but 
secular  music,  often  inventing  airs  and  composing  rude  words 
after  the  habit  of  his  people.  He  played  the  fiddle  so  charm- 
ingly, that  he  set  all  the  girls  dancing  in  Castlewood  hall,  and 
was  ever  welcome  to  a  gratis  mug  of  ale  at  the  "  Three  Castles  " 
in  the  village,  if  he  would  but  bring  his  fiddle  with  him.  He 
was  good-natured,  and  loved  to  play  for  the  village  children  :  so 
that  Mr.  Warrington's  negro  was  a  universal  favorite  in  all  the 
Castlewood  domain. 

Now  it  was  not  difiicult  for  the  servants'-hall  folks  to  per- 
ceive that  Mr.  Gumbo  was  a  liar,  which  fact  was  undoubted  in 
spite  of  all  his  good  qualities.    For  instance,  that  day  at  church, 


THE   VTRGTNIANS. 


137 


when  he  pretended  to  read  out  of  Molly's  psalm-book,  he  sang 
quite  other  words  than  those  which  were  down  in  the  book,  of 
which  he  could  not  decipher  a  syllable.  And  he  pretended  to 
understand  music,  whereupon  the  Swiss  valet  brought  him 
some,  and  Master  Gumbo  turned  the  page  upside  down.  These 
instances  of  long-bow  practice  daily  occurred,  and  were  patent 
to  all  the  C^stlew^ood  household.  They  knew  Gumbo  was  a 
liar,  perhaps  not  thinking  the  w^orse  of  him  for  this  weakness  ; 
but  they  did  not  know^  how  great  a  liar  he  was,  and  believed 
him  much  more  tlmn  they  had  any  reason  for  doing,  and 
because,  I  suppose,  they  liked  to  believe  him. 

Whatever  might  be  his  feelings  of  wonder  and  envy  on  first 
viewing  the  splendor  and  comforts  of  Castlewood,  Mr.  Gumbo 
kept  his  sentiments  to  himself  and  examined  the  place,  park, 
appointments,  stables,  very  coolly.  The  horses,  he  said,  were 
very  well,  what  there  were  of  them  ;  but  at  Castlewood  in  Vir- 
ginia they  had  six  times  as  many,  and  let  me  see,  fourteen 
eighteen  grooms  to  look  after  them.  Madam  Esmond's  car- 
riages were  much  finer  than  my  lord's, — great  deal  more  gold 
on  the  panels.  As  for  her  gardens,  they  covered  acres,  and 
they  grew  every  kind  of  flowers  and  fruit  under  the  sun.  Pine- 
apples and  peaches  ?  Pine-apples  and  peaches  were  so  com- 
mon, they  were  given  to  pigs  in  his  country.  They  had 
twenty  forty  gardeners,  not  white  gardeners,  all  black  gentle- 
men, like  hisself.  In  the  house  were  twenty  forty  gentlemen 
in  livery,  besides  women-servants, — never  could  remember  how 
many  women-servants, — dere  were  so  many ;  tink  dere  were 
fifty  women  servants,  —  all  Madam  Esmond's  property,  and 
worth  ever  so  many  hundred  pieces  of  eight  apiece.  How  much 
was  a  piece  of  eight  ?  Bigger  than  a  guinea,  a  piece  of  eight 
w^as.  Tink,  Madam  Esmond  have  twenty  thirty  thousand 
guineas  a  year, — have  whole  rooms  full  of  gold  and  plate.  Come 
to  England  in  one  of  her  ships ;  have  ever  so  many  ships, 
Gumbo  can't  count  how  many  ships  ;  and  estates,  covered  all 
over  with  tobacco  and  negroes,  and  reaching  out  for  a  week's 
journe3\  Was  Master  Harry  heir  to  all  this  property  ?  Of 
course,  now  Master  George  was  killed  and  scalped  by  the 
Indians.  Gumbo  had  killed  ever  so  many  Indians,  and  tried 
to  save  Master  George,  but  he  was  Master  Harry's  boy, — and 
Master  Harry  was  as  rich, — oh,  as  rich  as  ever  he  like.  He 
wore  black  now,  because  Master  George  was  dead  ;  but  you 
should  see  his  chests  full  of  gold  clothes,  and  lace,  and  jew^els 
at  Bristol.  Of  course,  ]\Iaster  Harry  was  the  richest  man  in 
all  Virginia,  and  might  have  twenty  sixty  servants  ;  only  he  liked 


138  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

travelling  with  one  best,  and  that  one,  it  need  scarcely  be  said, 
was  Gumbo. 

This  story  was  not  invented  at  once,  but  gradually  elicited 
from  Mr.  Gumbo,  who  might  have  uttered  some  trifling  contra- 
dictions during  the  progress  of  the  narrative,  but  by  the  time 
he  had  told  his  tale  twice  or  thrice  in  the  servants'-hall  or  the 
butler's  private  apartment,  he  was  pretty  perfect  and  consistent 
in  his  part,  and  knew  accurately  the  number  of  slaves  Madam 
Esmond  kept,  and  the  amount  of  income  which  she  enjoyed. 
The  truth  is,  that  as  four  or  five  blacks  ^re  required  to  do 
the  work  of  one  white  man,  the  domestics  in  American  estab- 
lishments are  much  more  numerous  than  in  ours  ;  and,  like  the 
houses  of  most  other  Virginian  landed  proprietors,  Madam 
Esmond's  mansion  and  stables  swarmed  with  negroes. 

Mr.  Gumbo's  account  of  his  mistress's  wealth  and  splendor 
was  carried  to  my  lord  by  his  lordship's  man,  and  to  Madame 
de  Bernstein  and  my  ladies  by  their  respective  waiting-women, 
and,  we  may  be  sure,  lost  nothing  in  the  telling.  A  young  gen- 
tleman in  England  is  not  the  less  liked  because  he  is  reputed 
to  be  the  heir  to  vast  wealth  and  possessions  ;  when  Lady 
Castlewood  came  to  hear  of  Harry's  prodigious  expectations, 
she  repented  of  her  first  cool  reception  of  him,  and  of  having 
pinched  her  daughter's  arm  till  it  was  black  and  blue  for  having 
been  extended  towards  the  youth  in  too  friendly  a  manner. 
Was  it  too  late  to  have  him  back  into  those  fair  arms  ?  Lady 
Fanny  was  welcome  to  try,  and  resumed  the  dancing-lessons. 
The  Countess  would  play  the  music  with  all  her  heart.  But, 
how  provoking  !  that  odious,  sentimental  Maria  would  always 
insist  upon  being  in  the  room  ;  and,  as  sure  as  Fanny  walked  in 
the  gardens  or  the  park,  so  sure  would  her  sister  come  trailing 
after  her.  As  for  Madame  de  Bernstein,  she  laughed,  and  was 
amused  at  the  stories  of  the  prodigious  fortune  of  her  Virginian 
relatives.  She  knew  her  half-sister's  man  of  business  in  Lon- 
don, and  very  likely  was  aware  of  the  real  state  of  Madam  Es- 
mond's money  matters  ;  but  she  did  not  contradict  the  rumors 
which  Gumbo  and  his  fellow-servants  had  set  afloat  ;  and  was 
not  a  little  diverted  by  the  effect  which  these  reports  had 
upon  the  behavior  of  the  Castlewood  family  towards  their  young 
kinsman. 

"  Hang  him  !  Is  he  so  rich,  Molly  ?  "  said  my  lord  to  his 
elder  sister.  "  Then  good-by  to  our  chances  with  your  aunt. 
The  Baroness  will  be  sure  to  leave  him  all  her  money  to  spite 
us,  and  because  he  doesn't  want  it.  Nevertheless,  the  lad  is  a 
good  lad  enough,  and  it  is  not  his  fault,  being  rich,  you  know." 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  139 

"  He  is  very  simple  and  modest  in  his  habits  for  one  so 
wealthy.''  remarks  Maria. 

"  Rich  people  often  are  so,"  says  my  lord.  "  If  I  were  rich, 
I  often  think  I  would  be  the  greatest  miser,  and  live  in  rags  and 
on  a  crust.  Depend  upon  it,  there  is  no  pleasure  so  enduring 
as  money-getting.  It  grows  on  you,  and  increases  with  old  age. 
But  because  I  am  poor  as  Lazarus,  I  dress  in  purple  and  fine 
linen,  and  fare  sumptuously  every  day." 

Maria  went  to  the  book-room  and  got  the  ''  History  of  Vir- 
ginia, by  R.  B.  Gent" — and  read  therein  what  an  admirable 
climate  it  was,  and  how  all  kinds  of  fruit  and  corn  grow  in  that 
proyince,  and  what  noble  rivers  were  those  of  Potomac  and 
Rappahannock,  abounding  in  all  sorts  of  fish.  And  she  won- 
dered whether  the  climate  v/ould  agree  with  her,  and  whether 
her  aunt  would  like  her?  And  Harry  was  sure  his  mother 
would  adore  her,  so  would  Mountain.  And  when  he  was 
asked  about  the  number  of  his  mother's  servants,  he  said, 
they  certainly  had  more  servants  than  are  seen  in  England — 
he  did  not  know  hov;  many.  But  the  negroes  did  not  do  near 
as  much  work  as  English  servants  did  ;  hence  the  necessity  of 
keeping  so  great  a  number.  As  for  some  others  of  Gumbo's 
details  which  were  brought  to  him,  he  laughed  and  said  the 
boy  was  wonderful  as  a  romancer,  and  in  telling  such  stories 
he  supposed  was  trjang  to  speak  out  for  the  honor  of  the  family. 

So  Harry  was  modest  as  well  as  rich  !  His  denials  only 
served  to  confirm  his  relatives'  opinion  regarding  his  splendid 
expectations.  More  and  more  the  Countess  and  the  ladies 
were  friendly  and  affectionate  with  him.  More  and  more  Mr. 
Will  betted  with  him,  and  wanted  to  sell  him  bargains.  Harry's 
simple  dress  and  equipage  only  served  to  confirm  his  friends' 
idea  of  his  wealth.  To  see  a  young  man  of  his  rank  and 
means  with  but  one  servant,  and  without  horses  or  a  carriage 
of  his  own  —  what  modesty !  When  he  went  to  London  he 
would  cut  a  better  figure  ?  Of  course  he  would.  Castlewood 
would  introduce  him  to  the  best  society  in  the  capital,  and  he 
would  appear  as  he  ought  to  appear  at  St.  James's.  No  man 
could  be  more  pleasant,  wicked,  lively,  obsequious  than  the 
worthy  chaplain,  Mr.  Sampson.  How  proud  he  would  be  if  he 
could  show  his  young  friend  a  little  of  London  life  ! — if  he 
could  warn  rogues  off  him,  and  keep  him  out  of  the  way  of 
harm.  Mr.  Sampson  was  very  kind  :  ever^'body  was  very  kind. 
Harry  liked  quite  well  the  respect  that  was  paid  to  him.  As 
Madam  Esmond's  son,  he  thought  perhaps  it  was  his  due  :  and 
took  for  granted  that  he  was  the  personage  which  his  family 


I40  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

imagined  him  to  be.  How  should  he  know  better,  who 
had  never  as  yet  seen  any  place  but  his  own  province,  and 
why  should  he  not  respect  his  own  condition  when  other  peo- 
ple respected  it  so  ?  So  all  the  little  knot  of  people  at  Castle- 
wood  House,  and  from  these  people  in  Castlewood  village,  and 
from  thence  the  people  in  the  whole  county,  chose  to  imagine 
that  Mr.  Harry  Esmond  Warrington  was  the  heir  of  immense 
wealth,  and  a  gentleman  of  very  great  importance,  because  his 
negro  valet  told  lies  about  him  in  the  servants'-hall. 

Harry's  aunt,  Madame  de  Bernstein,  after  a  week  or  two, 
began  to  tire  of  Castlewood  and  the  inhabitants  of  that  mansion, 
and  the  neighbors  who  came  to  visit  them.  This  clever  woinan 
tired  of  most  things  and  people  sooner  or  later.  So  she  took 
to  nodding  and  sleeping  over  the  chaplain's  stories,  and  to  doze 
at  her  whist  and  over  her  dinner,  arid  to  be  very  snappish  and 
sarcastic  in  her  conversation  with  her  Esmond  nephews  and 
nieces,  hitting  out  blows  at  my  lord  and  his  brother  the  jockey, 
and  my  ladies,  widowed  and  unmarried,  who  winced  under  her 
scornful  remarks,  and  bore  them  as  they  best  might.  The  cook, 
whom  she  had  so  praised  on  first  coming,  now  gave  her  no 
satisfaction  ;  the  wine  was  corked  ;  the  house  was  damp,  drear}', 
and  full  of  draughts  ;  the  doors  would  not  shut,  and  the  chim- 
neys were  smoky.  She  began  to  think  the  Tunbridge  waters 
were  very  necessary  for  her,  and  ordered  the  doctor,  who  came 
to  her  from  the  neighboring  town  of  Hexton,  to  order  those 
waters  for  her  benefit. 

"  I  wish  to  heaven  she  would  go  !  "  growled  my  lord,  who 
was  the  most  independent  member  of  his  family.  "  She  may 
go  to  Tunbridge,  or  she  may  go  to  Bath,  or  she  may  go  to 
Jericho  for  me." 

"  Shall  Fanny  and  I  come  with  you  to  Tunbridge,  dear 
Baroness?"  asked  Lady  Castlewood  of  her  sister-in-law. 

"  Not  for  worlds,  my  dear  !  The  doctor  orders  me  abso- 
lute quiet,  and  if  you  came  I  should  have  the  knocker  going 
all  day,  and  Fanny's  lovers  would  never  be  out  of  the  house," 
answered  the  Baroness,  who  was  quite  weary  of  Lady  Castle- 
wood's  company. 

"  I  wish  I  could  be  of  any  service  to  my  aunt !  "  said  the 
sentimental  Lady  Maria,  demurely. 

"  My  good  child,  what  can  you  do  for  me  ?  You  cannot 
play  picquet  so  well  as  my  maid,  and  I  have  heard  all  your 
songs  till  I  am  perfectly  tired  of  them  !  One  of  the  gentlemen 
might  go  with  me  :  at  least  make  the  journey,  and  see  me  safe 
from  highw'aymen." 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


141 


"  I'm  sure,  ^Ma'am,  I  shall  be  glad  to  ride  with  vou,"  said 
Mr.  Will. 

"  Oh,  not  you  !  I  don't  wantj^z/,  William,"  cried  the  young 
man's  aunt.  "  Why  do  not  yoit  offer,  and  where  are  your 
American  manners,  you  ungracious  Harr}*  Warrington  .^  Don't 
swear,  W'ill.  Harry  is  much  better  company  than  you  are,  and 
much  better  ton  too,  sir."' 

"  Tong,  indeed !  Confound  his  tong,"  growled  envious 
Will  to  himself. 

"  I  dare  say  I  shall  be  tired  of  him,  as  I  am  of  other  folks," 
continued  the  Baroness.  "  I  have  scarcely  seen  Harry  at  all 
in  these  last  days.  You  shall  ride  with  me  to  Tunbridge, 
Harry  !  " 

At  this  direct  appeal,  and  to  no  one's  wonder  more  than  that 
of  his  aunt,  Mr.  Harry  Warrington  blushed,  and  hemmed  and 
ha'd  :  and  at  length  said,  "  I  have  promised  my  cousin  Cas- 
tlewood  to  go  over  to  Hexton  Petty  Sessions  with  him  to-mor- 
row. He  thinks  I  should  see  how  the  Courts  here  are  con- 
ducted— and — -the  partridge  shooting  will  soon  begin,  and  I 
have  promised  to  be  here  for  that,  Ma'am."  Saying  which 
w^ords,  Harry  Warrington  looked  as  red  as  a  poppy,  whilst 
Lady  Maria  held  her  meek  face  downwards,  and  nimbly  plied 
her  needle. 

"  You  actually  refuse  to  go  with  me  to  Tunbridge  Wells  ?  " 
called  out  Madame  de  Bernstein,  her  eyes  lighting,  and  her 
face  flushing  up  with  anger,  too. 

"  Not  to  ride  with  you,  Ma'am  ;  that  I  will  do  with  all  my 
heart  ;  but  to  stay  there — I  have  promised.     .     .     ." 

"  Enough,  enough,  sir  !  I  can  go  alone,  and  don't  want 
your  escort,"  cried  the  irate  old  lady,  and  rustled  out  of  the 
room. 

The  Castlewood  family  looked  at  each  other  with  wonder. 
Will  whistled.  Lady  Castlewood  glanced  at  Fanny,  as  much 
as  to  say,  His  chance  is  over.  Lady  Maria  never  lifted  up  her 
eyes  from  her  tambor-frame. 


142  THE  VIRGINIANS. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

ON    THE    SCENT. 


Young  Harry  Warrington's  act  of  revolt  came  so  suddenly 
upon  Madame  de  Bernstein,  that  she  had  no  other  way  of  re- 
plying to  it,  than  by  the  prompt  outbreak  of  anger  with  which 
we  left  her  in  the  last  chapter.  She  darted  two  fierce  glances 
at  Lady  Fanny  and  her  mother  as  she  quitted  the  room.  Lady 
Maria  over  her  tambor-frame  escaped  without  the  least  notice, 
and  scarcely  lifted  up  her  head  from  her  embroidery,  to  watch 
the  aunt  retreating,  or  the  looks  which  mamma-in-law  and  sister 
threw  at  one  another. 

"So,  in  spite  of  all,  you  have,  Madam  ?  "  the  maternal  looks 
seemed  to  say. 

"  Have  what?"  asked  Lady  Fanny's  eyes.  But  what  good 
in  looking  innocent  .-*  She  looked  puzzled.  She  did  not  look 
one-tenth  part  as  innocent  as  Maria.  Had  she  been  guilty, 
she  would  have  looked  not  guilty  much  more  cleverly  ;  and 
would  have  taken  care  to  study  and  compose  a  face  so  as  to  be 
ready  to  suit  the  plea.  Whatever  was  the  expression  of  Fanny's 
eyes,  mamma  glared  on  her  as  if  she  would  have  liked  to  tear 
them  out. 

But  Lady  Castlewood  could  not  operate  upon  the  said  eyes 
then  and  there,  like  the  barbarous  monsters  in  the  stage-direc- 
tion in  King  Lear.  When  her  ladyship  was  going  to  tear  out 
her  daughter's  eyes,  she  would  retire  smiling,  with  an  arm 
round  her  dear  child's  waist,  and  then  gouge  her  in  private. 

"  So  you  don't  fancy  going  with  the  old  lady  to  Tunbridge 
Wells  ?  "  was  all  she  said  to  Cousin  Warrington,  wearing  at  the 
same  time  a  perfectly  well-bred  simper  on  her  face. 

"  And  small  blame  to  our  cousin  !  "  interposed  my  lord. 
(The  face  over  the  tambor-frame  looked  up  for  one  instant.) 
"  A  young  fellow  must  not  have  it  all  idling  and  holiday.  Let 
him  mix  up  something  useful  with  his  pleasures,  and  go  to  the 
fiddles  and  pump-rooms  at  Tunbridge  or  the  Bath  later.  Mr. 
Warrington  has  to  conduct  a  great  estate  in  America  :  let  him 
see  how  ours  in  England  are  carried  on.  Will  hath  shown  him 
the  kennel  and  the  stables  ;  and  the  games  in  vogue,  which  I 
think,  cousin,  you  seem  to  play  as  well  as  your  teachers.     After 


THE   VIRG/yiANS.  143 

harvest  we  will  show  him  a  little  English  fowling  and  shooting  : 
in  winter  we  will  take  him  out  a-hunting.  Though  there  has 
been  a  coolness  between  us  and  our  aunt-kinsw^oman  in  Vir- 
ginia, yet  w^e  are  of  the  same  blood.  Ere  we  send  our  cousin 
back  to  his  mother,  let  us  show  him  what  an  English  gentle- 
man's life  at  home  is.  I  should  like  to  read  with  him  as  well 
as  sport  with  him,  and  that  is  why  I  have  been  pressing  him  of 
late  to  stay  and  bear  me  company." 

My  lord  spoke  with  such  perfect  frankness  that  his  mother- 
in-law  and  half-brother  and  sister  could  not  help  wondering 
what  his  meaning  could  be.  The  three  last-named  persons 
often  held  little  conspiracies  together,  and  caballed  or  grum- 
bled against  the  head  of  the  house.  When  he  adopted  that 
frank  tone,  there  was  no  fathoming  his  meaning  ;  often  it 
would  not  be  discovered  until  months  had  passed.  He  did  not 
say,  "This  is  true,"  but,  "I  mean  that  this  statement  should 
be  accepted  and  believed  in  my  family."  It  was  then  a  thing 
convenue,  that  my  Lord  Castlewood  had  a  laudable  desire  to 
cultivate  the  domestic  affections,  and  to  educate,  amuse,  and 
improve  his  young  relative  ;  and  that  he  had  taken  a  great 
fancy  to  the  lad,  and  wished  that  Harry  should  stay  for  some 
time  near  his  lordship. 

"  What  is  Castlewood's  game  now  ?  "  asked  William  of  his 
mother  and  sister  as  they  disappeared  into  the  corridors. 
"Stop  !     By  George,  I  have  it !  " 

"  What,  William  ?  " 

"  He  intends  to  get  him  to  play,  and  to  win  the  Virginia 
estate  back  from  him.     That's  what  it  is  ! " 

"  But  the  lad  has  not  got  the  Virginia  estate  to  pay,  if  he 
loses,"  remarks  mamma. 

"  If  my  brother  has  not  some  scheme  in  view,  may  I 
be ." 

"  Hush  !  Of  course  he  has  a  scheme  in  view.  But  what 
is  it  ?  " 

"  He  can't  mean  Maria  —  Maria  is  as  old  as  Harry's 
mother,"  muses  Mr.  William. 

"  Pooh  !  wdth  her  old  face  and  sandy  hair  and  freckled 
skin  !  Impossible  !  "  cries  Lady  Fanny,  with  somewhat  of  a 
sigh. 

"  Of  course,  your  ladyship  had  a  fancy  for  the  Iroquois, 
too  !  "  cried  mamma. 

"  I  trust  I  know  my  station  and  duty  better,  Madam  !  If  I 
had  liked  him,  that  is  no  reason  why  I  should  marry  him. 
Your  ladyship  hath  taught  me  as  much  as  that." 


144  ^-^^'   VIRGINIANS. 

"  My  Lady  Fanny  !  " 

"  I  am  sure  you  married  our  papa  without  liking  him.  You 
have  told  me  so  a  thousand  times  !  " 

"  And  if  you  did  not  love  our  father  before  marriage,  you 
certainly  did  not  fall  in  love  with  him  afterwards,"  broke  in 
Mr.  William,  with  a  laugh.  "  Fan  and  I  remember  how  our 
honored  parents  used  to  fight.  Don't  us.  Fan  ?  And  our 
brother  Esmond  kept  the  peace." 

"  Don't  recall  those  dreadful  low  scenes,  William  !  "  cries 
mamma.  "  When  your  father  took  too  much  drink,  he  was  like 
a  madman  ;  and  his  conduct  should  be  a  warning  to  you,  sir, 
who  are  fond  of  the  same  horrid  practice." 

"  I  am  sure,  Madam,  you  were  not  much  the  happier  for 
marrying  the  man  you  did  not  like,  and  your  ladyship's  title 
hath  brought  very  little  along  with  it,"  whimpered  out  Lady 
Fanny.  "What  is  the  use  of  a  coronet  with  the  jointure  of  a 
tradesman's  wife  ? — how  many  of  them  are  richer  than  we  are  ? 
There  is  come  lately  to  live  in  our  Square,  at  Kensington, 
a  grocer's  widow  from  London  Bridge,  whose  daughters  have 
three  gowns  where  I  have  one  ;  and  who,  though  they  are 
waited  on  but  by  a  man  and  a  couple  of  maids,  I  know  eat  and 
drink  a  thousand  times  better  than  we  do,  with  our  scraps  of 
cold  meat  on  our  plate,  and  our  great  flaunting,  trapesing, 
impudent,  lazy  lacqueys  !  " 

"  He  !  he  !  glad  I  dine  at  the  palace,  and  not  at  home  !  " 
said  Mr.  W^ill.  (Mr.  Will,  through  his  aunt's  interest  with 
Count  Puffendorff,  Groom  of  the  Royal  (and  Serene  Electoral) 
Powder-Closet,  had  one  of  the  many  small  places  at  Court, 
that  of  Deputy  Powder.) 

"  Why  should  I  not  be  happy  without  any  title  except  my 
own  ?  "  continued  Lady  Frances.  "  Many  people  are.  I  dare 
say  they  are  even  happy  in  America." 

"  Yes  !  with  a  mother-in-law  who  is  a  perfect  Turk  and 
Tarter,  for  all  I  hear  —  with  Indian  war-whoops  howling  all 
around  you  :  and  with  a  danger  of  losing  your  scalp,  or  of 
being  eat  up  by  a  wild  beast  every  time  you  went  to  church. 

"  I  wouldn't  go  to  church,"  said  Lady  Fanny. 

"  You'd  go  with  anybody  who  asked  you,  Fan  !  "  roared  out 
Mr.  Will :  "  and  so  would  old  Maria,  and  so  would  any  woman, 
that's  the  fact."     And  Will  laughed  at  his  own  wit. 

"  Pray,  good  folks,  what  is  all  your  merriment  about  ?  "  here 
asked  Madame  de  Bernstein,  peeping  in  on  her  relatives  from 
the  tapestried  door  which  led  into  the  gallery  where  their  con- 
versation was  held. 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


45 


Will  told  her  that  his  mother  and  sister  had  been  having  a 
fight  (which  was  not  a  novelty,  as  Madame  de  Bernstein  knew), 
because  Fanny  wanted  to  marry  their  cousin,  the  wild  Indian, 
and  my  lady  countess  would  not  let  her.  Fanny  protested 
against  this  statement.  Since  the  very  first  day  when  her 
mother  had  told  her  not  to  speak  to  the  young  gentleman,  she 
had  scarcely  exchanged  two  words  with  him.  She  knew  her 
station  better.  She  did  not  want  to  be  scalped  by  wild  Indians, 
or  eat  up  by  bears. 

Madame  de  Bernstein  looked  puzzled.  "  If  he  is  not 
staying  for  you,  for  whom  is  he  staying  ?  "  she  asked.  "  At  the 
houses  to  which  he  has  been  carried,  you  have  taken  care  not 
to  show  him  a  woman  that  is  not  a  fright  or  in  the  nursery; 
and  I  think  the  boy  is  too  proud  to  fall  in  love  with  a  dairy- 
maid, Will." 

"  Humph  !  That  is  a  matter  of  taste,  ma'am,"  says  Mr. 
William,  with  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders. 

"  Of  Mr.  William  Esmond's  taste,  as  you  say  ;  but  not  of 
yonder  boy's.  The  Esmonds  of  his  grandfather's  nurture,  sir, 
would  not  go  a-courting  in-  the  kitchen." 

"  Well,  ma'am,  every  man  to  his  taste,  I  say  again.  A 
fellow  might  go  farther  and  fare  worse  than  my  brother's  ser- 
vants'-hall,  and  besides  Fan,  there's  only  the  maids  or  old 
Maria  to  choose  from." 

"  Maria  !  Impossible  !  "  And  yet,  as  she  spoke  the  very 
words,  a  sudden  thought  crossed  Madame  de  Bernstein's  mind, 
that  this  elderly  Calypso  might  have  captivated  her  young 
Telemachus.  She  called  to  mind  half-a-dozen  instances  in  her 
own  experience  of  young  men  who  had  been  infatuated  by  old 
women.  She  remembered  how  frequent  Harry  Warrington's 
absences  had  been  of  late — absences  which  she  attributed  to 
his  love  for  field-sports.  She  remembered  how  often,  when  he 
was  absent,  Maria  Esmond  was  away  too.  Walks  in  cool 
avenues,  whisperings  in  garden  temples,  or  behind  dipt  hedges, 
casual  squeezes  of  the  hand  in  twilight  corridors,  or  sweet 
glances  and  ogles  in  meetings  on  the  stairs, — a. lively  fancy,  an 
intimate  knowledge  of  the  world,  very  likely  a  considerable 
personal  experience  in  early  days,  suggested  all  these  possibil- 
ities and  chances  to  Madame  de  Bernstein,  just  as  she  was 
saying  that  they  were  impossible. 

"  Impossible,  ma'am  !  I  don't  know,"  Will  continued  "  ]\Iy 
mother  warned  Fan  off  him." 

"  Oh,  your  mother  did  warn  Fanny  off  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  my  dear  Baroness  ! '' 


146  THE  VIRGINIANS. 

"  Didn't  she  ?  Didn't  she  pinch  Fanny's  arm  black  and 
blue  ?     Didn't  they  fight  about  it  ?  " 

"  Nonsense,  William  !  For  shame,  William  !  "  cry  both  the 
implicated  ladies  in  a  breath. 

"  And  now,  since  we  have  heard  how  rich  he  is,  perhaps  it 
is  sour  grapes,  that  is  all.  And  now,  since  he  is  warned  off 
the  young  bird,  perhaps  he  is  hunting  the  old  one,  that's  all. 
Impossible  !  why  impossible  ?  You  know  old  Lady  Suffolk, 
ma'am  ? " 

"  William,  how  can  you  speak  about  Lady  Suffolk  to  your 
aunt  ? " 

A  grin  passed  over  the  countenance  of  the  young  gentle- 
man. "  Because  Lady  Suffolk  was  a  special  favorite  at  Court  t 
Well,  other  folks  have  succeeded  her." 

"  Sir ! "  cries  Madame  de  Bernstein,  who  may  have  had  her 
reasons  to  take  offence. 

"  So  they  have,  I  say  ;  or  who,  pray,  is  my  Lady  Yarmouth 
now !  And  didn't  old  Lady  Suffolk  go  and  fall  in  love  with 
George  Berkeley,  and  marry  him  when  she  was  ever  so  old  ? 
Nay,  ma'am,  if  I  remember  right — and  we  hear  a  deal  of  town- 
talk  at  our  table — Harry  Estridge  went  mad  about  your  lady- 
shijD  when  you  were  somewhat  rising  twenty ;  and  would  have 
changed  your  name  a  third  time  if  you  would  but  have  let  him." 

This  allusion  to  an  adventure  of  her  own  later  days,  which 
was,  indeed,  pretty  notorious  to  all  the  world,  did  not  anger 
Madame  de  Bernstein  like  Will's  former  hint  about  his  aunt 
having  been  a  favorite  at  George  the  Second's  Court ;  but,  on 
the  contrary,  set  her  in  good  humor. 

"  All/ait,'^  she  said,  musing,  as  she  played  a  pretty  little 
hand  on  the  table,  and  no  doubt  thinking  about  mad  young 
Harry  Estridge  ;  "  'tis  not  impossible,  William,  that  old  folks 
and  3-oung  folks,  too,  should  play  the  fool." 

"  But  I  can't  understand  a  young  fellow  being  in  love  with 
Maria,"  continued  Mr.  William,  "  however  he  might  be  withjw^, 
ma'am.  That's  ote?'  shose,  as  our  French  tutor  used  to  say. 
You  remember  the  Count,  ma'am  ;  he,  he  !  —  and  so  does 
Maria  !  " 

''  William  !  " 

'  And  I  dare  say  the  Count  remembers  the  bastinado  Castle 
wood  had  given  to  him.  A  confounded  French  dancing-master 
calling  himself  a  count,  and  daring  to  fall  in  love  in  our  family  ! 
Whenever  I  want  to  make  myself  uncommonly  agreeable  to  old 
Maria,  I  just  say  a  few  words  oi parly  too  to  her.  S/nf  knows 
what  I  mean." 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  147 

''  Have  you  abused  her  to  your  cousin,  Harry  Warrington  ?  " 
asked  Madame  de  Bernstein. 

"  Well — I  know  she  is  always  abusing  me — and  I  have  said 
my  mind  about  her,"  said  Will. 

"  O  you  idiot !  '*'  cried  the  old  lady.  "  Who  but  a  gaby  ever 
spoke  ill  of  a  woman  to  her  sweetheart ,''  He  will  tell  her  every- 
thing, and  they  both  will  hate  you." 

"  The  very  thing,  ma'am  ! "  cried  Will,  bursting  into  a  great 
laugh.  "  I  had  a  sort  of  suspicion,  you  see,  and  two  days  ago, 
as  we  were  riding  together,  I  told  Harry  Warrington  a  bit  of 
my  mind  about  Maria  ; — why  shouldn't  I,  I  say  }  She  is  always 
abusing  me,  ain't  she.  Fan  t  And  your  favorite  turned  as  red 
as  my  plush  waistcoat — wondered  how  a  gentleman  could 
malign  his  own  flesh  and  blood,  and,  trembling  all  over  with 
rage,  said  I  was  no  true  Esmond." 

"  Why  didn't  you  chastise  him,  sir,  as  my  lord  did  the 
dancing-master  ?"  cried  Lady  Castlewood. 

"  Well,  mother, — you  see  that  at  quarter-staff  there's  two 
sticks  used,"  replied  Mr.  William  ;  "  and  my  opinion  is,  that 
Harry  Warrington  can  guard  his  own  head  uncommonly  well. 
Perhaps  that  is  one  of  the  reasons  why  I  did  not  offer  to  treat 
my  cousin  to  a  caning.  And  now  you  say  so,  ma'am,  I  know 
he  has  told  Maria.     She  has  been  looking  battle,  murder,  and 

sudden  death   at  me   ever  since.     All  which   shows "  and 

here  he  turned  to  his  aunt. 

"  All  which  shows  what  ?  " 

"  That  I  think  we  are  on  the  right  scent ;  and  that  we've 
found  Maria — the  old  fox !  "  And  the  ingenious  youth  here 
clapped  his  hand  to  his  mouth  and  gave  a  loud  halloo. 

How  far  had  this  pretty  intrigue  gone  ?  now  was  the  ques- 
tion. Mr.  Will  said,  that  at  her  age,  Maria  would  be  for  con- 
ducting matters  as  rapidly  as  possible,  not  having  much  time 
to  lose.  There  was  not  a  great  deal  of  love  lost  between  Will 
and  his  half-sister. 

Who  would  sift  the  matter  to  the  bottom  ?  Scolding  one 
party  or  the  other  was  of  no  avail.  Threats  only  served  to 
aggravate  ^^eople  in  such  cases.  "  I  never  was  in  danger  but 
once,  young  people,"  said  Madame  de  Bernstein,  "  and  I  think 
that  was  because  my  poor  mother  contradicted  me.  If  this 
boy  is  like  others  of  his  family,  the  more  we  oppose  him,  the 
more  entete  he  will  be  ;  and  we  shall  never  get  him  out  of  his 
scrape." 

"  Faith,  ma'am,  suppose  we  leave  him  in  it,"  grumbled  Will. 
■'  Old  Maria  and  I  don't  love   each   other  too  much,  I  grant 


148 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


you  ;  but  an  English   earl's   daughter   is  good   enough  for  an 
American  tobacco-planter,  when  all  is  said  and  done." 

Here  his  mother  and  sister  broke  out.  They  would  not 
hear  of  sucli  a  union.  To  which  Will  answered,  "  You  are 
like  the  dog  in  the  manger.    You  don't  want  the  man  yourself, 

Fanny " 

"/want  him,  indeed!"'  cries  Lady  Fanny,  with  a  toss  of 
her  head. 

"  Then  why  grudge  him  to  Maria  1  I  think  Castlewood 
wants  her  to  have  him." 

"  Why  grudge  him  to  Maria,  sir?  "  cried  Madame  de  Bern- 
stein, with  great  energy.  "  Do  you  remember  who  the  poor 
boy  is,  and  what  your  house  owes  to  his  family  ?  His  grand- 
father was  the  best  friend  your  father  ever  had,  and  gave  up 
this  estate,  this  title,  this  very  castle,  in  which  you  are  conspir- 
ing against  the  friendless  Virginian  lad,  that  you  and  yours 
might  profit  by  it.  And  the  reward  for  all  this  kindness  is, 
that  you  all  but  shut  the  door  on  the  child  when  he  knocks  at 
it,  and  talk  of  marrying  him  to  a  silly  elderly  creature,  who 
might  be  his  mother  !     He  sha^n't  marry  her." 

"  The  very  thing  we  were  saying  and  thinking,  my  dear 
Baroness  !  "  interposes  Lady  Castlewood.  "  Our  part  of  the 
family  is  not  eager  about  the  match,  though  my  lord  and  Maria 
may  be." 

"  You  will  like  him  for  yourself,  now  that  you  hear  he  is 
rich — and  may  be  richer,  young  peoj^le,  mind  you  that,"  cried 
Madam  Beatrix,  turning  upon  the  other  women. 

"  Mr.  Warrington  may  be  ever  so  rich,  madam,  but  there  is 
no  need  why  your  ladyship  should  perpetually  remind  us  that 
we  are  poor,"  broke  in  Lady  Castlewood  with  some  spirit. 
"  At  least  there  is  very  little  disparity  in  Fanny's  age  and  Mr. 
Harry's  ;  and  you  surely  will  be  the  last  to  say  that  a  lady  of 
our  name  and  fam.ily  is  not  good  enough  for  any  gentleman 
born  in  Virginia  or  elsewhere." 

"  Let  Fanny  take  an  English  gentleman,  countess,  not  an 
American.  With  such  a  name  and  such  a  mother  to  help  her, 
and  with  all  her  good  looks  and  accomplishments,  sure  she 
can't  fail  of  finding  a  man  worthy  of  her.  But  from  what  I 
know  about  the  daughters  of  this  house,  and  what  I  imagine 
about  our  young  cousin,  I  am  certain  that  no  happy  match 
could  be  made  between  them." 

"  What  does  my  aunt  know^  about  me  ?  "  asked  Lady  Fanny, 
turning  very  red. 

"  Only  your  temper,  my  dear.     You   don't  suppose  that   I 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


49 


believe  all  the  tittle-tattle  and  scandal  which  one  cannot  help 
hearing  in  town  ?  But  the  temper  and  early  education  are  suf- 
ficient. Only  fancy  one  of  3'ou  condemned  to  leave  St.  James's 
and  the  Mall,  and  live  in  a  plantation  surrounded  by  savages  ! 
You  would  die  of  ennui,  or  worry  your  husband's  life  out  with 
your  ill  humor.  You  are  born,  ladies,  to  ornament  courts — not 
wigwams.  Let  this  lad  go  back  to  his  wilderness  with  a  wife 
who  is  suited  to  him." 

The  other  two  ladies  declared  in  a  breath  that,  for  their 
parts,  they  desired  no  better,  and,  after  a  few  more  \vords,  went 
on  their  way,  while  Madame  de  Bernstein,  lifting  up  her 
tapestried  door,  retired  into  her  own  chamber.  She  saw  all 
the-  scheme  now  ;  she  admired  the  ways  of  women,  calling  a 
score  01  little  circumstances  back  to  mind.  She  wondered  at 
her  own  blindness  during  the  last  few  days,  and  that  she  should 
not  have  perceived  the  rise  and  progress  of  this  queer  little 
intrigue.  How  far  had  it  gone  ?  w^as  now  the  question.  Was 
Harry's  passion  of  the  serious  and  tragical  sort,  or  a  mere  fire 
of  straw  which  a  day  or  two  would  burn  out  ?  How  deeply 
was  he  committed  ?  She  dreaded  the  strength  of  Harry's  pas- 
sion, and  the  weakness  of  Maria's.  A  woman  of  her  age  is  so 
desperate,  Madame  de  Bernstein  may  have  thought,  that  she 
will  make  any  efforts  to  secure  a  lover.  Scandal,  bah  !  She 
will  retire  and  be  a  princess  in  Virginia,  and  leave  the  folks  in 
England  to  talk  as  much  scandal  as  they  choose. 

Is  there  always,  then,  one  thing  which  women  do  not  tell  to 
one  another,  and  about  which  they  agree  to  deceive  each  other.? 
Does  the  concealment  arise  from  deceit  or  modesty  ?  A  man, 
as  soon  as  he  feels  an  inclination  for  one  of  the  other  sex, 
seeks  for  a  friend  of  his  own  to  whom  he  may  impart  the 
delightful  intelligence.  A  woman  (with  more  or  less  skill) 
buries  her  secret  away  from  her  kind.  For  days  and  weeks 
past,  had  not  this  old  Maria  made  fools  of  the  w4iole  house, — 
Maria  the  butt  of  the  family  ? 

I  forbear  to  go  into  too  curious  inquiries  regarding  the 
Lady  Maria's  antecedents.  I  have  my  own  opinion  about 
Madame  de  Bernstein's.  A  hundred  years  ago  people  of  the 
great  world  were  not  so  strait-laced  as  they  are  now,  when 
everybody  is  good,  pure,  moral,  modest ;  when  there  is  no 
skeleton  in  anybody's  closet ;  when  there  is  no  scheming ;  no 
slurring  over  of  old  stories  ;  when  no  girl  tries  to  sell  herself 
for  wealth,  and  no  mother  abets  her.  Suppose  my  Lady 
Maria  tries  to  make  her  little  game,  wherein  is  her  ladyship's 
great  eccentricity  ? 


i^o  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

On  these  points,  no  doubt,  the  Baroness  de  Bernstein 
thought,  as  she  communed  with  herself  in  her  private  apart- 
ment. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

AN    OLD    STORY. 


As  my  Lady  Castlewood  and  her  son  and  daughter  passed 
through  one  door  of  the  saloon  where  they  had  all  been  seated, 
my  lord  Castlewood  departed  by  another  issue ;  and  then  the 
demure  eyes  looked  up  from  the  tambor-frame  on  which  they 
had  persisted  hitherto  in  examining  the  innocent  violets  and 
jonquils.  The  eyes  looked  up  at  Harry  Warrington,  who  stood 
at  an  ancestral  portrait  under  the  great  fire-place.  He  had 
gathered  a  great  heap  of  blushes  (those  flowers  which  bloom 
so  rarely  after  gentle-folks'  spring-time\  and  with  them  orna- 
mented his  honest  countenance,  his  cheeks,  his  forehead,  na}-, 
his  youthful  ears. 

"  Why  did  you  refuse  to  go  wdth  our  aunt,  cousin  ?  "  asked 
the  lady  of  the  tambor-frame, 

"  Because  your  ladyship  bade  me  stay,"  answered  the  lad. 

"/bid  you  stay  !  La  !  child  !  What  one  says  in  fun,  you 
take  in  earnest !  Are  all  you  Virginian  gentlemen  so  obsequi- 
ous as  to  fancy  every  idle  word  a  lady  says  is  a  command  1 
Virginia  must  be  a  pleasant  country  for  our  sex  if  it  be  so  !  " 

"  You  said — when — when  we  walked  in  the  terrace  two 
nights  since, — Oh  heaven  !  "  cried  Harry,  with  a  voice  trem- 
bling with  emotion. 

"  Ah,  that  sweet  night,  cousin  !  "  cries  the   tambor-frame. 

"  Whe — whe — when  you  gave  me  this  rose  from  your  own 
neck  " — roared  out  Harr}^,  pulling  suddenly  a  crumpled  and 
decayed  vegetable  from  his  w^aistcoat — "  which  I  will  never 
part  with — no,  by  heavens,  whilst  this  heart  continues  to  beat ! 
You  said,  '  Harry,  if  your  aunt  asks  you  to  go  away,  you  will 
go,  and  if  you  go,  you  will  forget  me.' — Didn't  you  say  so  ?  " 

"  All  men  forget  !  "'  said  the  Virgin,  with  a  sigh. 

"  In  this  cold  selfish  country  they  may,  cousin,  not  in  ours," 
continues  Harry,  yet  in  the  same  state  of  exaltation — "I  had 
rather  have  lost  an  arm  almost  than  refused  the  old  lady.  I 
tell  you  it  went  to  my  heart  to  say  no  to  her,  and  she  so  kind  to 


THE   VIRGINIAiXS.  i^l 

me,  and  who  had  been  the  means  of  introducmg  me  to — to — > 
oh,  heaven  I  "  .  .  .  (Here  a  kick  to  an  intervening  spaniel, 
which  flies  yeljDing  from  before  the  fire,  and  a  rapid  advance 
on  the  tambor-frame.)  "  Look  hear,  cousin  !  If  you  were  to 
bid  me  jump  out  of  yonder  window,  I  should  do  it ;  or  murder, 
I  should  do  it." 

'•  La  !  but  you  need  not  squeeze  one's  hand  so,  you  silly 
child  !  "  remarks  Maria. 

"  I  can't  help  it — we  are  so  in  the  south.  Where  my  heart 
is,  I  can't  help  speaking  my  mind  out,  cousin — and  you  know 
where  that  heart  is  !  Ever  since  that  evening — that — Oh 
heaven  !  I  tell  you  I  have  hardly  slept  since — I  want  to  do 
something — to  distinguish  myself — to  be  ever  so  great.  I  wish 
there  was  Giants,  Maria,  as  I  have  read  of  in — in  books,  that 
I  could  go  and  fight  'em.  I  wish  you  was  in  distress,  that  I 
might  help  you,  somehow.  I  wish  you- wanted  my  blood,  that, 
I  might  spend  ever}^  drop  of  it  for  you.  And  when  you  told 
me  not  to  go  with  Madam  de  Bernstein  .   .  ." 

''  /tell  thee,  child  ?  never." 

"  I  thought  you  told  me.  You  said  you  knew  I  preferred 
my  aunt  to  my  cousin,  and  I  said  then  what  I  say  now,  '  Incom- 
parable Maria  !  I  prefer  thee  to  all  the  women  in  the  world  and 
all  the  angels  in  Paradise — and  I  would  go  anywhere,  were  it 
to  dungeons,  if  you  ordered  me  ! '  And  do  you  think  I  would 
not  stay  anywhere,  when  you  only  desired  that  I  should  be  near 
you  ?  "  he  added,  after  a  moment's  pause. 

"  Men  always  talk  in  that  way — that  is, — that  is,  I  have 
heard  so,"  said  the  spinster,  correcting  herself ;  "  for  what 
should  a  country-bred  woman  know  about  you  creatures  } 
When  you  are  near  us,  they  say  3^ou  are  all  raptures  and  flames 
and  promises  and  I  don't  know  what ;  when  you  are  away,  you 
forget  all  about  us." 

"But  I  think  I  never  want  to  go  away  as  long  as  I  live," 
groaned  out  the  young  man.  "  I  have  tired  of  many  things ; 
not  books  and  that,  I  never  cared  for  stud}^  much,  but  games 
and  sports  which  I  used  to  be  fond  of  when  I  was  a  boy.  Be- 
fore I  saw  you,  it  was  to  be  a  soldier  I  most  desired  ;  I  tore  my 
hair  with  rage  when  my  poor  dear  brother  went  av\-ay  instead 
of  me  on  that  expedition  in  which  we  lost  him.  But  new  I  only 
care  for  one  thing  in  the  world,  and  you  know  what  that  is." 

*'  You  silly  child  !  don't  you  know  I  am  almost  old  enough 
to  be  .  .   .   .  ?  " 

"  I  know — I  know  !  but  what  is  that  to  me  ?  Hasn't  your 
br  .  .  . — well,  never  mind  who,  some  of  'em — told  me  stories 


It;2 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


against  you,  and  didn't  they  show  me  the  Family  Bible,  where 
all  your  names  are  down,  and  the  dates  of  your  birth  ?  '' 

"  The  cowards  !  Who  did  that  ?  "  cried  out  Lady  ]Maria. 
"  Dear  Harry,  tell  me  who  did  that  ?  Was  it  my  mother-in- 
law,  the  grasping,  odious,  abandoned,  brazen  harpy  ?  Do  you 
know  all  about  her  ?  How  she  married  my  father  in  his  cups 
— the  horrid  hussey  ! — and  .  .  .  ." 

"  Indeed  it  wasn't  Lady  Castlewood,''  interposed  the  won- 
dering Harry. 

"  Then  it  was  my  aunt,"'  continued  the  infuriate  lady.  "  A 
pretty  moralist,  indeed  !  A  Bishop's  widow,  forsooth,  and  I 
should  like  to  know  whose  widow  before  and  afterwards.  \Miy, 
Harry,  she  intrigued  with  the  Pretender,  and  with  the  Court  of 
Hanover,  and,  I  dare  say,  would  with  the  Court  of  Rome  and 
the  Sultan  of  Turkey  if  she  had  had  the  means.  Do  you  know 
who  her  second  husband  Avas  .''     A  creature  who  .  .  ,   ." 

"  But  our  aunt  never  spoke  a  word  against  you,"  broke  in 
Harry,  more  and  more  amazed  at  the  nymph's  vehemence. 

She  checked  her  anger.  In  the  inquisitive  countenance  op- 
posite to  her  she  thought  she  read  some  alarm  as  to  the  temper 
which  she  was  exhibiting. 

"Well,  well  !  I  am  a  fool,"  she  said.  "  I  want  thee  to  think 
well  of  me,  Harry  !  " 

A  hand  is  somehow  put  out  and  seized  and,  no  doubt,  kissed 
by  the  rapturous  youth.  "  Angel  !  "  he  cries,  looking  into  her 
face  with  his  eager,  honest  eyes. 

Two  fish-pools  irradiated  by  a  pair  of  stars  would  not  kindle 
to  greater  warmth  than  did  those  elderly  orbs  into  which  Harry 
poured  his  gaze.  Nevertheless,  he  plunged  into  their  blue 
depths,  and  fancied  he  saw  heaven  in  their  calm  brightness. 
So  that  silly  dog  (of  whom  .T^sop  or  the  Spelling  book  used  to 
tell  us  in  youth)  beheld  a  beef-bone  in  the  pond,  and  snapped 
it,  and  lost  the  beef-bone  he  was  carrying.  Oh,  absurd  cur  ! 
He  saw  the  beef-bone  in  his  own  mouth  reflected  in  the  treach- 
erous pool,  which  dimpled,  I  dare  sa}',  with  ever  so  many 
smiles,  coolly  sucked  up  the  meat,  and  returned  to  its  usual 
placidity.  Ah  !  what  a  heap  of  wreck  lie  beneath  some  of 
those  quiet  surfaces  !  What  treasures  we  have  dropped  into 
them  !  What  chased  golden  dishes,  what  precious  jewels  of 
love,  what  bones  after  bones,  and  sweetest  heart's  flesh !  Do 
not  some  very  faithful  and  unlucky  dogs  jump  in  bodily  w^hen 
they  are  swallowed  up  heads  and  tails  entirely  ?  When  some 
women  come  to  be  dragged,  it  is  a  marvel  what  will  be  found  in 
the  depths  of  them.     Cavete^  ca?ies  I    Have  a  care  how  ye  lap 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  1^3 

that  water.  What  do  they  want  with  us,  the  mischievous  syren 
sluts  ?  A  green-eyed  Naiad  never  rests  until  she  has  inveigled 
a  fellow  under  the  water  ;  she  sings  after  him,  she  dances  after 
him ;  she  winds  round  him,  glittering  tortuously  ;  she  warbles 
and  whispers  dainty  secrets  at  his  cheek,  she  kisses  his  feet, 
she  leers  at  him  from  out  of  her  rushes  :  all  her  beds  sigh  out, 
"  Come,  sweet  youth  !  Hither,  hither,  rosy  Hylas  ! "  Pop  goes 
Hylas.  (Surely  the  fable  is  renewed  for  ever  and  ever  t)  Has 
his  captivator  any  pleasure  ?  Doth  she  take  any  account  of  him  ? 
No  more  than  a  fisherman  landing  at  Brighton  does  of  one  out 
of  a  hundred  thousand  herrings.  .  .  .  The  last  time  Ulysses 
rowed  by  the  Siren's  bank,  he  and  his  men  did  not  care  though 
a  whole  shoal  of  them  were  singing  and  combing  their  longest 
locks.  Young  Telemachus  was  for  jumping  overboard  :  but  the 
tough  old  crew  held  the  silly,  bawling  lad.  They  were  deaf,  and 
could  not  hear  his  bawling  nor  the  sea-nymphs'  singing.  They 
were  dim  of  sight,  and  did  not  see  how  lovely  the  witches  were. 
The  stale,  old,  leering  witches  !  Away  with  ye  !  I  dare  say 
you  have  painted  your  cheeks  by  this  time  ;  your  wretched  old 
songs  are  as  out  of  fashion  as  Mozart,  and  it  is  all  false  hair 
you  are  combing  ! 

In  the  last  sentence  you  see  Lector  Benevolus  and  Scriptor 
Doctissimus  figure  as  tough  old  Ulysses  and  his  tough  old 
Boatswain,  who  do  not  care  a  quid  of  tobacco  for  any  Siren  at 
Sirens'  Point ;  but  Harry  Warrington  is  green  Telemachus, 
who,  be  sure,  was  very  unlike  the  soft  youth  in  the  good  Bishop 
of  Cambray's  twaddling  story.  He  does  not  see  that  the  syren 
paints  the  lashes  from  under  which  she  ogles  him  ;  will  put  by 
into  a  box  when  she  has  done  the  ringlets  into  which  she  would 
inveigle  him  ;  and  if  she  eats  him,  as  she  proposes  to  do,  will 
crunch  his  bones  with  a  new  set  of  grinders  just  from  the  den- 
tist's, and  warranted  for  mastication.  The  song  is  not  stale  to 
Plarry  Warrington,  nor  the  voice  cracked  or  out  of  tune  that 
sings  it.  But — but — Oh,  dear  me.  Brother  Boatswain  !  Don't 
you  remember  how  pleasant  the  opera  was  when  we  first  heard 
it }  Cosifan  tiitti  was  its  name — Mozart's  music.  Now,  I  dare 
say,  they  have  other  words,  and  other  music,  and  other  singers 
and  fiddlers,  and  another  great  crowd  in  the  pit.  Well,  well, 
Cosi  fail  tictii  is  still  upon  the  bills,  and  they  are  going  on  sing- 
ing it  over  and  over  and  over. 

Any  man  or  woman  with  a  pennyworth  of  brains,  or  the  like 
precious  amount  of  personal  experience,  or  who  has  read  a 
novel  before,  must,  when  Harr}-  pulled  out  those  faded  vege- 
tables just  now,  have  gone  off  into  a  digression  of  his  own,  as 


1^4  Tf^E   VIRGINIANS. 

the  writer  confesses  for  himself  he  was  diverging  w^hilst  he  has 
been  writing  the  last  brace  of  paragraphs.  If  he  sees  a  pair  of 
lovers  whispering  in  a  garden  alley  or  the  embrasure  of  a 
window,  or  a  pair  of  glances  shot  across  the  room  from  Jenny 
to  the  artless  Jessamy,  he  falls  to  musing  on  former  days  when, 
&c.,  &c.  These  things  follow  each  other  by  a  general  law, 
which  is  not  as  old  as  the  hills,  to  be  sure,  but  as  old  as  the 
people  who  walk  up  and  down  them.  When,  I  say,  a  lad  pulls 
a  bunch  of  amputated  and  now  decomposing  greens  from  his 
breast  and  falls  to  kissing  it,  what  is  the  use  of  saying  much 
more  ?  As  well  tell  the  market-gardener's  name  from  whom 
the  slip-rose  was  bought — the  waterings,  clippings,  trimmings, 
manurings,  the  plant  has  undergone — as  tell  how  Harry  War- 
rington came  by  it.  Rose.,  elle  a  vecu  la  7'ie  des  roses,  has  been 
trimmed,  has  been  watered,  has  been  potted,  has  been  sticked, 
has  been  cut,  worn,  given  away,  transferred  to  yonder  boy's 
pocket-book  and  bosom,  accorcHng  to  the  laws  and  fate  apper- 
taining to  roses. 

And  how  came  Maria  to  give  it  to  Harr}^.?  And  how  did 
he  come  to  want  it  and  to  prize  it  so  passionately  when  he  got 
the  bit  of  rubbish  ?  Is  not  one  story  as  stale  as  the  other  ? 
Are  not  they  all  alike  ?  What  is  the  use,  I  say,  of  telling  them 
over  and  over  ?  Harry  values  that  rose  because  Maria  has 
ogled  him  in  the  old  way ;  because  she  has  happened  to  meet 
him  in  the  garden  in  the  old  way ;  because  he  has  taken  her 
hand  in  the  old  way ;  because  they  have  whispered  to  one  an- 
other behind  the  old  curtain  (the  gaping  old  rag,  as  if  everybody 
could  not  peep  through  it !)  ;  because,  in  this  delicious  weather, 
they  have  happened  to  be  early  risers  and  go  into  the  park  ; 
because  dear  Goody  Jenkins  in  the  village  happened  to  have  a 
bad  knee,  and  my  Lady  Maria  went  to  read  to  her,  and  gave 
her  calves'-foot  jell}^  and  because  somebody,  of  course,  must 
carry  the  basket.  Whole  chapters  might  have  been  written  to 
chronicle  all  these  circumstances,  but  li  quoi  bon  ?  The  inci- 
dents of  life,  and  love-making  especially,  I  believe  to  resemble 
each  other  so  much,  that  I  am  surprised,  gentlemen  and  ladies, 
you  read  novels  anymore.  Psha !  Of  course  that  rose  in 
young  Harry's  pocket-book  had  grown,  and  had  budded,  and 
had  bloomed,  and  was  now  rotting,  like  other  roses.  I  suppose 
you -will  want  me  to  say  that  the  young  fool  kissed  it  next  ?  Of 
course  he  kissed  it.  What  were  lips  made  for,  pray,  but  for 
smiling  and  simpering,  and  (possibly)  humbugging,  and  kissing, 
and  opening  to  receive  mutton-chops,  cigars,  and  so  forth.  I 
cannot  write  this  part  of  the  story  of  our  Virginians,   because 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


^55 


Harry  did  not  dare  to  write  it  himself  to  anybody  at  home, 
because,  if  he  wrote  any  letters  to  Maria  (which,  of  course,  he 
did,  as  they  were  in  the  same  house,  and  might  meet  each  other 
as  much  as  they  liked),  they  were  destroyed  ;  because  he  after- 
wards chose  to  be  very  silent  about  the  story,  and  we  can't 
have  it  from  her  ladyship,  who  never  told  the  truth  about  any- 
thing. But  cui  bono  ?  I  say  again.  What  is  the  good  of  telling 
the  story  ?  My  gentle  reader,  take  your  story  :  take  miiie.  To- 
morrow it  shall  be  Miss  Fanny's,  who  is  just  walking  away  with 
her  doll  to  the  school-room  and  the  governess  (poor  victim  !  she 
has  a  version  of  it  in  her  desk)  :  and  next  day  it  shall  be  Baby's, 
who  is  bawling  out  on  the  stairs  for  his  bottle, 

Maria  might  like  to  have  and  exercise  power  over  the  young 
Virginian  ;  but  she  did  not  want  that  Harry  should  quarrel 
with  his  aunt  for  her  sake,  or  that  Madame  de  Bernstein  should 
be  angry  with  her.  Harry  was  not  the  Lord  of  Virginia  yet : 
he  was  only  the  Prince,  and  the  Queen  might  marry  and  have 
other  Princes,  and  the  laws  of  primogeniture  might  not  be 
established  in  Virginia,  qu^e?i  savait  elle  ?  My  lord  her  brother 
and  she  had  exchanged  no  words  at  all  about  the  delicate  busi- 
ness. But  they  understood  each  other,  and  the  Earl  had  a  way 
of  understanding  things  without  speaking.  He  knew  his  Maria 
perfectly  well ;  in  the  course  of  a  life  of  which  not  a  little  had 
been  spent  in  her  brother's  company  and  under  his  roof,  Maria's 
disposition,  ways,  tricks,  faults,  had  come  to  be  perfectly  under- 
stood by  the  head  of  the  family  :  and  she  would  find  her  little 
schemes  checked  or  aided  by  him,  as  to  his  lordship  seemed 
good,  and  without  need  of  any  words  between  them.  Thus 
three  days  before,  when  she  happened  to  be  going  to  see  that 
poor  dear  old  Goody,  who  was  ill  with  the  sore  knee  in  the 
village  (and  when  Harry  Warrington  happened  to  be  walking 
behind  the  elms  on  the  green  too),  my  lord  wdth  his  dogs  about 
him,  and  his  gardener  walking  after  him,  crossed  the  court, 
just  as  Lady  Maria  was  tripping  to  the  gate-house — and  his 
lordship  called  his  sister,  and  said  :  "  Molly,  you  are  going  to 
see  Goody  Jenkins.  You  are  a  charitable  soul,  my  dear.  Give 
Gammer  Jenkins  this  half-crown  for  me — unless  our  cousin, 
Warrington,  has  already  given  her  money.  A  pleasant  walk  to 
you.  Let  her  want  for  nothing."  And  at  supper,  my  lord  asked 
Mr.  Warrington  many  questions  about  the  poor  in  Virginia,  and 
the  means  of  maintaining  them,  to  which  the  young  gentleman 
gave  the  best  answers  he  might.  His  lordship  wished  that  in 
the  old  country  there  were  no  more  poor  people  than  in  the 
new :  and  recommended  Harry  to  visit  the  poor  and  people  of 


156 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


every  degree,  indeed  high  and  low — in  the  country  to  look  at 
the  agriculture,  in  the  city  at  the  manufactures  and  municipal 
institutions — to  which  edifying  advice  Harry  acceded  with  be- 
coming modesty  and  few  words,  and  Madame  Bernstein  nodded 
approval  over  her  picquet  with  the  chaplain.  Next  day,  Harry 
was  in  my  lord's  justice-room  :  the  next  day  he  was  out  ever  so 
long  with  my  lord  on  the  farm — and  coming  home,  what  does 
my  lord  do,  but  look  in  on  a  sick  tenant  ?  I  think  Lady  Maria 
was  out  on  that  day,  too^  she  had  been  reading  good  books  to 
that  poor  dear  Good}'  Jenkins,  though  I  don't  suppose  Madame 
Bernstein  ever  thought  of  asking  about  her  niece. 

"  Castlewood,  Hampshire,  Etis^land,  August  5,  1757. 

"My  dear  Mountain, — At  first,  as  I  wrote,  1  did  not  like  Castlewood,  nor  my  cousins 
there,  very  much-  Now,  I  am  used  to  their  ways,  and  we  begin  to  understand  each  other 
DiHch  better.  Witli  my  duty  to  my  mother,  tell  her,  I  hope,  that  considering  her  ladyship's 
great  kindness  to  me,  Madam  Esmond  will  ba  reconciled  to  her  half-iister,  the  Baroness 
de  Bernstein.  The  Baroness,  you  know,  was  my  Grandmamma's  daughter  by  her  first 
husband.  Lord  Castlewood  (only  Grandpapa  really  was  the  real  Lord) ;  however,  that  was 
not  his,  that  is  the  other  Lord  Castlewood's  fault  you  know,  and  he  w-as  very  kind  to  Grand- 
papa, wlio  always  spoke  most  kindly  of  him  to  us  as  you  know. 

"  Madame  the  Baroness  Bernstein  first  married  a  clergyman,  Reverend  Mr.  Tusher, 
who  was  so  learned  and  ,(:ood,  and  such  a  favorite  of  his  Majesty,  as  was  my  aunt,  too, 
that  he  was  made  a  BisJiopp.  When  he  died.  Our  Gracious  Kinq;  continued  his  ftiendship 
to  my  aunt  ;  who  married  a  Hanoverian  nobleman,  who  occupied  a  post  at  the  Court — and 
I  believe  left  the  Baroness  z'ery  rich.  My  cousiii,  my  Lord  Castlewood,  told  me  so  much 
about  her,  and  I  am  sure  /  have  found  from  her  the  greatest  kindness  and  affection. 

"  The  (Dowiger)  Countess  Castlewood  and  my  cousins  Will  and  Lady  Fanny  have  been 
described  per  last,  that  went  by  the  Falmouth  packet  on  the  20th  u!t.  The  ladies  are  not 
changed  since  then.  Me  and  Cousin  Will  are  very  good  friends.  We  have  rode  out  a  good 
deal.  We  have  had  some  famous  cocking  matches  at  Hampton  and  Winton.  My  cousin 
is  a  sharp  blade,  but  I  think  I  liave  shown  him  that  we  in  Virginia  know  a  thing  or  two. 
Reverend  W.  Sampson,  chaplain  of  the  family,  most  excellent  preacher^  7vithout  any  big- 
g-atry. 

"The  kindness  of  my  cousin  the  Earl  improves  everyday,  and  by  next  years  ship  I. 
hope  my  mother  will  send  his  lordship  some  of  our  best  roll  tobacco  (for  tennants)  and 
hamms.-  He  is  most  charatahle  Xq  the  poor.  His  sister.  Lady  '\\7h.r\A,  eqiially  so.  She 
sits  for  hours  reading  good  books  to  the  sick:  she  is  most  beloved  in  the  village." 

"  Nonsense  !  "  said  a  lady  to  whom  Harry  submitted  his 
precious  manuscript.     *'  Why  do  you  flatter  me,  cousin  ?  " 

"You  <:7/'r  beloved  in  the  village  and  out  of  it,"  said  Harry, 
with  a  knowing  emphasis,  "  and  I  have  flattered  you,  as  you 
call  it,  a  little  more  still   further  on." 

"  There  is  a  sick  old  woman  there,  whom  Madam  Esmond  would  like,  a  most  religious, 
good,  old  lady. 

"  Lady  Maria  goes  very  often  to  read  to  her  ;  which,  she  says,  gives  her  comfort.  But 
though  her  Ladysliip  hath  the  sweetest  voice,  both  m  speaking  and  singing  (:-he  plays  the 
church  organ,  and  sings  there  juost  beautifully),  I  cannot  think  Gammer  Jenkins  can  have  any 
comfort  from  it,  being  very  deaf,  by  reason  of  her  great  age.  She  has  her  memory  perfectly, 
however,  and  remembers  when  my  honored  Grandmother  Rachel  Lady  Castlewood  lived 
here.  She  says,  my  Grandmother  was  the  best  woman  m  the  whole  world,  gave  her  a  cow 
when  she  was  married,  and  cured  her  husband.  Gaffer  Jenkins,  of  the  collects,  which  he 
used  to  have  very  bad.  I  suppose  it  was  with  the  Pills  and  Drops  which  my  honored 
Mother  put  up  in' my  boxes,  when  I  left  dear  Virginia.  Having  never  been  ill  since,  have 
had  no  use  for  the  pills.  Gumbo  hath,  eating  and  drinking  a  great  deal  too  much  in  the 
Servant's  Hall.  The  next  angel  to  my  Grandmother  (N.  B.  I  think  I  spelt  angel  wrong 
per  last),  Gammer  Jenkins  says,  is  Lady  Maria,  who  sends  her  duty  to  her  Aunt  in  Virghiia, 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


157 


and  remembers  her,  and  my  Grandpapa  and  grandmama  when  they  were  in  Europe,  and 
she  was  a  little  girl.  You  know  they  have  Grandpapa's  picture  here,  and  I  live  in  the 
very  rooms  which  he  had,  and  which  are  to  be  called  mine,  my  Lord  Castlewood  says. 

"  Having  no  more  to  say,  at  present,  I  close  with  best  love  and  duty  to  my  honored 
Mother,  and  with  respects  to  Mr.  Dempster,  and  a  kiss  for  Fanny,  and  kind  remembrances 
to  old  Gumbo,  Nathan,  Old  and  Young  Dinah,  and  the  po'inter  dog  and  Slut,  and  ail 
friends,  from  their  well-wisher, 

"  Henry  Esmond  Warrington. 

"  Have  wrote  and  sent  my  duty  to  my  Uncle  Warrington  in  Norfolk.  No  anser  as 
yet." 

"  I  hope  the  spelUng  is  right,  cousin  ?  "  asked  the  author  of 
the  letter,  from  the  critic  to  whom  he  showed  it. 

"  'Tis  quite  well  enough  spelt  for  any  person  of  fashion," 
answered  Lady  jNIaria,  who  did  not  choose  to  be  examined  too 
closely  regarding  the  orthography. 

''One  word  '  Angel,'  I  know,  I  spelt  wrong  in  writing  to  my 
mamma,  but  I  have  learned  a  way  of  spelling  it  right  now." 

"  And  how  is  that,  sir  ?  " 

"  I  think  'tis  by  looking  at  you,  cousin  ;  "  saying  which 
words,  Mr.  Harry  made  her  ladyship  a  low  bow,  and  accom- 
panied the  bow  by  one  of  his  best  blushes,  as  if  he  were  offering 
her  a  bow  and  a  bouquet. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

CONTAINING    BOTH    LOVE    AND    LUCK. 

At  the  next  meal,  when  the  family  party  assembled,  there 
was  not  a  trace  of  displeasure  in  Madame  de  Bernstein's  coun- 
tenance, and  her  behavior  to  all  the  company,  Harry  included, 
was  perfectly  kind  and  cordial.  She  praised  the  cook  this  time, 
declared  the  fricassee  was  excellent,  and  that  there  were  no 
eels  anywhere  like  those  in  the  Castlewood  moats  ;  would  not 
allow  that  the  wine  was  corked,  or  hear  of  such  extravagance  as 
opening  a  fresh  bottle  for  a  useless  old  woman  like  her  ;  gave 
Madam  Esmond  Warrington,  or  Virginia,  as  her  toast,  when 
the  new  wine  was  brought,  and  hoped  Harr}^  had  brought  away 
his  mamma's  permission  to  take  back  an  English  wife  with 
him.  He  did  not  remember  his  grandmother  ;  her,  Madame 
de  Bernstein's,  dear  mother  ?  The  Baroness  amused  the  com- 
pany with  numerous  stories  of  her  mother,  of  her  beauty  and 
goodness,  of  her  happiness  wdth  her  second  husband,  though 


158  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

the  wife  was  so  much  older  than  Colonel  Esmond.  To  see 
them  together,  was  delightful,  she  had  heard.  Theit  attach- 
ment was  celebrated  all  through  the  country.  To  talk  of  dis- 
parity in  marriages' was  vain  after  that.  My  Lady  Castlewood 
and  her  two  children  held  their  peace  whilst  Madame  Bernstein 
prattled.  Harry  was  enraptured,  and  Maria  surprised.  Lord 
Castlewood  was  puzzled  to  know  what  sudden  freak  or  scheme 
had  occasioned  this  prodigious  amiability  on  the  part  of  his 
aunt  ;  but  did  not  allow  the  slightest  expression  or  solicitude 
or  doubt  to  appear  on  his  countenance,  which  wore  every  mark 
of  the  most  perfect  satisfaction. 

The  Baroness's  good-humor  infected  the  whole  family  ;  not 
one  person  at  table  escaped  a  gracious  word  from  her.  In 
reply  to  some  compliment  to  Mr.  Will,  when  that  artless  youth 
uttered  an  expression  of  satisfaction  and  surprise  at  his  aunt's 
behavior,  she  frankly  said  :  "  Complimentary,  my  dear  !  Of 
course  I  am.  I  want  to  make  up  with  you  for  having  been  ex- 
ceedingly rude  to  everybody  this  morning.  When  I  was  a  child 
and  my  father  and  mother  were  alive,  and  lived  here,  I  remem- 
ber I  used  to  adopt  exactly  the  same  behavior.  If  I  had  been 
naughty  in  the  morning,  I  used  to  try  and  coax  my  parents  at 
night.  I  remember  in  this  very  room,  at  this  very  table — oh, 
ever  so  many  hundred  years  ago  ! — so  coaxing  my  father,  and 
mother,  and  your  grandfather,  Harr)^  Esmond  ;  and  there  were 
eels  for  supper,  and  we  have  had  them  to-night,  and  it  was  that 
dish  of  collared  eels  which  brought  the  circumstance  back  to 
my  mind.  I  had  been  just  as  wayward  that  day,  when  I  was 
seven  years  old,  as  I  am  to-day,  when  I  am  seventy,  and  so  I 
confess  my  sins,  and  ask  to  be  forgiven,  like  a  good  girl." 

"  I  absolve  your  ladyship,"  cried  the  chaplain,  who  made 
one  of  the  party. 

"  But  your  reverence  does  not  know  how  cross  and  ill- 
tempered  I  was.  I  scolded  my  sister,  Castlewood  :  I  scolded 
her  children,  I  boxed  Harry  Esmond's  ears  :  and  all  because 
he  would  not  go  with  me  to  Tunbridge  W^ells." 

"  But  I  will  go,  madam  ;  I  will  ride  with  you  with  all  the 
pleasure  in  life,"  said  Mr.  Warrington. 

"  You  see,  Mr.  Chaplain,  what  good,  dutiful  children  they 
all  are.  'Twas  I  alone  who  was  cross  and  peevish.  Oh,  it 
was  cruel  of  me  to  treat  them  so  !  Maria,  I  ask  your  pardon, 
my  dear." 

"  Sure,  madam,  you  have  done  me  no  wrong,"  says  Maria  to 
the  humble  suppliant. 

"  Indeed,  I  have,  a  ver}'  great  wrong,  child  !     Because  I 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


59 


was  weary  of  myself,  I  told  you  that  your  company  would  be 
wearisome  to  me.  You  offered  to  come  with  me  to  Tunbridge, 
and  I  rudely  refused  you." 

"  Nay,  ma'am,  if  you  were  sick,  and  my  presence  annoyed 
you     .     .     ." 

"  But  it  will  not  annoy  me  !  You  were  most  kind  to  say 
you  would  come.  I  do,  of  all  things,  beg,  pray,  entreat,  im- 
plore, command  that  you  will  come." 

My  lord  filled  himself  a  glass,  and  sipped  it.  Most  utterly 
unconscious  did  his  lordship  look.  T/ii's,  then,  was  the  meaning 
of  the  previous  comedy. 

"Anything  which  can  give  my  aunt  pleasure,  I  am  sure, 
will  delight  me,"  said  Maria,  trying  to  look  as  happy  as  pos- 
sible. 

'•  You  must  come  and  stay  with  me,  my  dear,  and  I  promise 
to  be  good  and  good-humored.  My  dear  lord,  you  will  spare 
your  sister  to  me  ?  " 

''  Lady  Maria  Esmond  is  quite  of  age  to  judge  for  herself 
about  such  a  matter,"  said  his  lordship,  with  a  bow.  "  If  any 
of  us  can  be  of  use  to  you,  miadam,  you  sure  ought  to  command 
us."  Which  sentence  being  interpreted,  no  doubt  meant, 
"  Plague  take  the  old  woman  !  She  is  taking  Maria  away  in 
order  to  separate  her  from  this  young  Virginian." 

"  Oh,  Tunbridge  will  be  delightful  !  "  sighed  Lady  Maria. 

"  Mr.  Sampson  will  go  and  see  Goody  Jones  for  you,"  my 
lord  continued. 

Harry  drew  pictures  with  his  finger  on  the  table.  What 
delights  had  he  not  been  speculating  on  ?  What  walks,  what 
rides,  what  interminable  conversations,  what  delicious  shrub- 
beries and  sweet  sequestered  summer-houses,  what  poring  over 
music-books,  what  moonlight,  what  billing  and  cooing,  had  he 
not  imagined  !  Yes,  the  day  was  coming.  They  were  all 
departing — my  Lady  Castlewood  to  her  friends,  Madame  Bern- 
stein to  her  waters — and  he  was  to  be  left  alone  with  his  divine 
charmer — alone  with  her  and  unutterable  rapture  !  The  thought 
of  the  pleasure  was  maddening.  That  these  people  were  all 
going  away.  That  he  was  to  be  left  to  enjoy  that  heaven — to 
sit  at  the  feet  of  that  angel  and  kiss  the  hem  of  that  white  robe. 
O  Gods  !  'twas  too  great  bliss  to  be  real !  "  I  knew  it  couldn't 
be,"  thought  poor  Harry.  "  I  knew  something  would  happen 
to  take  her  from  me." 

"  But  you  will  ride  with  us  to  Tunbridge,  nephew  ^^'ar- 
rington,  and  keep  us  from  the  highwaymen  ?  "  said  Madame 
de  Bernstein. 


i6o  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

Harry  Warrington  hoped  the  company  did  not  see  how  red 
he  grew.  He  tried  to  keep  his  voice  cahn  and  without  tremor. 
Yes,  he  would  ride  with  their  ladyships,  and  he  was  sure  they 
need  fear  no  danger.  Danger !  Harry  felt  he  would  rather 
like  danger  than  not.  He  would  slay  ten  thousand  highwaymen 
if  they  approached  his  mistress's  coach.  At  least,  he  would 
ride  by  that  coach,  and  now  and  again  see  her  eyes  at  the  win- 
dow.  He  might  not  speak  to  her  ;  but  he  should  be  near  her. 
He  should  press  the  blessed  hand  at  the  inn  at  night,  and  feel 
it  reposing  on  his  as  he  led  her  to  the  carriage  at  morning. 
They  would  be  two  whole  days  going  to  Tunbridge,  and  one  day 
or  two  he  might  stay  there.  Is  not  the  poor  wretch  who  is  left 
for  execution  at  Newgate  thankful  for  even  two  or  three  days 
of  respite  ,'' 

You  see,  we  have  only  indicated,  we  have  not  chosen  to 
describe  at  length,  Mr.  Harry  Warrington's  condition,  or  that 
utter  depth  of  imbecility  into  which  the  poor  young  wretch  was 
now  plunged.  Some  boys  have  the  complaint  of  love  favorably 
and  gently.  Others,  when  they  get  the  fever,  are  sick  unto  death 
with  it ;  or,  recovering,  carry  the  marks  of  the  malady  down  with 
them  to  the  grave,  or  to  remotest  old  age.  I  say,  it  is  not  fair 
to  take  down  a  young  fellow's  words  when  he  is  raging  in  that 
delirium.  Suppose  he  is  in  love  with  a  woman  twice  as  old  as 
himself,  have  we  not  all  read  of  the  young  gentleman  who  com- 
mitted suicide  in  consequence  of  his  fatal  passion  for  Mademoi- 
selle Ninon  de  I'Enclos  who  turned  out  to  be  his  grandmother? 
Suppose  thou  art  making  an  ass  of  thyself,  young  Harry 
Warrington,  of  Virginia  !  are  there  not  people  in  England  who 
heehaw  too  ?  Kick  and  abuse  him,  you  who  have  never  brayed; 
but  bear  with  him  all  honest  fellow-cardophagi :  long-eared 
messmates,  recognize  a  brother  donkey  ! 

"  You  will  stay  with  us  a  day  or  two  at  the  Wells,"  Madame 
Bernstein  continued.  "  You  will  see  us  put  into  our  lodgings. 
Then  you  can  return  to  Castlewood  and  the  partridge-shooting, 
and  all  the  fine  things  which  you  and  my  lord  are  to  study 
together." 

Harr)^-  bowed  an  acquiescence.  A  whole  week  of  heaven  ! 
Life  was  not  altogether  a  blank,  then. 

"  And  as  there  is  sure  to  be  plenty  of  company  at  the  V^ells, 
I  shall  be  able  to  present  you,"  the  lady  graciously  added. 

"Company!  ah!  I  sha'n't  need  compan}-,"  sighed  out 
Harry.  "  I  mean  that  I  shall  be  quite  contented  in  the  com- 
pany of  you  two  ladies,"  he  added,  eagerly ;  and  no  doubt  Mr. 
Will  wondered  at  his  cousin's  taste. 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  i6i 

As  this  was  to  be  the  last  night  of  Cousin  Harry's  present 
visit  to  Castlewood,  Cousin  Will  suggested  that  he,  and  his 
Reverence,  and  Warrington  should  meet  at  the  quarters  of  the 
latter  and  make  up  accounts,  to  which  process,  Harry,  being  a 
considerable  winner  in  his  play  transactions  with  the  two  gen- 
tlemen, had  no  objection.  Accordingly,  when  the  ladies  retired 
for  the  night,  and  my  lord  withdrew — as  his  custom  was — to  his 
own  apartments,  the  three  gentlemen  all  found  themselves 
assembled  in  Mr.  Harry's  little  room  before  the  punch-bowl, 
which  was  Will's  usual  midnight  companion. 

But  Will's  method  of  settling  accounts  was  by  producing  a 
couple  of  fresh  packs  of  cards,  and  offering  to  submit  Harry's 
debt  to  the  process  of  being  doubled  or  acquitted.  The  poor 
chaplain  had  no  more  ready  cash  than  Lord  Castlewood's 
younger  brother.  Harry  Warrington  wanted  to  win  the  money 
oi  neither.  Would  he  give  pain  to  the  brother  of  his  adored 
Alaria,  or  allow  any  one  of  her  near  kinsfolk  to  tax  him  with 
any  want  of  generosity  or  forbearance  ?  He  was  read}^  to  give 
them  their  revenge,  as  the  gentlemen  proposed.  Up  to  mid- 
night he  would  play  with  them  for  what  stakes  they  chose  to 
name.  And  so  they  set  to  work,  and  the  dice-box  was  rattled 
and  the  cards  shuffled  and  dealt. 

Very  likely  he  did  not  think  about  the  cards  at  all.  Very 
likely  he  was  thinking  : — "  At  this  moment,  my  beloved  one  is 
sitting  with  her  beauteous  golden  locks  outspread  under  the 
fingers  of  her  maid.  Happy  maid  !  Now  she  is  on  her  knees, 
the  sainted  creature,  addressing  prayers  to  that  heaven  which 
is  the  abode  of  angels  like  her.  Now  she  has  sunk  to  rest  be- 
hind her  damask  curtains.  O  bless,  bless  her  !  "  "  You  double 
us  all  round  ?  I  will  take  a  card  upon  each  of  my  two.  Thank 
you,  that  will  do — a  ten — now,  upon  the  other,  a  queen, — two 
natural  vingt-et-uns,  and  as  you  doubled  us  you  owe  me  so 
and  so." 

I  imagine  volleys  of  oaths  from  Mr.  William,  and  brisk  pat- 
tering of  imprecations  from  his  Reverence,  at  the  young  Vir- 
ginian's luck.  He  won  because  he  did  not  want  to  win.  For- 
tune, that  notoriously  coquettish  jade,  came  to  him,  because  he 
was  thinking  of  another  nymph,  who  possibly  was  as  fickle. 
Will  and  the  chaplain  may  have  played  against  him,  solicitous 
constantly  to  increase  their  stakes,  and  supposing  that  the 
wealthy  Virginian  wished  to  let  them  recover  all  their  losings. 
But  this  was  by  no  means  Harry  Warrington's  notion.  When 
he  was  at  home  he  had  taken  a  part  in  scores  of  such  games  as 
these  (whereby  we  may  be  led  to  suppose  that  he  kept  many 

II 


1 62  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

little  circumstances  of  his  life  mum  from  his  lady  mother),  and 
had  learned  to  play  and  pay.  And  as  he  practised  fair  jDlay 
towards  his  friends  he  expected  it  from  them  in  return. 

"  The  luck  does  seem  to  be  with  me,  cousin,"  he  said,  in 
reply  to  some  more  oaths  and  growls  of  Will,  "  and  I  am  sure 
I  do  not  want  to  press  it ;  but  you  don't  suppose  I  am  going 
to  be  such  a  fool  as  to  fling  it  away  altogether  ?  I  have  quite 
a  heap  of  your  promises  on  paper  by  this  time.  If  we  are  to 
go  on  playing,  let  us  have  the  dollars  on  the  table,  if  you  please  ; 
or,  if  not  the  money,  the  worth  of  it." 

"  Always  the  way  with  you  rich  men,"  grumbled  Will. 
"  Never  lend  except  on  security — always  win  because  you  are 
rich." 

"  Faith,  cousin,  you  have  been  of  late  for  ever  flinging  my 
riches  into  my  face.  I  have  enough  for  my  wants  and  for  my 
creditors." 

"  Oh  that  we  could  all  say  as  much,"  groaned  the  chaplain. 
"  How  happy  we,  and  how  happy  the  duns  would  be  !  Wliat 
have  we  got  to  play  against  our  conqueror  ?  There  is  my  new 
gown,  Mr.  Warrington.  Will  you  set  me  five  pieces  against  it  ? 
I  have  but  to  preach  in  stuff  if  I  lose.  Stop  !  I  have  a 
'  Chrysostom,'  a  '  Fox's  Martyrs,'  a  '  Baker's  Chronicle,'  and  a 
cow  and  her  calf.     What  shall  we  set  against  these  ?  " 

"  I  will  bet  one  of  Cousin  Will's  notes  for  twenty  pounds," 
cried  Mr.  Warrington,  producing  one  of  those  documents. 

"  Or  I  have  my  black  mare,  and  will  back  her  not  against 
your  honor's  notes  of  hand,  but  against  ready  money." 

"  I  have  my  horse.  I  will  back  my  horse  against  you  for 
fifty  !  "  bawls  out  Will. 

Harry  took  the  offers  of  both  gentlemen.  In  the  course  of 
ten  minutes  the  horse  and  the  black  mare  had  both  changed 
owners.  Cousin  William  swore  more  fiercely  than  ever.  The 
parson  dashed  his  v.ig  to  the  ground,  and  emulated  his  pupil 
in  the  loudness  of  his  objurgations.  ]\Ir.  Harry  Warrington 
was  quite  calm,  and  not  the  least  elated  by  his  triumph.  They 
had  asked  him  to  play,  and  he  had  played.  He  knew  he  should 
win.  Oh  beloved  slumbering  angel  !  he  thought,  am  I  not  sure 
of  victory  when  yoii  are  kind  to  me  ?  He  was  looking  out  from 
his  window  towards  the  casement  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
court,  which  he  knew  to  be  hers.  He  had  forgot  about  his  vic- 
tims and  their  groans,  and  ill-luck,  ere  they  crossed  the  court. 
Under  yonder  brilliant  fiickerin_2[  star,  behind  yonder  casement 
where  the  lamp  was  burning  faintly,  was  his  joy,  and  heart,  and 
treasure. 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


CHAPTER  XX. 


FACILIS      DESCENSUS. 


163 


Whilst  the  good  old  Bishop  of  Cambray,  in  his  romance 
lately  mentioned,  described  the  disconsolate  condition  of 
Calypso  at  the  departure  of  Ulysses,  I  forget  whether  he  men- 
tioned the  grief  of  Calypso's  lady's-maid  on  taking  leave  of 
Odysseus's  own  gentleman.  The  menials  must  have  wept  to- 
gether in  the  kitchen  precincts  w^hilst  the  master  and  mistress 
took  a  last  wild  embrace  in  the  drawing-room  ;  they  must  have 
hung  round  each  other  in  the  fore-cabin,  whilst  their  principals 
broke  their  hearts  in  the  grand-saloon.  When  the  bell  rang  for 
the  last  time,  and  Ulysses's  mate  bawled,  "  Now !  any  one  for 
shore  !  "  Calypso  and  her  female  attendant  must  have  both 
walked  over  the  same  plank,  with  beating  hearts  and  streaming 
eyes ;  both  must  have  waved  pocket-handkerchiefs  (of  far 
different  value  and  texture),  as  they  stood  on  the  quay,  to  their 
friends  on  the  departing  vessel,  whilst  the  people  on  the  land 
and  the  crew  crowding  in  the  ship's  bows  shouted.  Hip,  hip, 
huzzay  (or  whatever  may  be  the  equivalent  Greek  for  the 
salutation)  to  all  engaged  on  that  voyage.  But  the  point  to  be 
remembered  is,  that  if  Calypso  ne  pouvait  se  consoler.,  Calypso's 
maid  ne  pouvait  se  consoler  iW7i  plus.  They  had  to  walk  the  same 
plank  of  grief,  and  feel  the  same  pang  of  separation  ;  on  their 
return  home,  they  might  not  use  pocket-handkerchiefs  of  the 
same  texture  and  value,  but  the  tears,  no  doubt,  were  as  salt 
and  plentiful  which  one  shed  in  her  marble  halls,  and  the  other 
poured  forth  in  the  servant's  ditto. 

Not  only  did  Harry  Warrington  leave  Castlewood  a  victim 
to  love,  but  Gumbo  quitted  the  same  premises  a  prey  to  the 
same  delightful  passion,  His  wit,  accomplishments,  good- 
humor,  his  skill  in  dancing,  cookery,  and  music,  had  endeared 
him  to  the  whole  female  domestic  circle.  More  than  one  of  the 
men  might  be  jealous  of  him,  but  the  ladies  all  were  with  him. 
There  was  no  such  objection  to  the  poor  black  men  then  in 
England  as  has  obtained  since  among  white-skinned  people. 
Theirs  was  a  condition  not  perhaps  of  equality,  but  they  had  a 
sufferance  and  a  certain  grotesque  sympathy  from  all  ;  and  from 
women,  no  doubt,  a  kindness  much  more  generous.  When  Led- 
yard  and  Park,  in  Blackmansland,  were  persecuted  by  the  men, 
did  they  not  find  the  black  women  pitiful  and  kind  to  them  ? 


164 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


Women  are  always  kind  towards  our  sex.  What  (mental)  ne- 
groes do  they  not  cherish  ?  what  (moral)  hunchbacks  do  they 
not  adore  ?  what  lepers,  what  idiots,  what  dull  drivellers, 
what  misshapen  monsters  (I  speak  figuratively)  do  they  not 
fondle  and  cuddle  ?  Gumbo  was  treated  by  the  women  as 
kindly  as  many  people  no  better  than  himself  :  it  was  only  the 
men  in  the  servants'  hall  who  rejoiced  at  the  Virginian  lad's 
departure.  I  should  like  to  see  him  taking  leave.  I  should 
like  to  see  Molly,  housemaid,  stealing  to  the  terrace-gardens  in 
the  gray  dawning  to  cull  a  wistful  posy.  I  should  like  to  see 
Betty,  kitchenmaid,  cutting  off  a  thick  lock  of  her  chestnut 
ringlets  which  she  proposed  to  exchange  for  a  woolly  token  from 
young  Gumbo's  pate.  Of  course  he  said  he  was  regiunp?'ogenies, 
a  descendant  of  Ashantee  kings.  In  Caffraria,  Connaught,  and 
other  places  now  inhabited  by  hereditary  bondsmen,  there  must 
have  been  vast  numbers  of  these  potent  sovereigns  in  former 
times,  to  judge  from  their  descendants  now  extant. 

At  the  morning  announced  for  Madame  de  Bernstein's  depar- 
ture, all  the  numerous  domestics  of  Castlewood  crowded  about 
the  doors  and  passages,  some  to  have  a  last  glimpse  of  her 
ladyship's  men  and  the  fascinating  Gumbo,  some  to  take  leave 
of  her  ladyship's  maid,  all  to  waylay  the  Baroness  and  her 
nephew  for  parting  fees,  which  it  was  the  custom  of  that  day 
largely  to  distribute  among  household  servants.  One  and  the 
other  gave  liberal  gratuities  to  the  liveried  society,  to  the  gentle- 
men in  black  and  ruffles,  and  to  the  swarm  of  female  attendants. 
Castlewood  was  the  home  of  the  Baroness's  youth,  and  as  for 
her  honest  Harry,  who  had  not  only  lived  at  free  charges  in  the 
house,  but  had  won  horses  and  money — or  promises  of  money 
from  his  cousin  and  the  unlucky  chaplain,  he  was  naturally  of  a 
generous  turn,  and  felt  that  at  this  moment  he  ought  not  to  stint 
his  benevolent  disposition.  "  My  mother,  I  know,"  he  thought, 
"  will  wish  me  to  be  liberal  to  all  the  retainers  of  the  Esmond 
family."  So  he  scattered  about  his  gold  pieces  to  right  and 
left,  and  as  if  he  had  been  as  rich  as  Gumbo  announced  him  to 
be.  There  was  no  one  who  came  near  him  but  had  a  share  in 
his  bounty.  From  the  major-domo  to  the  shoe-black,  Mr.  Harry 
had  a  peace-oifering  for  them  all.  To  the  grim  housekeeper  in 
her  still  room,  to  the  feeble  old  porter  in  his  lodge  he  distributed 
some  token  of  his  remembrance.  When  a  man  is  in  love  with 
one  woman  in  a  family,  it  is  astonishing  how  fond  he  becomes 
of  every  person  connected  with  it.  He  ingratiates  himself  with 
the  maids ;  he  is  bland  with  the  butler ;  he  interests  himself 
about  the  footman  ;  he  runs  on  errands  for  the  daughters ;  he 


THE   VIRGINIAN. 


•6S 


gi\es  advice  and  lends  money  to  the  young  son  at  college ;  he 
pats  little  dogs  which  he  would  kick  otherwise  ;  he  smiles  at  old 
stories  which  would  make  him  break  out  in  yawns,  were  they 
uttered  by  any  one  but  papa  ]  he  drinks  sweet  port  wine  for 
which  he  would  curse  the  steward  and  the  whole  committee  of 
a  club  ;  he  bears  even  with  the  cantankerous  old  maiden  aunt ; 
he  beats  time  when  darling  little  Fanny  performs  her  piece  on 
the  piano  :  and  smiles  when  wicked,  lively  little  Bobby  upsets 
the  coffee  over  his  shirt. 

Harry  Warrington,  in  his  way,  and  according  to.the  customs 
of  that  age,  had  for  a  brief  time  past  (by  which  I  conclude  that 
only  for  a  brief  time  had  his  love  been  declared  and  accepted) 
given  to  the  Castlewood  family  all  these  artless  testimonies  of 
his  affection  for  one  of  them.  Cousin  Will  should  have  won 
back  his  money  and  welcome,  or  have  won  as  much  of  Harry's 
own  as  the  lad  could  spare.  Nevertheless,  the  lad,  though  a 
lover,  was  shrewd,  keen,  and  fond  of  sport  and  fair  pla}',  and  a 
judge  of  a  good  horse  when  he  saw  one.  Having  played  for 
and  won  all  the  money  which  Will  had,  besides  a  great  number 
of  Mr.  Esmond's  valuable  autographs,  Harry  was  very  well 
pleased  to  win  Will's  brown  horse — that  very  quadruped  which 
had  nearly  pushed  him  into  the  water  on  the  first  evening  of  his 
arrival  at  Castlewood.  He  had  seen  the  horse's  performance 
often,  and,  in  the  midst  of  all  his  passion  and  romance,  was  not 
sorry  to  be  possessed  of  such  a  sound,  swift,  well-bred  hunter 
and  roadster.  When  he  had  gazed  at  the  stars  sufficiently  as 
they  shone  over  his  mistress's  window,  and  put  her  candle  to 
bed,  he  repaired  to  his  own  dormitory,  and  there,  no  doubt, 
thought  of  his  Maria  and  his  horse  with  youthful  satisfaction, 
and  how  sweet  it  would  be  to  have  one  pillioned  on  the  other, 
and  to  make  the  tour  of  all  the  island  on  such  an  animal  with 
such  a  pair  of  white  arms  round  his  waist.  He  fell  asleep 
ruminating  on  these  things,  and  meditating  a  million  of  bless- 
ings on  his  Maria,  in  whose  company  he  was  to  luxuriate  at 
least  for  a  week  more. 

In  the  early  morning  poor  Chaplain  Sampson  sent  over  his 
little  black  mare  by  the  hands  of  his  groom,  footman,  and 
gardener,-  who  wept  and  bestowed  a  great  mmiber  of  kisses  on 
the  beast's  white  nose  as  he  handed  him  over  to  Gumbo. 
Gumbo  and  his  master  were  both  affected  by  the  fellow's  sensi- 
bility ;  the  negro  servant  showing  his  sympathy  by  weeping, 
and  Harry  by  producing  a  couple  of  guineas,  with  which  he 
astonished  and  speedily  comforted  the  chaplain's  boy.  Then 
Gumbo  and  the  late  groom  led  the  beast  awav  to  the  stable, 


1 66  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

having  commands  to  bring  him  round  with  Mr.  WiUiam's  horse 
after  breakfast,  at  the  hour  when  Madame  Burnstein's  carriages 
were  ordered. 

So  courteous  was  he  to  his  aunt,  or  so  grateful  for  her  de- 
parture, that  the  master  of  the  house  even  made  his  appear- 
ance at  the  morning  meal,  in  order  to  take  leave  of  his  guests. 
The  ladies  and  the  chaplain  were  present — the  only  member  of 
the  family  absent  was  Will :  who,  however,  left  a  note  for  his 
cousin,  in  which  Will  stated,  in  exceedingly  bad  spelling,  that 
he  was  obliged  to  go  away  to  Salisbury  races  that  mcrning,  but 
that  he  had  left  the  horse  which  his  cousin  won  last  night,  and 
which  Tom,  Mr.  Will's  groom,  would  handover  to  Mr.  W'arring- 
ton's  servant.  Will's  absence  did  not  prevent  the  rest  of  the 
party  from  drinking  a  dish  of  tea  amicably,  and  in  due  time  the 
carriages  rolled  into  the  court3'ard,  the  servants  packed  them 
with  the  Baroness's  multiplied  luggage,  and  the  moment  of  de- 
parture arrived. 

A  large  open  landau  contained  the  stout  Baroness  and  her 
niece  ;  a  couple  of  men-servants  mounting  on  the  box  before 
them  with  pistols  and  blunderbusses  ready  in  event  of  a  meet- 
ing with  highwaymen.  In  another  carriage  were  their  ladyship's 
maids,  and  another  servant  in  guard  of  the  trunks,  which  vast 
and  numerous  as  they  were,  were  as  nothing  compared  to  the 
enormous  baggage-train  accompanying  a  lady  of  the  present 
time.  Mr.  Warrington's  modest  valises  were  placed  in  this 
second  carriage  under  the  maids'  guardianship,  and  Mr.  Gumbo 
proposed  to  ride  by  the  window  for  the  chief  part  of  the 
journey. 

My  lord,  with  his  step-mother  and  Lady  Fanny,  accompanied 
their  kinswoman  to  the  carriage  steps,  and  bade  her  farewell 
with  many  dutiful  embraces.  The  Lady  Maria  followed  in  a 
riding-dress,  which  Harry  Warrington  thought  the  most  be- 
coming costume  in  the  world.  A  host  of  servants  stood  around 
and  begged  heaven  bless  her  ladyship.  The  Baroness's  depart- 
ure was  known  in'  the  village,  and  scores  of  the  folks  there 
stood  waiting  under  the  trees  outside  the  gates,  and  huzzayed 
and  waved  their  hats  as  the  ponderous  vehicle  rolled  away. 

Gumbo  was  gone  for  Mr.  Warrington's  horses,  as  'my  lord, 
with  his  arm  under  his  young  guest's,  paced  up  and  down  the 
court.  "  I  hear  you  carry  away  some  of  our  horses  out  of 
Castlewood  ?  "  my  lord  said. 

Harry  blushed.  "  A  gentleman  cannot  refuse  a  fair  game 
at  the  cards."  he  said.  "  I  never  wanted  to  play,  nor  would 
have  played  for  money,  had  not  my  cousin  William  forced  me.« 


THE   VIRGINIAiYS. 


167 


As  for  the  chaplain,  it  went  to  my  heart  to  win  from  him,  but 
he  was  as  eager  as  my  cousin." 

"  I  know — I  know !  There  is  no  blame  to  you,  my  boy. 
At  Rome  you  can't  help  doing  as  Rome  does  ;  and  I  am  very 
glad  that  you  have  been  able  to  give  Will  a  lesson.  He  is  mad 
about  play — would  gamble  his  coat  off  his  back — and  I  and  the 
family  have  had  to  pay  his  debts  ever  so  many  times.  May  I 
ask  how  much  you  have  won  of  him  t " 

"  Well,  some  eighteen  pieces  the  first  day  or  two,  and  his 
note  for  a  hundred  and  twenty  more,  and  the  iDrown  horse,  fifty 
— that  makes  nigh  upon  two  hundred.  But,  you  know,  cousin, 
all  was  fair,  and  it  was  even  against  my  will  that  we  played  at 
all.  Will  ain't  a  match  for  me,  my  lord — that  is  the  fact. 
Indeed  he  is  not." 

"  He  is  a  match  for  most  people,  though,"  said  my  lord. 
*'  His  brown  horse,  I  think  you  said  ?  " 

"  Yes.  His  brown  horse — Prince  William,  out  of  Constitu- 
tion. You  don't  suppose  I  would  set  him  fifty  against  his  bay, 
my  lord  ? " 

"  Oh,  I  didn't  know.  I  saw  Will  riding  out  this  morning, 
most  likely  I  did  not  remark  what  horse  he  was  on.  And  you 
won  the  black  mare  from  the  parson  ?  " 

"  For  fourteen.  He  will  mount  Gumbo  very  well.  Why 
does  not  the  rascal  come  round  with  the  horses  .''  "  Harry's 
mind  was  away  to  lovely  Maria.  He  longed  to  be  trotting  by 
her  side. 

"  When  you  get  to  Tunbridge,  Cousin  Harry,  you  must  be 
on  the  look-out  against  sharper  players  than  the  chaplain  and 
Will.     There  is  all  sorts  ot  queer  company  at  the  Wells." 

"A  Virginian  learns  pretty  early  to  take  care  of  himself,  my 
lord,"  says  Harry,  with  a  knowing  nod. 

"  So  it  seems  !  I  recommend  my  sister  to  thee,  Harry. 
Although  she  is  not  a  baby  in  years,  she  is  as  innocent  as  one. 
Thou  wilt  see  that  she  comes  to  no  mischief .'' " 

"  I  will  guicle  her  with  my  life,  my  lord  !  "  cries  Harry. 

"  Thou  art  a  brave  fellow.  By  the  way,  cousin,  unless  you 
are  very  fond  of  Castlewood,  I  would  in  your  case  not  be  in  a 
great  hurry  to  return  to  this  lonely,  tumble-down  old  house.  I 
want  myself  to  go  to  another  place  I  have,  and  shall  scarce  be 
back  here  till  the  partridge-shooting.  Go  you  and  take  charge 
of  the  women,  of  my  sister  and  the  Baroness,  will  you  ?  " 

"  Indeed  I  will,"  said  Harry,  his  heart  beating  with  happi- 
ness at  the  thought. 

"  And  I  will  write  thee  word  when  you  shall  bring  my  sister 


1 68  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

back  to  me.  Here  come  the  horses.  Have  you  bid  adieu  to 
the  countess  and  Lady  Fanny  ?  They  are  kissing  their  hands 
to  you  from  the  music-room  balcony," 

Harry  ran  up  to  bid  these  ladies  a  farewell.  He  made  that 
ceremony  very  brief,  for  he  was  anxious  to  be  off  to  the 
charmer  of  his  heart ;  and  came  down-stairs  to  mount  his  newly- 
gotten  steed,  which  Gumbo,  himself  astride  on  the  parson's 
black  mare,  held  by  the  rein. 

There  was  Gumbo  on  the  black  mare,  indeed,  and  holding 
another  horse.  But  it  was  a  bay  horse — not  a  brown — a  bay 
horse  with  broken  knees — an  aged,  worn-out  quadruped. 

"  What  is  this  ?"  cries  Harry. 

"  Your  honor's  new  horse,"  says  the  groom,  touching  his 
cap. 

"  This  brute  ?  "  exclaims  the  young  gentleman,  with  one  or 
more  of  those  expressions  then  in  use  in  England  and  Virginia. 
"  Go  and  bring  me  round  Prince  William,  Mr.  William's  horse, 
the  brown  horse," 

"  Mr.  William  have  rode  Prince  William  this  morning  away 
to  Salisbury  races.  His  last  words  was,  '  Sam,  saddle  my  bay 
horse,  Cato,  for  Mr.  Warrington  this  morning.  He  is  Mr, 
Warrington's  horse  now.  I  sold  him  to  him  last  night,'  And 
I  know  your  honor  is  bountiful :  you  will  consider  the  groom." 

My  lord  could  not  help  breaking  into  a  laugh  at  these  words 
of  Sam,  the  groom,  whilst  Harry,  for  his  part,  indulged  in  a 
number  more  of  those  remarks  which  politeness  does  not  admit 
of  our  inserting  here, 

"  Mr,  \Mlliam  said  he  never  could  think  of  parting  with  the 
Prince  under  a  hundred  and  twenty,"  said  the  groom,  looking 
at  the  young  man. 

Lord  Castlewood  only  laughed  the  more.  "  Will  has  been 
too  much  for  thee,  Harry  Warrington." 

"  Too  much  for  me,  my  lord  !  So  may  a  fellow  with  loaded 
dice  throw  sixes,  and  be  too  much  for  me.  I  do  not  call  this 
betting,  I  call  it  ch " 

"  Mr.  Warrington  !  Spare  me  bad  words  about  my  brother, 
if  you  please.  Depend  on  it,  I  wall  take  care  that  you  are 
righted.  Farewell.  Ride  quickly,  or  your  coaches  will  be  at 
Farnham  before  you  ;  "  and  waving  him  an  adieu,  my  lord  en- 
tered into  the  house,  wdiilst  Harry  and  his  companion  rode  out 
of  the  courtyard.  The  young  Virginian  was  much  too  eager  to 
rejoin  the  carriages  and  his  charmer,  to  remark  the  glances  of 
unutterable  love  and  affection  which  Gumbo  shot  from  his  fine 
eyes  towards  a  young  creature  in  the  porter's  lodge. 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


69 


When  the  youth  was  gone,  the  chaplain  and  my  lord  sat 
down  to  finish  their  breakfast  in  peace  and  comfort.  The  two 
ladies  did  not  return  to  this  meal. 

"  That  was  one  of  Will's  confounded  rascally  tricks,"  says 
my  lord.  "  If  our  cousin  breaks  Will's  head  I  should  not 
wonder." 

"  He  is  used  to  the  operation,  my  lord,  and  yet,"  adds  the 
chaplain,  with  a  grin,  "  when  we  were  playing  last  night,  the 
colour  of  the  horse  was  not  mentioned.  I  could  not  escape, 
having  but  one  :  and  the  black  boy  has  ridden  off  on  him.  The 
young  Virginian  plays  like  a  man,  to  do  him  justice." 

"  He  wins  because  he  does  not  care  about  losing.  I  think 
there  can  be  little  doubt  but  that  he  is  very  well  to  do.  His 
mother's  law-agents  are  my  lawyers,  and  they  write  that  the 
property  is  quite  a  principality,  and  grows  richer  every  year." 

"  If  it  were  a  kingdom  I  know  whom  Mr.  Warrington  would 
make  queen  of  it,"  said  the  obsequious  chaplain. 

"  Who  can  account  for  taste,  parson  ?  "  asks  his  lordship, 
with  a  sneer.  "  All  men  are  so.  The-first  woman  I  was  in  love 
with  myself  was  forty ;  and  as  jealous  as  if  she  had  been  fifteen. 
It  runs  in  the  family.  Colonel  Esmond  (he  in  scarlet  and  the 
breastplate  yonder)  married  my  grandmother,  who  was  almost 
old  enough  to  be  his.  If  this  lad  chooses  to  take  out  an  elderly 
princess  to  Virginia,  w^e  must  not  baulk  him." 

"  'Twere  a  consummation  devoutly  to  be  wished  !  "  cries  the 
chaplain.  "  Had  I  not  best  go  to  Tunbridge  Wells  myself,  my 
lord,  and  be  on  the  spot,  and  ready  to  exercise  my  sacred  func- 
tion in  behalf  of  the  young  couple  ?  " 

"You  shall  have  a  pair  of  new  nags,  parson,  if  you  do," 
said  my  lord.  And  with  this  we  leave  them  peaceable  over  a 
pipe  of  tobacco  after  breakfast. 

Harry  was  in  such  a  haste  to  join  the  carriages  that  he 
almost  forgot  to  take  off  his  hat,  and  acknowdedge  the  cheers 
of  the  Castlewood  villagers  ;  they  all  liked  the  lad,  whose  frank 
cordial  ways  and  honest  face  got  him  a  welcome  in  most  places. 
Legends  were  still  extant  in  Castlewood  of  his  grandparents, 
and  how  his  grandfather.  Colonel  Esmond,  might  have  been 
Lord  Castlewood,  but  would  not.  Old  Lockwood  at  the  gate 
often  told  of  the  Colonel's  gallantry  in  Queen  Anne's  wars.  His 
feats  were  exaggerated,  the  behavior  of  the  present  family  was 
contrasted  with  that  of  the  old  lord  and  lady  :  who  might  not 
have  been  very  popular  in  their  time,  but  were  better  folks  than 
those  now  in  possession.     Lord  Castlewood  was  a  hard  land- 


lyo  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

lord  :  perhaps  more  disliked  because  he  was  known  to  be  poor 
and  embarrassed  than  because  he  was  severe.  As  for  Mr.  Will, 
nobody  was  fond  of  him.  The  young  gentleman  had  had  many 
brawls  and  quarrels  about  the  village,  had  received  and  given 
broken  heads,  had  bills  in  the  neighboring  towns  which  he  could 
not  or  would  not  pay  ;  had  been  arraigned  before  magistrates 
for  tampering  with  village  girls,  and  waylaid  and  cudgelled  by 
injured  husbands,  fathers,  sweethearts.  A  hundred  years  ago 
his  character  and  actions  might  have  been  described  at  length 
by  the  painter  of  manners  j  but  the  Comic  Muse,  now-a-days, 
does  not  lift  up  Molly  Seagrim's  curtain  ;  she  only  indicates 
the  presence  of  some  one  behind  it,  and  passes  on  primly,  with 
expressions  of  horror,  and  a  fan  before  her  eyes.  The  village 
had  heard  how  the  young  Virginian  squire  had  beaten  Mr.  \\' ill 
at  riding,  at  jumping,  at  shooting,  and  finally  at  card-playing, 
for  everything  is  known  ;  and  they  respected  Harr)^  all  the  more 
for  this  superiority.  Above  all,  they  admired  him  on  account 
of  the  reputation  of  enormous  wealth  which  Gumbo  had  made 
for  his  master.  This  fame  had  travelled  over  the  whole  county, 
and  was  preceding  him  at  this  moment  on  the  boxes  of  Madame 
Bernstein's  carriages,  from  which  the  valets,  as  they  descended 
at  the  inns  to  bait,  spread  astounding  reports  of  the  young 
Virginian's  rank  and  splendor.  He  was  a  prince  in  his  own 
countr)'.  He  had  gold  mines,  diamond  mines,  furs,  tobaccos, 
who  knew  what,  or  how  much  ?  No  wonder. the  honest  Britons 
cheered  him  and  respected  him  for  his  prosperity,  as  the  noble- 
hearted  fellows  always  do.  I  am  surprised  city  corporations 
did  not  address  him,  and  offer  gold  boxes  with  the  freedom  of 
the  city — he  was  so  rich.  Ah,  a  proud  thing  it  is  to  be  a  Briton, 
and  think  that  there  is  no  country  where  prosperity  is  so  much 
respected  as  in  ours  :  and  where  success  receives  such  constant 
affecting  testimonials  of  loyalty. 

So,  leaving  the  villagers  bawling,  and  their  hats  tossing  in 
the  air,  Harry  spurred  his  sorry  beast,  and  galloped,  with 
Gumbo  behind  him,  until  he  came  up  with  the  cloud  of  dust  in 
the  midst  of  which  his  charmer's  chariot  was  enveloped.  Pen- 
etrating into  this  cloud,  he  found  himself  at  the  window  of  the 
carriage.  The  Lady  Maria  had  the  back  seat  to  herself ;  by 
keeping  a  little  behind  the  wheels,  he  could  have  the  delight  of 
seeing  her  divine  eyes  and  smiles.  She  held  a  finger  to  her 
lip.  Madame  Bernstein  was  already  dozing  on  her  cushions. 
Harry  did  not  care  to  disturb  the  old  lady.  To  look  at  his 
cousin  was  bliss  enough  for  him.  The  landscape  around  him 
might  be  beautiful,  buf  what  did  he  heed  it  ?     All  the  skies  and 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


171 


trees  of  summer  were  as  nothing  compared  to  yonder  face  ;  the 
hedgerow  birds  sang  no  such  sweet  music  as  her  sweet  mono- 
syllables. 

The  Baroness's  fat  horses  were  accustomed  to  short  jour- 
neys, easy  paces,  and  plenty  of  feeding ;  so  that,  ill  as  Harry 
Warrington  was  mounted,  he  could,  without  much  difficulty, 
keep  pace  with  his  elderly  kinswoman.  At  two  o'clock  they 
baited  for  a  couple  of  hours  for  dinner.  Mr,  Warrington  paid 
the  landlord  generously.  What  price  could  be  too  great  for 
the  pleasure  which  he  enjoyed  in  being  near  his  adored  Maria, 
and  having  the  blissful  chance  of  a  conversation  with  her, 
scarce  interrupted  by  the  soft  breathing  of  Madame  de  Bern- 
stein, who,  after  a  comfortable  meal,  indulged  in  an  agreeable 
half-hour's  slumber  ?  In  voices  soft  and  low,  Maria  and  her 
young  gentleman  talked  over  and  over  again  those  delicious 
nonsenses  which  people  in  Harry's  condition  never  tire  of  hear- 
ing and  uttering. 

They  were  going  to  a  crowded  watering-place,  where  all 
sorts  of  beauty  and  fashion  v.ould  be  assembled  ;  timid  Maria 
was  certain  that  amongst  the  young  beauties,  Harry  would  dis- 
cover some  whose  charms  were  far  more  worthy  to  occupy  his 
attention  than  any  her  homely  face  and  figure  could  boast  of. 
By  all  the  gods  Harry  vowed  that  Venus  herself  could  not 
tempt  him  from  her  side.  It  was  he  who  for  his  part  had 
occasion  to  fear.  When  the  young  men  of  fashion  beheld  his 
peerless  Maria  they  would  crowd  round  her  car  ;  they  would 
cause  her  to  forget  the  rough  and  humble  American  lad  who 
knew  nothing  of  fashion  or  wit,  who  had  only  a  faithful  heart 
at  her  service. 

Maria  smiles,  she  casts  her  eyes  to  ,  heaven,  she  vows  that 
Harry  knows  nothing  of  the  truth  and  fidelity  of  woman ;  it  is 
his  sex,  on  the  contrary,  which  proverbially  is  faithless,  and 
which  delights  to  play  with  poor  female  hearts.  A  scuffle  en- 
sues ;  a  clatter  is  heard  among  the  knives  and  forks  of  the 
dessert ;  a  glass  tumbles  over  and  breaks.  An  "  Oh  !  "  escapes 
from  the  innocent  lips  of  Maria.  The  disturbance  has  been 
caused  by  the  broad  cuff  of  Mr.  W^arrington's  coat,  which  has 
been  stretched  across  the  table  to  seize  Lady  Maria's  hand, 
and  has  upset  the  wine-glass  in  so  doing.  Surely  nothing  could 
be  more  natural,  or  indeed  necessary,  than  that  Harry,  upon 
hearing  his  sex's  honor  impeached,  should  seize  upon  his  fair 
accuser's  hand,  and  vow  eternal  fidelity  upon  those  charming 
fingers  ? 

What  a  part  they  play,  or  used  to  play,  in  love-making,  those 


1^2  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

hands  !  How  quaintly  they  are  squeezed  at  that  period  of  Hfe  \ 
How  they  are  jDushed  into  conversation  !  what  absurd  vows  and 
protests  are  palmed  off  by  their  aid !  What  good  can  there  be 
in  pulling  and  pressing  a  thumb  and  four  fingers  ?  1  fancy  I 
see  Alexis  laugh,  who  is  haply  reading  this  page  by  the  side  of 
Araminta.  To  talk  about  thumbs  indeed  i  *  =^  *  Maria  looks 
round,  for  her  part,  to  see  if  Madame  Bernstein  has  been 
awakened  by  the  crash  of  the  glass  ;  but  the  old  lady  slumbers 
quite  calmly  in  her  arm-chair,  so  her  niece  thinks  there  can  be 
no  harm  in  yielding  to  Harry's  gentle  pressure. 

The  horses  are  put  to  :  Paradise  is  over — at  least  until  the 
next  occasion.  When  my  landlord  enters  with  the  bill,  Harry 
is  standing  quite  at  a  distance  from  his  cousin,  looking  from  the 
window  at  the  cavalcade  gathering  below.  Madame  Bernstein 
wakes  up  from  her  slumber,  smiling  and  quite  unconscious. 
With  what  profound  care  and  reverential  politeness  Mr.  War- 
rington hands  his  aunt  to  her  carriage  !  how  demure  and  simple 
looks  Lady  Maria  as  she  follows  !  Away  go  the  carriages,  in 
the  midst  of  a  profoundly  bowing  landlord  and  waiters  ;  of 
country  folks  gathered  round  the  blazing  inn-sign ;  of  shopmen 
gazing  from  their  homely  little  doors  ;  of  boys  and  market-folks 
under  the  colonnade  of  the  old  town-hall ;  of  loungers  along 
the  gabled  street.  "  It  is  the  famous  Baroness  Bernstein.  That 
is  she,  the  old  lady  in  the  capuchin.  It  is  the  rich  young 
American  who  is  just  come  from  A^irginia,  and  is  worth  millions 
and  millions.  Well,  sure,  he  might  have  a  better  horse."  The 
cavalcade  disappears,  and  the  little  town  lapses  into  its  usual 
quiet.  The  landlord  goes  back  to  his  friends  at  the  club,  to  tell 
how  the  great  folks  are  going  to  sleep  at  "  The  Bush,"  at  Farn- 
ham,  to-night. 

The  inn-dinner  had  been  plentiful,  and  ail  the  three  guests 
of  the  inn  had  done  justice  to  the  good  cheer.  Harry  had  the 
appetite  natural  to  his  period  of  life.  Maria  and  her  aunt  were 
also  not  indifferent  to  a  good  dinner :  Madame  Bernstein  had 
had  a  comfortable  nap  after  hers,  which  had  no  doubt  helped 
her  to  bear  all  the  good  things  of  the  meal — the  meat  pies,  and 
the  fruit  pies,  and  the  strong  ale,  and  the  heady  port  wine. 
She  reclined  at  ease  on  her  seat  of  the  landau,  and  looked 
back  affably,  and  smiled  at  Harry  and  exchanged  a  little  talk 
with  him  as  he  rode  by  the  carriage  side.  But  what  ailed  the 
beloved  being  who  sat  with  her  back  to  the  horses  .'*  Her  com- 
plexion, which  was  exceedingly  fair,  was  farther  ornamented 
with  a  pair  of  red  cheeks,  which  Harry  took  to  be  natural  roses. 
(You  see,  madam,  that  your  surmises  regarding  the  Lady  Maria's 


THE   VIRGTXIANS. 


^73 


conduct  with  her  cousin  are  quite  wrong  and  uncharitable,  and 
that  the  timid  lad  had  made  no  such  experiments  as  you  sup- 
pose, in  order  to  ascertain  whether  the  roses  were  real  or  arti- 
ficial. A  kiss,  indeed  !  I  blush  to  think  you  should  imagine 
that  the  present  writer  could  indicate  anything  so  shocking  !) 
Maria's  bright  red  cheeks,  I  say  still,  continued  to  blush  as 
it  seemed  with  a  strange  metallic  bloom  :  but  the  rest  of  her 
face,  which  had  used  to  rival  the  lily  in  whiteness,  became  of  a 
jonquil  color.  Her  eyes  stared  round  with  a  ghastly  expres- 
sions. Harry  was  alarmed  at  the  agony  depicted  in  the 
charmer's  countenance  ;  which  not  only  exhibited  pain,  but  was 
exceedingly  unbecoming.  Madame  Bernstein  also  at  length 
remarked  her  niece's  indisposition,  and  asked  her  if  sitting 
backwards  in  the  carriage  made  her  ill,  v/hich  poor  Maria  con- 
fessed to  be  the  fact.  On  this,  the  elder  lady  was  forced  to 
make  room  for  her  niece  on  her  own  side,  and,  in  the  course  of 
the  drive  to  Farnham  uttered  many  gruff,  disagreeable,  sarcas- 
tic remarks  to  her  fellow-traveller,  indicating  her  great  dis- 
pleasure that  Maria  should  be  so  impertinent  as  to  be  ill  on  the 
first  day  of  a  journey. 

When  they  reached  the  "  Bush  Inn "  at  Farnham,  under 
which  name  a  famous  inn  has  stood  in  Farnham  tov^^n  for  these 
three  hundred  3'ears — the  dear  invalid  retired  with  her  maid  to 
her  bedroom  :  scarcely  glancing  a  piteous  look  at  Harry  as  she 
retreated,  and  leaving  the  lad's  mind  in  a  strano;e  confusion  of 
dismay  and  sympathy.  Those  yellow,  yellow  cheeks,  those 
livid  wrinkled  eyelids,  that  ghastly  red — how  ill  his  blessed 
Maria  looked  !  And  not  only  how  ill,  but  how — away,  horrible 
thought,  unmanly  suspicion  !  He  tried  to  shut  the  idea  out 
from  his  mind.  He  had  little  appetite  for  supper,  though  the 
jolly  Baroness  partook  of  that  repast  as  if  she  had  had  no  din- 
ner ;  and  certainly  as  if  she  had  no  sympathy  with  her  invalid 
niece. 

She  sent  her  major  domo  to  see  if  Lady  Maria  would  have 
anything  from  the  table.  The  servant  brought  back  word 
that  her  ladyship  was  still  very  unwell,  and  declined  any  refresh- 
ment. 

"  I  hope  she  intends  to  be  well  to-morrow  morning,"  cried 
Madame  Bernstein,  rapping  her  little  hand  on  the  table.  "  I 
hate  people  to  be  ill  in  an  inn,  or  on  a  journey.  Will  you  play 
picquet  with  me,  Harry  ?  " 

Harry  was  happy  to  be  able  to  play  picquet  with  his  aunt. 
"  That  absurd  Maria  !  "  says  IMadame  Bernstein,  drinking  from 
a  great  glass  of  negus,  "she  takes  liberties  with  herself.     She 


174 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


never  had  a  good  constitution.  She  is  forty-one  years  old.  All 
her  upper  teeth  are  false,  and  she  can't  eat  with  them.  Thank 
heaven,  I  have  still  got  every  tooth  in  my  head.  How  clumsily 
you  deal,  child  !  " 

Deal  clumsily,  indeed !  Had  a  dentist  been  extracting 
Harry's  own  grinders  at  that  moment,  would  he  have  been 
expected  to  mind  his  cards,  and  deal  them  neatly  ?  When  a 
man  is  laid  on  the  rack  at  the  Inquisition,  is  it  natural  that  he 
should  smile  and  speak  politely  and  coherently  to  the  grave, 
quiet  Inquisitor  t  Beyond  that  little  question  regarding  the 
cards,  Harry's  Inquisitor  did  not  show  the  smallest  disturbance. 
Her  face  indicated  neither  surprise,  nor  triumph,  nor  cr.-^lty. 
Madame  Bernstein  did  not  give  one  more  stab  to  her  niece  t.hat 
night :  but  she  played  at  cards,  and  prattled  with  Harry,  indulg- 
ing in  her  favorite  talk  about  old  times,  and  parting  from  him  with 
great  cordiality  and  good  humor.  Very  likely  he  did  not  heed 
her  stories.  Very  likely  other  thoughts  occupied  his  mind. 
Maria  is  forty-one  years  old,  Maria  has  false — Oh,  horrible, 
horrible  !  Has  she  a  false  eye  ?  Has  she  false  hair  ?  Has  she 
a  wooden  leg  ?     I  envy  not  that  boy's  dreams  that  night. 

Madame  Bernstein,  in  the  morning,  said  she  had  slept  as 
sound  as  a  top.  She  had  no  remorse,  that  was  clear.  (Some 
folks  are  happy  and  easy  in  mind  when  their  victim  is  stabbed 
and  done  for.)  Lady  Maria  made  her  appearance  at  the  break- 
fast-table, too.  Her  ladyship's  indisposition  was  fortunately 
over  :  her  aunt  congratulated  her  affectionately  on  her  good 
looks.  She  sat  down  to  her  breakfast.  She  looked  appeal- 
ingly  in  Harry's  face.  He  remarked,  with  his  usual  brilliancy 
and  originality,  that  he  was  very  glad  her  ladyship  was  better. 
Why,  at  the  tone  of  his  voice,  did  she  start,  and  again  gaze  at 
him  wdth  frightened  eyes  ?  There  sat  the  Chief  Inquisitor, 
smiling,  perfectly  calm,  eating  ham  and  muffins.  Oh,  poor 
writhing,  rack-rent  victim  !  Oh,  stony  Inquisitor  !  Oh,  Baro- 
ness Bernstein  !     It  was  cruel  !  cruel  ! 

Round  about  Farnham  the  hops  were  gloriously  green  in  the 
sunshine,  and  the  carriages  drove  through  the  richest,  most 
beautiful  country.  Maria  insisted  upon  taking  her  old  seat. 
She  thanked  her  dear  aunt.  It  would  not  in  the  least  incom- 
mode her  now.  She  gazed,  as  she  had  done  yesterday,  in  the 
face  of  the  young  knight  riding  by  the.  carriage  side.  She 
looked  for  those  answering  signals  which  used  to  be  lighted  up 
in  yonder  two  windows,  and  told  that  love  was  burning  within. 
She  smiled  gently  at  him,  to  which  token  of  regard  he  tried  to 
answer  with   a  sickly  grin   of  recognition.     Miserable  youth  I 


THE    VIRGINIANS.       *  ly^ 

Those  were  not  false  teeth  he  saw  when  she  smiled.  He 
thought  they  were,  and  they  tore  and  lacerated  him. 

And  so  the  day  sped  on — sunshiny  and  brilliant  overhead, 
but  all  over  clouds  for  Harry  and  Maria.  He  saw  nothing  :  he 
thought  of  Virginia  :  he  remembered  how  he  had  been  in  love 
with  Parson  Broadbent's  daughter  at  Jamestown,  and  how 
quickly  that  business  had  ended.  He  longed  vaguely  to  be  at 
home  again.  A  plague  on  all  these  cold-hearted  English  rela- 
tions !  Did  they  not  all  mean  to  trick  him  t  Were  they  not 
all  scheming  against  him.?  Had  not  that  confounded  Will 
cheated  him  about  the  horse  ? 

At  this  very  juncture  Maria  gave  a  scream  so  loud  and 
shrill  that  Madame  Bernstein  woke,  the  coachman  pulled  his 
horses  up,  and  the  footman  beside  him  sprang  down  from  his 
box  in  a  panic. 

"  Let  me  out !  let  me  out !  "  screamed  INIaria.  "  Let  me  go 
to  him  !  let  me  go  to  him  !  " 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  the  Baroness. 

It  was  that  Will's  horse  had  come  down  on  his  knees  and 
nose,  had  sent  his  rider  over  his  head  ;  and  Mr.  Harry,  who 
ought  to  have  known  better,  was  lying  on  his  own  face  quite 
motionless. 

Gumbo,  who  had  been  dallying  with  the  maids  of  the  second 
carriage,  clattered  up,  and  mingled  his  howls  with  Lady  Maria's 
lamentations.  ]\Iadame  Bernstein  descended  from  her  landau, 
and  came  slowly  up,  trembling  a  good  deal. 

"  He  is  dead — he  is  dead !  "  sobbed  Maria. 

"  Don't  be  a  goose,  Maria  !  "  her  aunt  said.  "  Ring  at  that 
gate  some  one  !  " 

Will's  horse  had  gathered  himself  up  and  stood  perfectly 
quiet  after  his  feat :  but  his  late  rider  gave  not  the  slightest 
sign  of  life. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

SA]\IARITANS. 


Lest  any  tender-hearted  reader  should  be  in  alarm  for  Mr. 
Harry  Warrington's  safety,  and  fancy  that  his  broken-knee'd 
horse  had  carried  him  altogether  out  of  this  life  and  history,  let  us 
set  her  mind  easy  at  the  beginning  of  this  chapter,  by  assuring 


176 


l^HE   VIRGINIANS. 


her  that  nothmg  very  serious  has  happened.  How  can  we 
afford  to  kill  off  our  heroes,  when  they  are  scarcely  out  of  their 
teens,  and  we  have  not  reached  the  age  of  manhood  of  the 
story  ?  We  are  in  mourning  already  for  one  of  our  Virginians, 
who  has  come  to  grief  in  America ;  surely  we  cannot  kill  off  the 
other  in  England  ?  No,  no.  Heroes  are  not  dispatched  with 
such  hurry  and  violence  unless  there  is  a  cogent  reason  for 
making  away  with  them.  Were  a  gentleman  to  perish  every 
time  a  horse  came  down  with  him,  not  only  the  hero,  but  the 
author  of  this  chronicle  would  have  gone  under  ground,  where- 
as the  former  is  but  sprawling  outside  it,  and  will  be  brought  to 
life  again  as  soon  as  he  has  been  carried  into  the  house  where 
Madame  de  Bernstein's  servants  have  rung  the  bell. 

And  to  convince  you  that  at  least  this  youngest  of  the 
Virginians  is  still  alive,  here  is  an  authentic  copy  of  a  letter 
from  the  lady  into  whose  house  he  was  taken  after  his  fall  from 
Mr.  Will's  brute  of  a  broken-knee'd  horse,  and  in  whom  he 
appears  to  have  found  a  kind  friend. 

"TO   MRS.    ESMOND   WARRINGTON,    OF   CASTLEWOOD, 

"at     her     house     at     RICHMOND,     VIRGIXIA. 

"  If  Mrs.  Esmond  Warrington  of  Virginia  can  call  to  mind  twenty-three  years  ago,  when 
Miss  Rachel  Esmond  was  at  Kensington  Boarding  School,  she  may  perhaps  remember  Misa 
Molly  Benson,  her  class  mate,  who  has  forgotten  all  the  little  quarrels  which  they  used  to 
have  together  (in  which  Miss  Molly  was  very  often  in  the  wrong),  and  only  remembers  the 
generous^  high-spirited,  sprightly  Jl/iss  Esmo7id,  the  Princess  Pocahontas,  to  whom  so 
many  of  our  school-fellows  paid  court. 

"  Dear  Madam  !  I  can  never  forget  that  you  were  dear  Rachel  once  upon  a  time,  as  I 
was  your  dearest  Molly.  Though  we  parted  not  very  good  friends  when  you  went  home  to 
Virginia,  yet  you  know  how  fond  we  once  were.  I  still,  Rachel,  have  the  gold  etui  j^our 
papa  gave  me  when  he  came  to  our  speech-day  at  Kensington,  and  we  two  performed  the 
quarrel  of  Brutus  and  <."assius  out  of  Shakspeare  ;  and  'twas  only  yesterday  morning  I  was 
dreaming  that  we  were  both  called  up  to  say  our  lesson  before  the  a-uful Miss  Hardwood,  and 
that  I  did  not  know  it,  and  that  as  usual  Miss  Rachel  Esmond  went  above  me.  How  well 
remembered  those  old  days  are  !  How  young  we  grow  as  we  think  of  them !  I  remember 
our  walks  and  our  exercises,  our  good  King  and  Queen  as  they  walked  in  Kensington 
Gardens,  and  their  court  following  them,  whilst  we  of  Sliss  Hardwood's  school  curtseyed  in 
a  row.  I  can  tell  still  what  we  had  for  dinner  on  each  day  of  the  week,  and  point  to  the 
place  where  your  garden  was,  which  was  always  so  much  better  kept  than  mine.  So  Avas 
Miss  Esmond's  chest  of  drawers  a  model  of  neatness,  whilst  mine  were  in  a  sad  condition. 
Do  you  remember  how  we  used  to  tell  stories  in  the  dormitory,  and  Madame  Hibou,  the 
French  governess,  would  come  out  of  bed  and  interrupt  us  with  her  hooting?  Have 
you  forgot  the  poor  dancing-master,  who  told  us  he  had  been  waylaid  by  assassins,  but  wJio 
was  beaten,  it  appears,  by  my  lord  your  brother's  footmen  ?  Aly  dear,  your  cousin,  the 
Lady  Maria  Esmond  (her  papa  was,  I  think,  but  Viscount  Castlewood  in  those  times),  has 
just  been  on  a  visit  to  this  house,  where  3'ou  may  be  sure  I  did  not  recall  those  sad  times  to 
her  remembrance,  about  which  I  am  now  chattering  to  Mrs.  Esmond; 

"  Her  ladyship  has  been  staying  here,  and  another  relative  of  yours,  the  Baroness  of 
Bernstein,  and  the  two  ladies  are  both  gone  on  to  Tunbridge  Wells  ;  but  another  and  dearer 
relative  still  remains  in  my  house,  and  is  sound  asleep,  I  trust,  in  the  very  next  room,  and 
the  name  of  this  gentleman  is  Mr.  Henry  Esmond  Warrington.  Now,  do  you  understand 
how  you  co!ne  to  hear  from  an  old  friend?  Do  not  be  alarmed,  dear  Madam  !  I  know  you 
are  thinking  at  this  moment,  '  My  boy  is  ill.  That  is  why  Miss  Molly  Benson  writes  tome.' 
No,  my  dear ;  Mr.  Warrington  was  ill  yesterday,  but  to-day  he  is  very  comfortable  ;  and 
our  Doctor,  who  is  no  less  a  person  than  my  dear  husband,  Colonel  Lambert,  has  blooded 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


177 


him,  has  set  his  shoulder,  which  was  dislocated,  and  pronounces  that  in  two  days  more  3Ir. 
Warrington  will  be  quite  ready  to  take  the  road. 

"  I  fear  I  and  my  tjirls  are  sorry  that  he  ii  so  soon  to  be  well.  Yesterday  evening,  as 
we  were  at  tea,  there  came  a  great  ringing  at  our  gate,  which  disturbed  us  all,  as  the  bell 
very  seldom  sounds  in  this  quiet  place,  unless  a  passing  beggar  pulls  it  for  charity  ;  and  the 
servants,  running  out,  returned  with  the  news,  that  a  young  gentleman,  who  had  a  fall  from 
his  horse,  was  Ij'ing  lifeless  on  the  road,  surrounded  by  the  friends  in  W'hose  company  he 
was  travelling.  At  this,  my  Colonel  (who  is  sure  the  most  Samaritan  of  men !)  hastens 
away,  to  see  how  he  can  serve  the  fal;en  traveller,  and  presently,  with  the  aid  of  the 
servants,  and  followed  by  two  ladies,  brings  into  the  house  such  a  pale,  lifeless,  beautiful, 
young  man  !  Ah,  my  dear,  how  I  rejoice  to  think  that  your  child  has  found  shelter  and 
succour  under  my  roof  !  that  my  husband  has  saved  him  from  pain  and  fever,  and  has  been 
the  means  of  restoring  him  to  you  and  health  !  We  shall  be  friends  again  now,  shall  we 
not?  I  was  very  ill  last  year,  and 'twas  even  thought  I  should  die.  Do  you  know,  that  I 
often  thought  of  you  then,  and  how  you  had  parted  from  me  in  anger  so  many  years  ago  ? 
I  began  then  a  foolish  note  to  you,  which  I  was  too  sick  to  finish,  to  tell  you  that  if  I  went 
the  way  appointed  for  us  all,  I  should  wish  to  leave  the  world  in  charity  with  every  single 
being  I  had  known  in  it. 

"  Your  cousin,  the  Right  Honorable  Lady  Maria  Esmond,  showed  a  great  deal  of 
maternal  tenderness  and  concern  for  her  young  kinsman  after  his  accident.  \  am  sure  she 
hath  a  kind  heart.  The  Baroness  de  Bernstein,  who  is  of  an  advanced  age,  could  not  be 
expected  to  feel  so  keenly  as  nue  yoking  people ;  but  was,  nevertheless,  very  much  moved  and 
interested  until  Mr.  Warrington  w^as  restored  to  consciousness,  when  she  said  she  was 
anxious  to  get  on  towards  Tunbridge,  whither  she  was  bound,  and  was  afraid  of  all  things  to 
lie  in  a  place  where  there  was  no  doctor  at  hand.  JMy  yEsculapius  laughingly  said,  he  would 
not  offer  to  attend  upon  a  lady  of  quality,  though  he  would  answer  for  his  young  patient. 
Indeed,  the  Colonel,  during  his  campaigns,  has  had  plenty  of  practice  in  accidents  of  this 
nature,  and  I  am  certain,  were  we  to  call  in  all  the  faculty  for  twenty  miles  round,  Mr. 
Warrington  could  get  no  better  treatment.  So,  leaving  the  young  gentleman  to  the 
care  of  me  and  my  daughters,  the  Baroness  and  her  ladyship  took  their  leave  of  us.  the 
latter  very  loth  to  go.  When  he  is  well  enough,  my  Colonel  will  ride  with  him  as  far  as 
Westerham,  but  on  his  oiun  horses,  where  an  old  army-comrade  of  Mr.  Lambert's  resides. 
And  as  this  letter  will  not  take  the  post  for  Falmouth  until,  by  God's  blessing,  your  son  is 
well  and  perfectly  restored,  you  need  be  under  no  sort  of  alarm  for  him  whilst  under  the 
roof  of, 

"  Madam, 

"  Your  affectionate  humble  servant, 

"  Mary  Lambert. 

"  P.S.     Thursday.  „  „  ? 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  (Mr.  Warrington's  colored  gentleman  hath  informed  our  people  of 
the  gratifying  circu7nsta7ice)  that  Providence  hath  blessed  Mrs.  Esmond  with  such  vast 
wealth  and  with  an  heir  so  likely  to  do  credit  to  it.  Our  present  means  are  am.ply 
sufficient,  but  will  be  small  when  divided  amongst  our  survivors.  Ah,  dear  Madam!  I 
have  heard  of  your  calamity  of  last  year.  Though  the  Colonel  and  I  have  reared  many 
children  (five),  we  have  lost  two,  and  a  mother's  heart  can  feel  for  yours !  I  o\vn  to  you, 
mine  yearned  to  your  boy  to-day,  when  (in  a  manner  inexpressibly  affecting  to  me  and  Mr. 
Lambert)  he  mentioned  his  dear  brother.  'Tis  impossible  to  see  your  son,  and  not  to  love 
and  regard  him.  I  am  thankful  that  it  has  been  our  lot  to  succour  him  in  his  trouble,  and 
that  in  receiving  the  stranger  within  our  gates,  we  should  be  giving  hospitality  to  the  son  of 
an  old  friend." 

Nature  has  written  a  letter  of  credit  upon  some  men's  faces, 
which  is  honored  almost  wherever  presented.  Harry  Warring- 
ton's countenance  was  so  stamped  in  his  youth.  His  eyes  were 
so  bright,  his  cheek  so  red  and  healthy,  his  look  so  frank  and 
open,  that  almost  all  who  beheld  him,  nay,  even  those  who 
cheated  him,  trusted  him.  Nevertheless,  as  we  have  hinted, 
the  lad  was  by  no  means  the  artless  stripling  he  seemed  to  be. 
He  was  knowing  enough  with  all  his  blushing  cheeks  ;  perhaps 
more  wily  and  wary  than  he  grew  to  be  in  after-age.  Sure,  a 
shrewd  and  generous  man  (who  has  led  an  honest  life  and  has 
no  secret  blushes  for  his  conscience)  grows  simpler  as  he  grows 
older ;  arrives  at  his  sum  of  right  by  more  rapid  processes  of 

12 


lyg  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

calculation  :  learns  to  eliminate  false  arguments  more  readily, 
and  hits  the  mark  of  truth  with  less  previous  trouble  of  aiming 
and  disturbance  of  mind.  Or  is  it  only  a  senile  delusion,  that 
some  of  our  vanities  are  cured  with  our  growing  years,  and  that 
we  become  more  just  in  our  perceptions  of  our  own  and  our 
neighbors'  short-comings  ?  *  *  *  I  would  humbly  suggest  that 
young  people,  though  they  look  prettier,  have  larger  eyes,  and 
not  near  so  many  wrinkles  about  their  eyelids,  are  often  as 
artful  as  some  of  their  elders.  What  little  monsters  of  cunning 
your  frank  schoolboys  are  !  How  they  cheat  mamma  !  how  they 
hoodwink  papa  !  how  they  humbug  the  housekeeper !  how  they 
cringe  to  tlie  big  boy  for  whom  they  fag  at  school  !  what  a  long 
lie  and  five  years'  hypocrisy  and  flattery  is  their  conduct 
towards  Dr.  Birch  !  And  the  little  boys'  sisters  ?  Are  they 
any  better,  and  is  it  only  after  they  come  out  in  the  world  that 
the  little  darlings  learn  a  trick  or  two  1 

You  may  see,  by  the  above  letter  of  Mrs.  Lambert,  that  she, 
like  all  good  w^omen,  (and,  indeed,  almost  all  bad  women),  was 
a  sentimental  person  ;  and  as  she  looked  at  Harry  Warrington 
laid  in  her  best  bed,  after  the  Colonel  had  bled  him  and 
clapped  in  his  shoulder,  as  holding  by  her  husband's  hand  she 
beheld  the  lad  in  a  sweet  slumber,  murmuring  a  faint  inarticu- 
late word  or  two  in  his  sleep,  a  faint  blush  quivering  on  his 
cheek,  she  owned  he  was  a  pretty  lad  indeed,  and  confessed 
with  a  sort  of  compunction  that  neither  of  her  two  boys — Jack 
who  was  at  Oxford,  and  Charles  who  was  just  gone  back  to 
school  after  the  Bartlemytide  holidays — was  half  so  handsome 
as  the  Virginian.  What  a  good  figure  the  boy  had,  and  when 
papa  bled  him,  his  arm  was  as  white  as  any  lady's  ! 

"  Yes,  as  you  say,  Jack  might  have  been  as  handsome  but 

for   the    small-pox:  and  as  for  Charley "     "Always  took 

after  his  papa,  my  dear  Molly,"  said  the  Colonel,  looking  at 
his  own  honest  face  in  a  little  looking-glass  wdth  a  cut  border 
and  a  japanned  frame,  by  which  the  chief  guests  of  the  worthy 
gentleman  and  lady  had  surveyed  their  patches  and  powder,  or 
shaved  their  hospitable  beards. 

"  Did  I  say  so,  my  love  ?  "  whispered  Mrs.  Lambert,  looking 
rather  scared. 

"  No  ;  but  you  thought  so,  ]Mrs.  Lambert." 

"  How  can  you  tell  one's  thoughts  so,  Martin  ? "  asks  the 
lady. 

"  Because  I  am  a  conjuror,  and  because  you  tell  them  3'our- 
self,  my  dear,"  answered  her  husband.  ''  Don't  be  frightened: 
he  won't  wake  after  that  draught  I  gave  him.     Because  you 


THE    VIRGINIANS.  ijg 

never -see  a  young  fellow  but  you  are  comparing  him  with  your 
own.  Because  you  never  hear  of  one  but  you  are  thinking 
which  of  our  girls  he  shall  fall  in  iove  with  and  marry." 

"  Don't  be  foolish,  sir,"  says  the  lady,  putting  her  hand  up 
to  the  Colonel's  lips.  They  have  softly  trodden  out  of  their 
guest's  bed-chamber  by  this  time,  and  are  in  the  adjoining 
dressing-closet,  a  snug  little  wainscoted  room  looking  over  gar- 
dens, with  India  curtains,  more  Japan  chests  and  cabinets, 
a  treasure  of  china,  and  a  most  refreshing  odor  of  fresh  lavender. 

"  You  can't  deny  it,  Mrs.  Lambert,"  the  Colonel  resumes  ; 
''  as  you  were  looking  at  the  young  gentleman  just  now,  you 
were  thinking  to  yourself  which  of  my  girls  will  he  marry  ? 
Shall  it  be  Theo,  or  shall  it  be  Hester  ?  And  then  you  thought 
of  Lucy  who  was  at  boarding-school." 

"  There  is  no  keeping  anything  from  you,  Martin  Lambert," 
sighs  the  wife. 

''  There  is  no  keeping  it  out  of  your  eyes,  my  dear.  What 
is  this  burning  desire  all  you  women  have  for  selling  and 
marrying  3^our  daughters  ?  We  men  don't  wish  to  part  with  'em. 
I  am  sure,  for  my  part,  I  should  not  like  yonder  young  fellow 
half  as  well  if  I  thought  he  intended  to  carry  one  of  my  darlings 
av/ay  with  him." 

"  Sure,  Martin,  I  have  been  so  happy  myself,"  says  the 
fond  wife  and  mother,  looking  at  her  husband  with  her  very 
best  eyes,  "  that  I  must  wish  my  girls  to  do  as  I  have  done,  and 
be  happy,  too." 

"  Then  you  think  good  husbands  are  common,  Mrs.  Lambert, 
and  that  you  may  walk  any  day  into  the  road  before  the  house 
and  find  one  shot  out  at  the  gate  like  a  sack  of  coals  ? " 

"  Wasn't  it  providential,  sir,  that  this  young  gentleman 
should  be  thrown  over  his  horse's  head  at  our  very  gate,  and 
that  he  should  turn  out  to  be  the  son  of  my  old  schoolfellow 
and  friend  ?  "  asked  the  wife.  "  There  is  something  more 
than  accident  in  such  cases,  depend  upon  that,  Mr.  Lambert !  " 

"  And  this  was  the  stranger  you  saw  in  the  candle  three 
nights  running,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  And  in  the  fire,  too,  sir  ;  twice  a  coal  jumped  out  close  by 
Theo.  You  may  sneer,  sir,  but  these  things  are  no^  to  be  de- 
spised. Did  I  not  see  you  distinctly  coming  back  from  Minorca, 
and  dream  of  you  at  the  \'ery  day  and  hour  when  you  were 
in  Scotland  ?  " 

''  How  many  times  have  you  seen  me  wounded,  when  I  had 
not  a  scratch,  my  dear  ?  How  many  times  have  you  seen  me 
ill  when  I  had  no  sort  of  hurt }     You  are  always  prophesying, 


i8o  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

and  'twere  very  hard  on  you  if  you  were  not  sometimes  right. 
Come  !  Let  us  leave  our  guest  asleep,  comfortably,  and  go 
down  and  give  the  girls  their  French  lesson." 

So  saying,  the  honest  gentleman  put  his  wife's  arm  under 
his,  and  they  descended  together  the  broad  oak  staircase  of  the 
comfortable  old  hall,  round  which  hung  the  effigies  of  many 
foregone  Lamberts,  worthy  magistrates,  soldiers,  country  gentle- 
men, as  w^as  the  Colonel  whose  acquaintance  we  have  just 
made.  The  Colonel  was  a  gentleman  of  pleasant,  waggish 
humor.  The  French  lesson  which  he  and  his  daughters 
conned  together  was  a  scene  out  of  Monsieur  Moliere's  comedy 
of  "  Tartuffe,"  and  papa  w'as  pleased  to  be  very  facetious  with 
Miss  Theo,  by  calhng  her  Madam,  and  by  treating  her  with  a 
great  deal  of  mock  resjoect  and  ceremony.  The  girls  read  to- 
gether with  their  father  a  scene  or  two  of  his  favorite  author 
(nor  were  they  less  modest  in  those  days,  though  their  tongues 
were  a  little  more  free),  and  papa  was  particularly  arch  and 
funny  as  he  read  from  Orgon's  part  in  that  celebrated  play  : 

Orgon.     Or  sus,  nous  voila  bien.     J'ai,  Mariane,  en  vous 
Reconnu  de  tout  temps  un  esprit  assez  doux, 
Et  de  tout  temps  aussi  vous  m'avez  ete  chere. 
Mariane.     Je  suis  fort  redevable  a  cet  amour  de  pere. 

Orgon.     Fort  bien.     Que  dites-vous  de  Tartuffe  notre  bote  ? 
Mariane.     Qui  ?     Moi  ? 

Orgon.     Vous.     Voyez  bien  comme  vous  repondrez. 
IStARiAXE.     Helas!     J'en  dirai,  moi,  tout  ce  que  vous  voudrez ! 
{_Madeinoiselle  Mariane  hiKghs  atid  blushes  /«  spite  of  herse/f,  whilst  reading  this  line .) 
Okgon.     C'est  parler  sagement.     Dites  moi  done,  ma  fille, 
Qu'en  toute  sa  personne  un  haut  merite  brille, 
Qu'il  touche  votre  coeur,  et  qu'il  vous  seroit  doux 
De  le  voir  par  men  choix  devenir  votre  epoux ! 

"  Have  we  not  read  the  scene  prettily,  Elmire  ?  "  says  the 
Colonel,  laughing,  and  turning  round  to  his  wife. 

Elmira  prodigiously  admired  Orgon's  reading,  and  so  did  his 
daughters,  and  almost  everything  besides  which  Mr.  Lambert 
said  or  did.  Canst  thou,  O  friendly  reader,  count  upon  the 
fidelity  of  an  artless  and  tender  heart  or  two,  and  reckon 
among  the  blessings  which  heaven  hath  bestowed  on  thee  the 
love  of  faithful  women  ?  Purify  thine  own  heart,  and  try  to 
make  it  worthy  theirs.  On  thy  knees,  on  thy  knees,  give 
thanks  for  the  blessing  awarded  thee  !  All  the  prizes  of  life  are 
nothing  compared  to  that  one.  All  the  rewards  of  ambition, 
wealth,  pleasure,  only  vanity  and  disappointment — grasped  at 
greedily  and  fought  for  fiercely,  and,  over  and  over  again, 
found  worthless  by  the  weary  winners.  But  love  seems  to 
survive  life  and  to  reach  beyond  it.-  I  think  we  take  it  with  us 
past  the  grave.     Do  ^ve  not  still  give  it  to  those  who  have  left 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  i8i 

US  ?  May  we  not  hope  that  they  feel  it  for  us,  and  that  we 
shall  leave  it  here  in  one  or  two  fond  bosoms,  when  we  also 
are  gone  ? 

And  whence,  or  how,  or  why,  pray,  this  sermon  ?  You  see 
I  know  more  about  this  Lambert  family  than  you  do  to  whom 
I  am  just  representing  them  :  as  how  should  you  who  never 
heard  of  them  before  ?  You  may  not  like  my  friends ;  very 
few  people  do  like  strangers  to  whom  they  are  presented  with 
an  outrageous  flourish  of  praises  on  the  part  of  the  introducer. 
You  say  (quite  naturally)  wdiat  ?  Is  this  all  ?  Are  these  the  people 
he  is  so  fond  of  ?  Why,  the  girl's  not  a  beauty — the  mother  is 
good-natured,  and  may  have  been  good-looking  once,  but  she 
has  no  trace  of  it  now — and,  as  for  the  father,  he  is  quite  an 
ordinary  man.  Granted  :  but  don't  you  acknowledge  that  the 
sight  of  an  honest  man,  with  an  honest,  loving  wife  by  his  side, 
and  surrounded  by  loving  and  obedient  children,  presents 
something  very  sweet  and  affecting  to  you  ?  If  you  are  made 
acquainted  with  such  a  person,  and  see  the  eager  kindness  of 
the  fond  faces  round  about  him,  and  that  pleasant  confidence 
and  affection  which  beams  from  his  own,  do  you  mean  to  say 
you  are  not  touched  and  gratified  ?  If  you  happen  to  stay  in 
such  a  man's  house,  and  at  morning  or  evening  see  him  and  his 
children  and  domestics  gathered  together  in  a  certain  name,  do 
you  not  join  humbly  in  the  petitions  of  those  servants,  and  close 
them  with  a  reverend  Amen  ?  That  first  night  of  his  stay  at 
Oakhurst,  Harry  Warrington,  who  had  had  a  sleeping  potion, 
and  was  awake  sometimes  rather  feverish,  thought  he  heard 
the  evening  hymn,  and  that  his  dearest  brother  George  was 
singing  it  at  home,  in  which  delusion  the  patient  went  off  again 
to  sleep. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

IN    HOSPITAL. 


Sinking  into  a  sweet  slumber,  and  lulled  by  those  harmo- 
nious sounds,  our  young  patient  passed  a  night  of  pleasant 
unconsciousness,  and  awoke  in  the  morning  to'  find  a  summer 
sun  streaming  in  at  the  window,  and  his  kind  host  and  hostess 
smiling  at  his  bed-curtains.  He  was  ravenously  hungry,  and 
his  doctor  permitted  him  straightway  to  partake  of  a  mess  of 


I82 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


chicken,  which  the  doctor's  wife  told  him  had  been  prepared 
by  the  hands  of  one  of  her  daughters. 

One  of  her  daughters  ?  A  faint  image  of  a  young  person — ■ 
of  two  young  persons — with  red  cheeks  and  black  waving 
locks,  smiling  round  his  couch,  and  suddenly  departing  thence, 
soon  after  he  had  come  to  himself,  arose  in  the  young  man's 
mind.  Then,  then,  there  returned  the  remembrance  of  a  female 
—  lovely,  it  is   true,  but  more  elderly — certainly  considerably 

older — and  with  f .     O  horror  and  remorse  !     He  writhed 

with  anguish,  as  a  certain  recollection  crossed  him.  An  im- 
mense gulf  of  time  gaped  between  him  and  the  past.  How 
long  ^vas  it  since  he  had  heard  that  those  pearls  were  artificial, 
— that  those  golden  locks  were  only  pinchbeck  ?  A  long,  long 
time  ago,  when  he  was  a  boy,  an  innocent  boy.  Now  he  was  a 
man, — quite  an  old  man.  He  had  been  bled  copiously ;  he 
had  a  little  fever ;  he  had  had  nothing  to  eat  for  very  many 
hours  ;  he  had  had  a  sleeping-draught,  and  a  long,  deep  slum- 
ber after. 

''  What  is  it,  my  dear  child  ? "  cries  kind  Mrs.  Lambert,  as 
he  started. 

"  Nothing,  Madam  ;  a  twinge  in  my  shoulder,"  said  the  lad. 
"  I  speak  to  my  host  and  hostess  ?  Sure  you  have  been  very 
kind  to  me." 

"  We  are  old  friends,  Mr.  Warrington.  My  husband,  Colonel 
Lambert,  knew  your  father,  and  I  and  your  mamma  were 
school-girls  together  at  Kensington.  You  were  no  stranger  to 
us  when  your  aunt  and  cousin  told  us  who  you  were." 

"  Are  they  here .?"  asked  Harry,  looking  a  little  blank. 

"  They  must  have  lain  at  Tunbridge  Wells  last  night.  They 
sent  a  horseman  from  Reigate  yesterday  for  news  of  you." 

"  Ah  !  I  remember,"  says  Harry,  looking  at  his  bandaged 
arm. 

"  I  have  made  a  good  cure  of  you,  Mr.  Warrington.  And 
now  Mrs.  Lambert  and  the  cook  must  take  charge  of  you." 

"  Nay.  Theo  prepared  the  chicken  and  rice,  Mr.  Lambert," 
said  the  lady.  "  Will  Mr.  Vv'arrington  get  up  after  he  has  had 
his  breakfast  t     We  will  send  your  valet  to  you." 

"  If  howling  proves  fidelity,  your  man  must  be  a  most  fond, 
attached  creature,"  says  Mr.  Lambert. 

"  He  let  your  baggage  travel  off  after  all  in  your  aunt's 
carriage,"  said  Mrs.  Lambert.  "  You  must  wear  my  husband's 
linen,  which,  I  dare  say,  is  not  so  fine  as  yours." 

"  Pish,  my  dear !  my  shirts  are  good  shirts  enough  for  any 
Christian,"  cries  the  Colonel. 


THE   VIRGIiYIANS.  183 

"  They  are  Theo's  and  Hester's  work,'*  says  mamma.  At 
which  her  husband  arches  his  eyebrows  and  looks  at  her. 
"  And  Theo  hath  rip^Ded  and  sewed  your  sleeve  to  make  it 
quite  comfortable  for  your  shoulder,"  the  lady  added. 

"  What  beautiful  roses  ! "  cries  Harry,  looking  at  a  fine 
china  vase  full  of  them  that  stood  on  the  toilet-table,  under  the 
japan-framed  glass. 

"  My  daughter,  Theo,  cut  them  this  morning.  Well,  Mr. 
Lambert  ?     She  did  cut  them  !  " 

I  suppose  the  Colonel  was  thinking  that  his  wife  introduced 
Theo  too  much  into  the  conversation,  and  trod  on  ]\'Irs.  Lam- 
bert's slipper,  or  pulled  her  robe,  or  otherwise  nudged  her  into 
a  sense  of  propriety. 

"And  I  fancied  I  heard  some  one  singing  the  Evening 
Hymn  very  sweetly  last  night — or  was  it  only  a  dream  .'*  "  asked 
the  young  patient. 

"  Theo  again,  Mr.  Warrington  ! "'  said  the  Colonel,  laughing. 
"  My  servants  said  your  negro  man  began  to  sing  it  in  the 
kitchen  as  if  he  was  a  church  organ." 

"  Our  people  sing  it  at  home,  sir.  My-  grandpapa  used  to 
love  it  very  much.  His  wife's  father  was  a  great  friend  of 
good  Bishop  Ken  who  wrote  it ;  and — and  my  dear  brother 
used  to  love  it  too,"  said  the  boy,  his  voice  dropping. 

It  was  then,  I  suppose,  that  Mrs.  Lambert  felt  inclined  to 
give  the  boy  a  kiss.  His  little  accident,  illness  and  recovery, 
the  kindness  of  the  people  round  about  him,  had  softened  Harry 
Warrington's  heart,  and  opened  it  to  better  influences  than 
those  which  had  been  brought  to  bear  on  it  for  some  six  weeks 
past.  He  was  breathing  a  purer  air  than  that  tainted  atmos- 
phere of  selfishness,  and  worldliness,  and  corruption,  into 
which  he  had  been  plunged  since  his  arrival  in  England. 
Sometimes  the  young  man's  fate,  or  choice,  or  weakness,  leads 
him  into  the  fellowship  of  the  giddy  and  vain  ;  happy  he,  whose 
lot  makes  him  acquainted  with  the  wiser  company,  whose  lamps 
are  trimmed,  and  whose  pure  hearts  keep  modest  watch. 

The  pleased  matron  left  her  young  patient  devouring  Miss 
Theo's  mess  of  rice  and  chicken,  and  the  Colonel  seated  by  the 
lad's  bedside.  Gratitude  to  his  hospitable  entertainers,  and 
contentment  after  a  comfortable  meal,  caused  in  j\Ir.  Warring- 
ton a  very  pleasant  condition  of  mind  and  body.  He  was  ready 
to  talk  now  more  freely  than  usually  was  his  custom  ;  for,  unless 
excited  by  a  strong  interest  or  emotion,  the  young  man  was 
commonly  taciturn  and  cautious  in  his  converse  with  his  fellows, 
and  was  by  no  means  of  an  imaginative  turn.     Of  books  our 


i84 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


youth  had  been  but  a  very  remiss  student,  nor  were  his  remarks 
on  such  simple  works  as  he  had  read  very  profound  or  \'aluablc  ; 
but  regarding  dogs,  horses,  and  the  ordinary  business  of  hfe, 
he  was  a  far  better  critic  ;  and,  with  any  person  interested  in 
such  subjects,  conversed  on  them  freely  enough. 

Harry's  host,  who  had  considerable  shrewdness,  and  exiDe- 
rience  of  books,  and  cattle,  and  men,  was  pretty  soon  able  to 
take  the  measure  of  his  young  guest  in  the  talk  which  they  now 
had  together.  It  was  now,  for  the  first  time,  the  Virginian 
learned  that  Mrs.  Lambert  had  been  an  early  friend  of  his 
mother's,  and  that  the  Colonel's  own  father  had  served  with 
Harry's  grandfather.  Colonel  Esmond,  in  the  famous  wars  of 
Queen  Anne.  He  found  himself  in  a  friend's  country.  He 
was  soon  at  ease  with  his  honest  host,  whose  manners  were 
quite  simple  and  cordial,  and  he  looked  and  seemed  perfectly 
a  gentleman,  though  he  wore  a  plain  fustian  coat,  and  a  waist- 
coat without  a  particle  of  lace. 

"  My  boys  are  both  away,"  said  Harry's  host,  "  or  they 
would  have  shown  you  the  country  when  you  got  up,  Mr.  War- 
rington. Now  you  can  only  have  the  company  of  my  wife  and  her 
daughters.  Mrs.  Lambert  hath  told  you  already  about  one  o^ 
them,  Theo,  our  eldest,  who  made  your  broth,  \\\\o  cut  your 
roses,  and  who  mended  your  coat.  She  is  not  such  a  wonder 
as  her  mother  imagines  her  to  be  ;  but  little  Theo  is  a  smart 
little  housekeeper,  and  a  very  good  and  cheerful  lass,  though 
her  father  says  it." 

"  It  is  very  kind  of  Miss  Lambert  to  take  so  much  care  for 
me,"  says  the  young  patient. 

"  She  is  no  kinder  to  you  than  to  any  other  mortal,  and 
doth  but  her  duty."  Here  the  Colonel  smiled.  "  I  laugh  at 
their  mother  for  praising  our  children,"  he  said,  "  and  I  think  I 
am  as  foolish  about  them  myself.  The  truth  is,  God  hath  given 
us  very  good  and  dutiful  children,  and  I  see  no  reason  why  I 
should  disguise  my  thankfulness  for  such  a  blessing.  You  have 
never  a  sister,  I  think  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,  I  am  alone  now,"  Mr,  Warrington  said. 

'•  Ay,  truly,  I  ask  your  pardon  for  my  thoughtlessness. 
Your  man  hath  told  our  people  what  befell  last  year.  I  served 
with  Braddock  in  Scotland  ;  and  hope  he  mended'  before  he 
died.  A  wild  fellow,  sir,  but  there  was  a  fund  of  truth  about 
the  man,  and  no  little  kindness  under  his  rough  swaggering 
manner.  Your  blaek  fellow  talks  ver}^  freely  about  his  master 
and  his  affairs.  I  suppose  you  permit  him  these  freedoms  as 
he  rescued  you " 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  igr 

"  Rescued  7?ie  /  "  cries  Mr.  Warrington, 

"  From  ever  so  many  Indians  on  that  very  expedition.  My 
Molly  and  I  did  not  know  we*  were  going  to  entertain  so  pro- 
digiously wealthy  a  gentleman.  He  saith  that  half  Virginia 
belongs  to  you ;  but  if  the  whole  of  North  America  were  yours, 
we  could  but  give  you  our  best." 

"  Those  negro  boys,  sir,  lie  like  the  father  of  all  lies.  They 
think  it  is  for  our  honor  to  represent  us  as  ten  times  as  rich  as 
we  are.  My  mother  has  what  would  be  a  vast  estate  in  Eng- 
land, and  is  a  very  good  one  at  home.  We  are  as  well  off  as 
most  of  our  neighbors,  sir,  but  no  better  ;  and  all  our  splendor 
is  in  Mr.  Gumbo's  foolish  imagination.  He  never  rescued  me 
from  an  Indian  in  his  life,  and  would  run  away  at  the  sight  of 
one,  as  my  poor  brother's  boy  did  on  that  fatal  day  when  he 
fell." 

"The  bravest  man  will  do  so  at  unlucky  times,"  said  the 
Colonel.  "  I  myself  saw  the  best  troops  in  the  world  run  at 
Preston,  before  a  ragged  mob  of  Highland  savages." 

"  That  was  because  the  Highlanders  fought  for  a  good 
cause,  sir." 

"  Do  you  think,"  asks  Harry's  host,  "that  the  French  In- 
dians had  the  good  cause  in  the  fight  of  last  year  t  " 

"  The  scoundrels  !  I  would  have  the  scalp  of  every  mur- 
derous redskin  among  'em  !  "  cried  Harry,  clenching  his  fist. 
''  They  were  robbing  and  invading  the  British  territories,  too. 
But  the  Highlanders  were  fighting  for  their  king." 

"  We,  on  our  side,  were  fighting  for  our  king  ;  and  we  ended 
by  winning  the  battle,"  said  the  Colonel,  laughing. 

"  Ah  ! "  cried  Harry,  "  if  his  Royal  Highness  the  Prince 
had  not  turned  back  at  Derby,  your  king  and  mine,  now,  would 
be  his  Majesty  King  James  the  Third !  " 

"  Who  made  such  a  Tory  of  you,  Mr.  Warrington  ?  "  asked 
Lambert. 

"  Nay,  sir,  the  Esmonds  were  always  loyal !  "  answered  the 
youth.  "  Had  we  lived  at  home,  and  twenty  years  sooner, 
brother  and  I  often  and  often  agreed  that  our  heads  would  have 
been  in  danger.  We  certainly  would  have  staked  them  for  the 
king's  cause." 

"  Yours  is  better  on  your  shoulders  than  on  a  pole  at  Tem- 
ple Bar.  I  have  seen  them  there,  and  they  don't  look  very 
pleasant,  Mr.  Warrington." 

"  I  shall  take  off  my  hat,  and  salute  them,  whenever  I  pass 
the  gate,"  cried  the  young  man,  "  if  the  king  and  the  whole 
court  are  standing  by  !  " 


1 86  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

"  I  doubt  whether  your  relative,  my  Lord  Castlewood,  is  as 
staunch  a  supporter  of  the  king  over  the  water,"  said  Colonel 
Lambert,  smiling  •  "  or  your  aunt,  the  Baroness  of  Bernstein, 
who  left  you  in  our  charge.  Whatever  her  old  partialities  may 
have  been,  she  has  repented  of  them  ;  she  has  rallied  to  our 
side,  landed  her  nephews  in  the  Household,  and  looks  to  find 
a  suitable  match  for  her  nieces.  If  you  have  Tory  opinions, 
Mr.  Warrington,  take  an  old  soldier's  advice,  and  keep  them  to 
yourself." 

"  Why,  sir,  I  do  not  think  that  you  will  betray  me  !  "  said 
the  boy. 

"  Not  I,  but  others  might.  You  did  not  talk  in  this  way  at 
Castlewood  ?  I  mean  the  old  Castlewood  which  you  have  just 
come  from." 

"  I  might  be  safe  amongst  my  own  kinsmen,  surely,  sir  !  " 
cried  Harry. 

"  Doubtless.  I  would  not  say  no.  But  a  man's  own  kins- 
men can  play  him  slippery  tricks  at  times,  and  he  finds  himself 
none  the  better  for  trusting  them.  I  mean  no  offence  to  you 
or  any  of  your  family  ;  but  lacqueys  have  ears  as  well  as  their 
masters,  and  they  carry  about  all  sorts  of  stories.  For  instance, 
your  black  fellow  is  ready  to  tell  all  he  knows  about  you,  and  a 
great  deal  more  besides,  as  it  would  appear." 

"  Hath  he  told  about  the  broken-knee'd  horse  ?  "  cried  out 
Harry,  turning  very  red. 

"  To  say  truth,  my  groom  seemed  to  know  something  of  the 
story,  and  said  it  was  a  shame  a  gentleman  should  sell  another 
such  a  brute  ;  let  alone  a  cousin.  I  am  not  here  to  play  the 
Mentor  to  you,  or  to  carry  about  servants'  tittle-tattle.  When 
you  have  seen  more  of  your  cousins,  you  will  form  your  own 
opinion  of  them  ;  meanwhile,  take  an  old  soldier's  advice,  I  say 
again,  and  be  cautious  v/ith  whom  you  deal,  and  what  you  say." 

Very  soon  after  this  little  colloquy,  Mr.  Lambert's  guest 
rose,  with  the  assistance  of  Gumbo,  his  valet,  to  whom  he,  for 
a  hundredth  time  at  least,  promised  a  sound  caning  if  ever  he 
should  hear  that  Gumbo  had  ventured  to  talk  about  his  affairs 
again  in  the  servants'-hall — which  prohibition  Gumbo  solemnly 
vowed  and  declared  he  would  for  ever  obey  ;  but  I  dare  say  he 
was  chattering  the  whole  of  the  Castlewood  secrets  to  his  new 
friends  of  Colonel  Lambert's  kitchen ;  for  Harry's  hostess  cer- 
tainly heard  a  number  of  stories  concerning  him  which  she 
could  not  prevent  her  housekeeper  from  telling;  though  of 
course  I  would  not  accuse  that  worthy  lady,  or  any  of  her  sex 
or  ours,  of  undue  curiosity  regarding  their  neighbors'  affairs. 


THE   VIRGIiXIANS.  187 

But  how  can  you  prevent  servants  talking,  or  listening  when 
the  faithful  attached  creatures  talk  to  you  ? 

Mr.  Lambert's  house  stood  on  the  outskirts  of  the  little 
town  of  Oakhurst;  which,  if  he  but  travels  in  the  right  direction, 
the  patient  reader  will  find  on  the  road  between  Farnham  and 
Reigate, — and  Madame  Bernstein's  servants  naturally  pulled  at 
the  first  bell  at  hand,  when  the  young  A^irginian  met  with  his 
mishap.  A  few  hundred  yards  further,  was  the  long  street  of 
the  little  old  town,  where  hospitality  might  have  been  found 
under  the  great  swinging  ensigns  of  a  couple  of  inns,  and  medi- 
cal relief  was  to  be  had,  as  a  blazing  gilt  pestal  and  mortar  in- 
dicated. But  what  surgeon  could  have  ministered  more  cleverly 
to  a  patient  than  Harry's  host,  who  tended  him  without  a  fee, 
or  what  Boniface  could  make  him  more  comfortably  welcome  ? 

Two  tall  gates,  each  surmounted  by  a  couple  of  heraldic 
monsters,  led  from  the  high-road  up  to  a  neat,  broad  stone  ter- 
race, whereon  stood  Oakhurst  House  ;  a  square  brick  building, 
with  windovv^s  faced  with  stone,  and  many  high  chimneys,  and 
a  tall  roof  surmounted  by  a  fair  balustrade.  Behind  the  house 
stretched  a  large  garden,  where  there  was  plenty  of  room  for 
cabbages  as  well  as  roses  to  grow.;  and  before  the  mansion, 
separated  from  it  by  the  high-road,_  was  a  field  of  many  acres, 
where  the  Colonel's  cows  and  horses  were  at  grass.  Over  the 
centre  window  was  a  carved  shield  supported  by  the  same  mon- 
sters who  pranced  or  ramped  upon  the  entrance-gates  ;  and  a 
coronet  over  the  shield.  The  fact  is,  that  the  house  had  been 
originally  the  jointure-house  of  Oakhurst  Castle,  which  stood 
hard  by, — its  chimneys  and  turrets  appearing  over  the  sur- 
rounding woods,  now  bronzed  with  the  darkest  foliage  of  sum- 
mer. Mr.  Lambert's  was  the  greatest  house  in  Oakhurst  town  \ 
but  the  Castle  was  of  more  importance  than  all  the  town  put 
together.  The  Castle  and  the  jointure-house  had  been  friends 
of  many  years'  date.  Their  fathers  had  fought  side  by  side  in 
Queen  Anne's  wars.  There  were  two  small  pieces  of  ordnance 
on  the  terrace  of  the  jointure-house,  and  six  before  the  Castle, 
which  had  been  taken  out  of  the  same  privateer,  which  Mr. 
Lambert  and  his  kinsman  and  commander.  Lord  Wrotham,  had 
brousfht  into  Harwich  in  one  of  their  vova2:es  home  from  Flan- 
ders  with  despatches  from  the  Great  Duke. 

His  toilet  completed  with  Mr.  Gumbo's  aid,  his  fair  hair 
neatly  dressed  by  that  artist,  and  his  open  ribboned  sleeve  and 
wounded  shoulder  supported  by  a  handkerchief  v^hich  hung 
from  his  neck,  Hariy  Warrington  made  his  way  out  of  his  sick 
chamber,  preceded  by  his  kind  host,  who  led  him  first   down  a 


i88  THE  VIRGINIANS. 

broad  oak  stair,  round  which  hung  many  pikes  and  muskets  of 
ancient  shape,  and  so  into  a  square  marble  jDaved  room,  from 
which  the  Hving-rooms  of  the  house  branched  off.  'i'here  were 
more  arms  in  this  hall — pikes  and  halberts  of  ancient  date, 
pistols  and  jack-boots  of  more  than  a  century  old,  that  had 
done  service  in  Cromwell's  wars,  a  tattered  French  guidon 
which  had  been  borne  by  a  French  gendarme  at  Malplaquet, 
and  a  pair  of  cumbrous  Highland  broadswords,  which,  having 
been  carried  as  far  as  Derby,  had  been  flung  away  on  the  fatal 
field  of  CuUoden.  Here  were  breastplates  and  black  morions 
of  Oliver's  troopers,  and  portraits  of  stern  warriors  in  buff  jer- 
kins and  plain  bands  and  short  hair.  "  They  fought  against 
your  grandfathers  and  King  Charles,  Air.  Warrington,"  said 
Harry's  host.  "  I  don't  hide  that.  They  rode  to  join  the 
Prince  of  Orange  at  Exeter.  We  were  Whigs,  young  gentleman, 
and  something  more.  John  Lambert,  the  Major-General,  was 
a  kinsman  of  our  house,  and  we  were  all  more  or  less  partial  to 
short  hair  and  long  sermons.  You  do  not  seem  to  like  either  ?  " 
Indeed,  Harry's  face  manifested  signs  of  anything  but  pleasure 
whilst  he  examined  the  portraits  of  the  Parliamentary  heroes, 
'^  Be  not  alarmed,  we  are  very  good  Churchmen  now.  My 
eldest  son  will  be  in  orders  ere  long.  He  is  now  travelling  as 
governor  to  my  Lord  Wrotham's  son  in  Italy,  and  as  for  our 
women,  they  are  all  for  the  Church,  and  carry  me  with  'em. 
Every  woman  is  a  Tory  at  heart.  Mr.  Pope  says  a  rake,  but  I 
think  t'other  is  the  more  charitable  word.  Come,  let  us  go  see 
them."  And  flinging  open  the  dark  oak  door,  Colonel  Lambert 
led  his  young  guest  into  the  parlor  where  the  ladies  were  as- 
sembled. 

"  Here  is  Miss  Hester,"  said  the  Colonel,  "  and  this  is  Miss 
Theo,  the  soup-maker,  the  tailoress,  the  harpsichord  player,  and 
the  songstress,  who  set  you  to  sleep  last  night.  Make  a  curtsey 
to  the  gentleman,  young  ladies  !  Oh,  I  forgot,  and  Theo  is  the 
mistress  of  the  roses  which  you  admired  a  short  while  since  in 
your  bedroom.  I  think  she  has  kept  some  of  them  in  her 
cheeks." 

In  fact.  Miss  Theo  was  making  a  profound  curtsey  and 
blushing  most  modestly  as  her  papa  spoke.  I  am  not  going  to 
describe  her  person, — though  we  shall  see  a  great  deal  of  her 
in  the  course  of  this  history.  She  was  not  a  particular  beauty. 
Harry  Warrington  was  not  over  head  and  ears  in  love  with  her 
at  an  instant's  warning,  and  faithless  to — to  that  other  individ- 
ual with  whom,  as  we  have  seen,  the  youth  had  lately  been  smit- 
ten.    Miss  Theo  had  kind  eyes  and   a    sweet  voice  ;  a  ruddy 


THE  VIRGINIANS.  189 

freckled  cheek  and  a  round  white  neck,  on  which,  out  of  a  Httle 
cap  such  as  misses  wore  in  those  times,  fell  rich  curling  clusters 
of  dark  brown  hair.  She  was  not  a  delicate  or  sentimental- 
looking  person.  Her  anus,  which  were  worn  bare  from  the 
elbow  like  other  ladies'  arms  in  those  days,  were  very  jolly  and 
red.  Her  feet  were  not  so  miraculously  small  but  that  you 
could  see  them  without  a  telescope.  There  was  nothing  waspish 
about  her  waist.  This  young  person  was  sixteen  years  of  age, 
and  looked  older.  I  don't  know  what  call  she  had  to  blush  so 
when  she  made  her  curtsey  to  the  stranger.  It  was  such  a  deep 
ceremonial  curtsey  as  you  never  see  at  present.  She  and  her 
sister  both  made  these  "  cheeses  "  in  compliment  to  the  new 
comer,  and  with  much  stately  agility. 

As  Miss  Theo  rose  up  out  of  this  salute,  her  papa  tapped 
her  under  the  chin  (which  was  of  the  double  sort  of  chins),  and 
laughingly  hummed  out  the  line  which  he  had  read  the  day 
before.     "  Eh  bien  !  que  dites-vous,  fnajtlle,  de  notre  hote  ?  " 

"  Nonsense,  Mr.  Lambert !  "  cries  mamma. 
.    "  Nonsense   is   sometimes   the  best  kind   of   sense   in   the 
world,"  said  Colonel  Lambert.     His  guest  looked  puzzled. 

''  Are  you  fond  of  nonsense  ?  "  the  Colonel  continued  to 
Harry,  seeing  by  the  boy's  face  that  the  latter  had  no  great 
love  or  comprehension  of  his  favorite  humor.  "  We  consume 
a  vast  deal  of  it  in  this  house.  Rabelais  is  my  favorite  reading. 
My  wife  is  all  for  Mr.  Fielding  and  Theophrastus.  I  think 
Theo  prefers  Tom  Brown,  and  Miss  Hetty  here  loves  Dean 
Swift." 

''  Our  papa  is  talking  what  he  loves,"  says  Miss  Hetty. 

"  And  what  is  that,  Miss  1  "  asks  the  father  of  his  second 
daughter. 

"  Sure,  sir,  you  said  yourself  it  was  nonsense,"  answers  the 
young  lady,  with  a  saucy  toss  of  her  head. 

"  Which  of  them  do  you  like  best,  Mr.  Warrington  1  "  asked 
the  honest  Colonel. 

"  Which  of  whom,  sir  ?  " 

"The  Curate  of  Meudon,  or  the  Dean  of  St.  Patrick's,  or 
honest  Tom,  or  Mr.  Fielding.^  " 

"  And  what  were  they,' sir  1  " 

"  They  !     Why,  they  wrote  books." 

"  Indeed,  sir.  I  never  heard  of  either  one  of  'em,"  said 
Harr)^,  hanging  down  his  head.  "  I  fear  my  book  learning  was 
neglected  at  home,  sir.  My  brother  had  read  every  book  that 
ever  was  wrote,  I  think.  He  could  have  talked  to  you  about 
'em  for  hours  together." 


tgo 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


With  this  httle  speech  Mrs.  Lambert's  eyes  turned  to  her 
daughter,  and  Miss  Theo  cast  hers  down  and  blushed. 

"  Never  mind,  honesty  is  better  than  boolvS  any  day,  Mr. 
Warrington  !"  cried  the  jolly  Colonel.  "You  may  go  through 
the  world  very  honorably  without  reading  any  of  the  books  I 
have  been  talking  of,  and  some  of  them  might  give  you  more 
pleasure  than  profit." 

"  I  know  more  about  horses  and  dogs  than  Greek  and  Latin, 
sir.     We  most  of  us  do  in  Virginia,"  said  Mr.  Warrington. 

"You  are  like  the  Persians;  you  can  ride  and  speak  the 
truth." 

"  Are  the  Prussians  very  good  on  horseback,  sir  ?  I  hope 
I  shall  see  their  king  and  a  campaign  or  two,  either  with  'em 
or  against  'em,"  remarked  Colonel  Lambert's  guest.  V/hy  did 
Miss  Theo  look  at  her  mother,  and  w^hy  did  that  good  woman's 
face  assume  a  sad  expression  t 

Why  ?  Because  young  lasses  are  bred  in  humdrum  country 
towns,  do  you  suppose  they  never  indulge  in  romances  .'*  Because 
they  are  modest  and  have  never  quitted  mother's  apron,  do  you 
suppose  they  have  no  thoughts  of  their  own  .?  What  happens 
in  spite  of  all  those  precautions  w^hich  the  King  and  Queen  take 
for  their  darling  princess,  those  dragons,  and  that  impenetrable 
forest,  and  that  castle  of  steel  ?  The  faiiy  prince  penetrates 
the  imjDenetrable  forest,  finds  the  weak  point  in  the  dragon's 
scale  armor,  and  gets  the  better  of  all  the  ogres  ^vho  guard  the 
castle  of  steel.  Away  goes  the  princess  to  him.  She  knew 
him  at  once.  Her  band-boxes  and  portmanteaux  are  filled 
wuth  her  best  clothes  and  all  her  jewels.  She  has  been  ready 
ever  so  long. 

That  is  in  fairy  tales,  you  understand — where  the  blessed 
hour  and  youth  always  arrive,  the  ivor^^  horn  is  blow^n  at  the 
castle-gate  ;  and  far  off  in  her  beauteous  bower  the  princess 
hears  it,  and  starts  up,  and  know^s  that  there  is  the  right  cham- 
pion. He  is  always  ready.  Look  !  how  the  giants'  heads 
tumble  off  as,  falchion  in  hand,  he  gallops  over  the  bridge  on  his 
white  charger !  How  should  that  virgin,  locked  up  in  that  in- 
accessible fortress,  -where  she  has  never  seen  any  man  that  was 
not  eighty,  or  hump-backed,  or  her  father,  know  that  there  were 
such  beings  in  the  world  as  young  men  ?  I  suppose  there's  an 
instinct.  I  suppose  there's  a  season.  I  never  spoke  for  my 
part  to  a  fairy  princess,  or  heard  as  much  from  any  unenchanted 
or  enchanting  maiden.  Ne'er  a  one  of  them  has  ever  w^hispered 
her  pretty  little  secrets  to  me,  or  perhaps  confessed  them  to 
herself,  her  mamma,  or  her  nearest  and  dearest  confidante. 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  i^i 

But  they  mill  fall  in  love.  Their  little  hearts  are  constantly 
throbbing  at  the  window  of  expectancy  on  the  look-out  for  the 
champion.  They  are  always  hearing  his  horn.  They  are  for 
ever  on  the  tower  looking  out  for  the  hero.  Sister  Ann,  Sister 
Ann,  do  you  see  him  ?  Surely  'tis  a  knight  with  curling  mus- 
taches, a  flashing  scimitar,  and  a  suit  of  silver  armor.  Oh, 
no  !  it  is  only  a  costermonger  with  his  donkey  and  a  pannier 
of  cabbage  !  Sister  Ann,  Sister  Ann,  what  is  that  cloud  of 
dust  ?  Oh,  it  is  only  a  farmer's  man  driving  a  flock  of  pigs 
from  market.  Sister  Ann,  Sister  Ann,  who  is  that  splendid 
warrior  advancing  in  scarlet  and  gold  ?  He  nears  the  castle, 
he  clears  the  drawbridge,  he  lifts  the  ponderous  hammer  at  the 
gate.  Ah  me,,  he  knocks  twice  !  'Tis  only  the  postman  with 
a  double  letter  from  Northamptonshire  !  So  it  is  we  make  false 
starts  in  life.  I  don't  believe  there  is  any  such  thing  known  as 
first  love — not  within  man's  or  woman's  memory.  No  male  or 
female  remembers  his  or  her  first  inclination  any  more  than  his 
or  her  own  christening.  What  ?  You  fancy  that  your  sweet 
mistress,  your  spotless  spinster,  your  blank  maiden  just  out  of 
the  school-room,  never  cared  for  any  but  you  ?  And  she  tells 
you  so.-*  Oh,  you  idiot  1  When  she  was  four  years  old  she  had 
a  tender  feeling  towards  the  Buttons  who  brought  the  coals  up 
to  the  nursery,  or  the  little  sweep  at  the  crossing,  or  the  music- 
master,  or  never  mind  whom.  She  had  a  secret  longing  towards 
her  brother's  schoolfellow,  or  the  third  charity  boy  at  church, 
and  if  occasion  had  served,  the  comedy  enacted  with  you  had 
been  performed  along  with  another.  I  do  not  mean  to  say 
that  she  confessed  this  amatory  sentiment,  but  that  she  had 
it.  Lay  down  this  page,  and  think  how  many  and  many  and 
many  a  time  you  were  in  love  before  you  selected  the  present 
Mrs.  Jones  as  the  partner  of  your  name  and  affections  1 

So,  from  the  way  in  which  Theo  held  her  head  down,  and 
exchanged  looks  with  her  mother,  when  poor  unconscious 
Harry  called  the  Persians  the  Prussians,  and  talked  of  serving 
a  campaign  with  them,  I  make  no  doubt  she  was  feeling 
ashamed,  and  thinking  within  herself,  "  Is  this  the  hero  with 
wdiom  my  mamma  and  I  have  been  in  love  for  these  twenty- 
four  hours,  and  whom  we  have  endowed  with  every  perfection  ? 
How  beautiful,  pale,  and  graceful  he  looked  yesterday  as  he 
lay  on  the  ground  !  How  his  curls  fell  over  his  face  !  How 
sad  it  was  to  see  his  poor  white  arm,  and  the  blood  trickling 
from  it  when  papa  bled  him  !  And  now  he  is  well  and  amongst 
us,  he  is  handsome  certainly,  but  oh,  is  it  possible  he  is — he  is 
stupid  t  "     When  she  lighted  the  lamp  and  looked  at  him,  did 


1^2  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

Psyche  find  Cupid  out ;  and  is  that  the  meaning  of  the  old  alle- 
gory ?  The  wings  of  love  drop  off  at  this  discovery.  The 
fancy  can  no  more  soar  and  disport  in  skyey  regions,  the 
beloved  object  ceases  at  once  to  be  celestial,  and  remains 
plodding  on  earth,  entirely  unromantic  and  substantial. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

HOLIDAYS. 

Mrs.  Lambert's  little  day-dream  was  over.  Miss  Theo 
and  her  mother  were  obliged  to  confess  in  their  hearts  that 
their  hero  w-as  but  an  ordinary  mortal.  They  uttered  few 
words  on  the  subject,  but  each  knew  the  other's  thoughts  as 
people  who  love  each  other  do  ;  and  mamma,  by  an  extra  ten- 
derness and  special  caressing  manner  towards  her  daughter, 
sought  to  console  her  for  her  disappointment.  "  Never  mind, 
my  dear  " — the  maternal  kiss  whispered  on  the  filial  cheek — 
"  our  hero  has  turned  out  to  be  but  an  ordinary  mortal,  and 
none  such  is  good  enough  for  my  Theo.  Thou  shalt  have  a 
real  husband  ere  long,  if  there  be  one  in  England.  Why,  I  was 
scarce  fifteen  when  your  father  saw-  me  at  the  Bury  Assembly, 
and  while  I  was  yet  at  school,  I  used  to  vow  that  I  never  would 
hav£  any  other  man.  If  heaven  gave  me  such  a  husband — the 
best  man  in  the  whole  kingdom — sure  it  will  bless  my  child 
equally,  wdro  deserves  a  king,  if  she  fancies  him  !  "  Indeed,  I 
am  not  sure  that  Mrs.  Lambert — who,  of  course,  knew  the  age 
of  the  Prince  of  Wales,  and  was  aware  how  handsome  and 
good  a  young  prince  he  was — 'did  not  expect  that  he  too  would 
come  riding  by  her  gate,  and  perhaps  tumble  down  from  his 
horse  there,  and  be  taken  into  the  house,  and  be  cured,  and 
cause  his  royal  grandpapa  to  give  Martin  Lambert  a  regiment, 
and  fall  in  love  with  Theo. 

The  Colonel,  for  his  part,  and  his  second  daughter  Miss 
Hetty,  were  on  the  laughing,  scornful,  unbelieving  side. 
Mamma  was  always  match-making.  Indeed,  Mrs.  Lambert 
w-as  much  addicted  to  novels,  and  cried  her  eyes  out  over  them 
with  great  assiduity.  No  coach  ever  passed  the  gate,  but  she 
expected  a  husband  for  her  girls  would  alight  from  it  and  ring 
the  bell.     As  for  Miss  Hetty,  she   allowed  her  tongue  to  wag 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  193 

in  a  more  than  usually  saucy  way :  she  made  a  hundred  sly 
allusions  to  their  guest.  She  introduced  Prussia  and  Persia 
into  their  conversation  with  abominable  pertness  and  fre- 
quency. She  asked  whether  the  present  King  of  Prussia  was 
called  the  Shaw  or  the  Sophy,  and  how  far  it  was  from  Ispahan 
to  Saxony,  which  his  Majesty  was  at  present  invading,  and 
about  which  war  papa  was  so  busy  with  his  maps  and  his  news- 
papers ?  She  brought  down  the  "  Persian  Tales  "  from  her 
mamma's  closet,  and  laid  them  slyly  on  the  table  in  the  parlor 
where  the  family  sat.  She  would  not  marry  a  Persian  prince 
for  her  part ;  she  would  prefer  a  gentleman  who  might  not  have 
more  than  one  wife  at  a  time.  She  called  our  young  Virginian 
Theo's  gentleman,  Theo's  prince.  She  asked  mamma  if  she 
wished  her,  Hetty,  to  take  the  other  visitor,  the  black  prince, 
for  herself?  Indeed,  she  rallied  her  sister  and  her  mother 
unceasingly  on  their  sentimentalities,  and  would  never  stop 
until  she  had  made  them  angry,  when  she  would  begin  to  cry 
herself,  and  kiss  them  violently  one  after  the  other,  and  coax 
them  back  into  good  humor.  Simple  Harry  Warrington,  mean- 
while, knew  nothing  of  all  the  jokes,  the  tears,  quarrels,  recon- 
ciliations, hymeneal  plans,  and  so  forth,  of  which  he  was  the 
innocent  occasion.  A  hundred  allusions  to  the  Prussians  and 
Persians  were  shot  at  him,  and  those  Parthian  arrows  did  not 
penetrate  his  hide  at  all.  A  Shaw  ?  A  Sophy  ?  Very  likely 
he  thought  a  Sophy  was  a  lady,  and  would  have  deemed  it  the 
height  of  absurdity  that  a  man  with  a  great  black  beard  should 
have  any  such  name.  We  fall  into  the  midst  of  a  quiet  family  : 
we  drop  like  a  stone,  say,  into  a  pool, — we  are  perfectly  com- 
pact and  cool,  and  little  know  the  flutter  and  excitement  we 
make  there,  disturbing  the  fish,  frightening  the  ducks,  and 
agitating  the  whole  surface  of  the  water.  How  should  Harry 
know  the  effect  which  his  sudden  appearance  produced  in  this 
little  quiet  sentimental  family  t  He  thought  quite  well  enough 
of  himself  on  many  points,  but  was  diffident  as  yet  regarding 
women,  being  of  that  age  when  young  gentlemen  require  en- 
couragement and  to  be  brought  forward,  and  ha\'ing  been 
brought  up  at  home  in  very  modest  and  primitive  relations 
towards  the  other  sex.  So  Miss  Hetty's  jokes  played  round 
the  lad,  and  he  minded  them  no  more  than  so  many  summer 
gnats.  It  was  not  that  he  was  stupid,  as  she  certainly  thought 
him  :  he  was  simple,  too  much  occupied  with  himself  and  his 
own  private  affairs  to  think  of  others.  Why,  what  tragedies, 
comedies,  interludes,  intrigues,  farces,  are  going  on  under  our 
noses  in  friends'  drawing-rooms  where  we  visit  every  day,  and 

13 


TC)4  THE   VIRGINIA  MS. 

we  remain  utterly  ignorant,  self-satisfied,  and  blind  !  As  theS'C 
sisters  sat  and  combed  their  flowing  ringlets  of  nights,  or  talked 
with  each  other  in  the  great  bed  where,  according  to  the  fashion 
of  the  day,  they  lay  together,  how  should  Harry  know  that  he 
had  so  great  a  share  in  their  thoughts,  jokes,  conversation  ? 
Three  days  after  his  arrival,  his  new  and  hospitable  friends 
were  walking  with  him  in  my  Lord  Wrotham's  fine  park,  where 
they  were  free  to  wander  :  and  here,  on  a  piece  of  water,  they 
came  to  some  swans,  which  the  young  ladies  were  in  the  habit 
of  feeding  with  bread.  As  the  birds  approached  the  young 
women,  Hetty  said,  with  a  queer  look  at  her  mother  and  sister, 
and  then  a  glance  at  her  father,  who  stood  by,  honest,  happy, 
in  a  red  waistcoat. — Hetty  said  :  "  Mamma's  swans  are  some- 
thing like  these,  papa." 

"  What  swans,  my  dear  ?  "  says  mamma. 

"  Something  like,  not  quite.  They  have  shorter  necks  than 
these,  and  are,  scores  of  them,  on  our  common,"  continues  Miss 
Hetty.  "  I  saw  Betty  plucking  one  in  the  kitchen  this  morning. 
We  shall  have  it  for  dinner,  with  apple-sauce  and " 

"  Don't  be  a  little  goose  !  "  says  Miss  Theo. 

"  And  sage  and  onions.  Do  you  love  swan,  Mr.  Warring- 
ton 1  " 

"  I  shot  three  last  winter  on  our  river,"  said  the  A'irginian 
gentleman.  "  Ours  are  not  such  white  birds  as  these — they  eat 
very  well  though."  The  simple  youth  had  not  the  slightest 
idea  that  he  himself  was  an  allegory  at  that  very  time,  and  that 
Miss  Hetty  was  narrating  a  fable  regarding  him.  In  some  ex- 
ceedingly recondite  Latin  work  I  have  read  that,  long  before 
Virginia  was  discovered,  other  folks  were  equally  dull  of  com- 
prehension. 

So  it  was  a  premature  sentiment  on  the  part  of  ■Miss  Theo — 
that  little  tender  flutter  of  the  bosom  which  we  have  acknowl- 
edged she  felt  on  first  beholding  the  A'lrginian,  so  handsome, 
pale,  and  bleeding.  This  was  not  the  great  passion  which  she 
knew  her  heart  could  feel.  Like  the  birds,  it  had  wakened  and 
begun  to  sing  at  a  false  dawn.  Hop  back  to  thy  perch,  and 
cover  thy  head  with  thy  wing,  thou  tremulous  little  fluttering 
creature !  It  is  not  yet  k'ght,  and  roosting  is  as  yet  better  than 
singing.  Anon  will  come  morning,  and  the  whole  sky  will 
redden,  and  you  shall  soar  up  into  it  and  salute  the  sun  with 
your  music. 

One  little  phrase,  some  three-and-thirt}^  lines  back,  perhaps 
the  fair  and  suspicious  reader  has  remarked  :  "  Three  days  after 
his  arrival,   Harry  was  walking  with,"  &c.,  &c.     If  he  could 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  195 

walk  —  which  it  appeared  he  could  do  perfectly  well  —  what 
business  had  he  to  be  walking  with  anybody  but  Lady  Maria 
Esmond  on  the  Pantiles,  Tunbridge  Wells  ?  His  shoulder  was 
set :  his  health  was  entirely  restored  :  he  had  not  even  a  change 
of  coats,  as  we  have  seen,  and  was  obliged  to  the  Colonel  for 
his  raiment.  Surely  a  young  man  in  such  a  condition  had  no 
right  to  be  lingering  on  at  Oakhurst,  and  was  bound  by  ever}'- 
tie  of  duty  and  convenience,  by  lo.ve,  by  relationship,  by  a  gentle 
heart  waiting  for  him,  by  the  washerwoman  finally,  to  go  to 
Tunbridge.  Why  did  he  stay  behind,  unless  he  was  in  love 
with  either  of  the  young  ladies  ?  (and  we  say  he  wasn't.)  Could 
it  be  that  he  did  not  want  to  go  ?  Hath  the  gracious  reader 
understood  the  meaning  of  the  mystic  S  with  which  the  last 
chapter  commences  and  in  which  the  designer  has  feebly 
endeavored  to  depict  the  notorious  Sinbad  the  Sailor  sur- 
mounted by  that  odious  old  man  of  the  sea  ?  What  if  Harry 
Warrington  should  be  that  sailor,  and  his  fate  that  choking, 
deadening,  inevitable  old  man  ?  What  if  for  two  days  past  he 
has  felt  those  knees  throttling  him  round  the  neck  ?  if  his  fell 
aunt's  purpose  is  answered,  and  if  his  late  love  is  killed  as  dead 
by  her  poisonous  communications  as  Fair  Rosamond  was  by 
her  royal  and  legitimate  rival  ?  Is  Hero  then  lighting  the  lamp 
up,  and  getting  ready  the  supper,  whilst  Leander  is  sitting  com- 
fortably with  some  other  party,  and  never  in  the  least  thinking 
of  taking  to  the  water  ?  E^•er  since  that  coward's  blow  was 
struck  in  Lady  Maria's  back  by  her  own  relative,  surely  kind 
hearts  must  pity  her  ladyship.  I  know  she  has  faults — ay,  and 
wears  false  hair  and  false  never  mind  what.  But  a  woman  in 
distress,  shall  we  not  pity  her — a  lady  of  a  certain  age,  are  we 
going  to  laugh  at  her  because  of  her  years  .-^  Between  her  old 
aunt  and  her  unhappy  delusion,  be  sure  my  Lady  Maria  Esmond 
is  having  no  very  pleasant  time  of  it  at  Tunbridge  Wells.  There 
is  no  one  to  protect  her.  Madam  Beatrix  has  her  all  to  herself. 
Lady  Maria  is  poor,  and  hopes  for  money  from  her  aunt.  Lady 
Maria  has  a  secret  or  two  which  the  old  woman  knows,  and 
brandishes  over  her.  I  for  one  am  quite  melted  and  grow  soft- 
hearted as  I  think  of  her.  Imagine  her  alone,  and  a  victim  to 
that  old  woman  !  Paint  to  yourself  that  antique  Andromeda 
(if  you  please  we  will  allow  that  rich  flowing  head  of  hair  to  fall 
over  her  shoulders)  chained  to  a  rock  on  Mount  Ephraim,  and 
given  up  to  that  dragon  of  a  Baroness  !  Succor,  Perseus  ! 
Come  quickly  with  thy  \vinged  feet  and  flashing  falchion ! 
Perseus  is  not  in  the  least  hurry.  The  dragon  has  her  will  of 
Andromeda  for  day  after  day. 


1^6  THE    VIRGINIANS, 

Harry  Warrington,  who  would  not  liave  allowed  his  disla 
cated  and  mended  shoulder  to  keep  him  from  going  out  hunt- 
ing, remained  day  after  day  contentedly  at  Oakhurst,  with  each 
day  finding  the  kindly  folks  who  welcomed  him  more  to  his 
liking.  Perhaps  he  had  never,  since  his  grandfather's  death, 
been  in  such  good  company.  His  lot  had  lain  amongst  fox- 
hunting Virginian  squires,  with  whose  society  he  had  put  up 
very  contentedly,  riding  their  horses,  living  their  lives,  and 
sharing  their  punch-bowls.  The  ladies  of  his  own  and  mother's 
acquaintance  were  very  well  bred,  and  decorous,  and  pious,  no 
doubt,  but  somewhat  narrow-minded.  It  was  but  a  little  place, 
his  home,  with  its  pompous  ways,  small  etiquettes  and  punc- 
tilios, small  flatteries,  small  conversations  and  scandals.  Until 
he  had  left  the  place  some  time  after  he  did  not  know  how  nar- 
row and  confined  his  life  had  been  there.  He  was  free  enough 
personally.  He  had  dogs  and  horses,  and  might  shoot  and 
hunt  for  scores  of  miles  round  about  :  but  the  little  lady  mother 
domineered  at  home,  and  when  there  he  had  to  submit  to  her 
influence  and  breathe  her  air. 

Here  the  lad  found  hnnself  in  the  midst  of  a  circle  where 
everything  about  him  was  incomparably  gayer,  brighter,  and 
more  free.  He  was  living  with  a  man  and  woman  who  had 
seen  the  world,  though  they  lived  retired  from  it,  who  had  both 
of  them  happened  to  enjoy  from  their  earliest  times  the  use  not 
only  of  good  books,  but  of  good  company — those  live  books, 
which  are  such  pleasant  and  sometimes  such  profitable  reading. 
Society  has  this  good  at  least  :  that  it  lessens  our  conceit,  by 
teaching  us  our  insignificance,  and  making  us  acquainted  with 
our  betters.  If  you  are  a  young  person  who  read  this,  depend 
upon  it,  sir  or  madam,  there  is  nothing  more  wholesome  for  you 
than  to  acknowledge  and  to  associate  with  your  superiors.  If 
I  could,  I  would  not  have  my  son  Thomas  first  Greek  and 
Latin  prize  boy,  first  oar,  and  cock  of  the  school.  Better  for 
his  soul's  and  body's  welfare  that  he  should  ha\e  a  good  place, 
not  the  first — a  fair  set  of  competitors  round  about  him,  and  a 
good  thrashing  now  and  then,  with  a  hearty  shake  afterwards  of 
the  hand  which  administered  the  beating.  What  honest  man 
that  can  choose  his  lot  would  be  a  prince,  let  us  say,  and  have 
all  society  walking  backwards  before  him,  only  obsequious 
household  gentlemen  to  talk  to,  and  all  mankind  mum  except 
when  your  High  Mightiness  asks  a  question  and  gives  permis- 
sion to  speak  ?  One  of  the  great  benefits  which  Harry  War- 
rington received  from  "[his  family,  before  whose  gate  Fate  had 
shot  him,  was  to  begin  to  learn  that  he  was  a  profoundly  igno- 


THE  VIRGINIANS.  1^7 

rant  young  fellow,  and  that  there  were  many  people  in  the  world 
far  better  than  he  knew  himself  to  be.  Arrogant  a  little  with 
some  folks,  in  the  company  of  his  superiors  he  was  magnani- 
mously docile.  We  have  seen  how  faithfully  he  admired  his 
brother  at  home,  and  his  friend,  the  gallant  young  Colonel  of 
Mount  Vernon  :  of  the  gentlemen  his  kinsmen  at  Castle  wood, 
he  had  felt  himself  at  least  the  equal.  In  his  new  acquaintance 
at  Oakhurst  he  found  a  man  who  had  read  far  more  books  than 
Harry  could  pretend  to  judge  of,  who  had  seen  the  world  and 
come  unwounded  out  of  it,  as  he  had  out  of  the  dangers  and 
battles  which  he  had  confronted,  and  who  had  goodness  and 
honesty  written  on  his  face  and  breathing  from  his  lips,  for 
which  qualities  our  brave  lad  had  always  an  instinctive  sym- 
pathy and  jDredilection. 

As  for  the  women,  they  were  the  kindest,  merriest,  most 
agreeable  he  had  as  yet  known.  They  were  pleasanter  than  Par- 
son Broadbent's  black-eyed  daughter  at  home,  whose  laugh 
carried  as  far  as  a  gun.  They  were  quite  as  well-bred  as  the 
Castlewood  ladies,  with  the  exception  of  Madam  Beatrix  (who, 
indeed,  was  as  grand  as  an  empress  on  some  occasions).  But 
somehow,  after  a  talk  with  Madam  Beatrix,  and  vast  amuse- 
ment and  interest  in  her  stories,  the  lad  would  come  away  as 
with  a  bitter  taste  in  his  m.outh,  and  fancy  all  the  world  wicked 
round  about  him.  The  Lamberts  were  not  squeamish ;  and 
laughed  over  pages  of  Mr.  Fielding,  and  cried  over  volumes  of 
Mr.  Richardson,  containing  jokes  and  incidents  which  would 
make  Mrs.  Grundy's  hair  stand  on  end,  yet  their  merr)^  prattle 
left  no  bitterness  behind  it ;  their  tales  about  this  neighbor  and 
that  were  droll,  not  malicious  ;  the  curtseys  and  salutations 
with  which  the  folks  of  the  little  neighboring  town  received 
them,  how  kindly  and  cheerful !  their  bounties  how  cordial ! 
Of  a  truth  it  is  good  to  be  with  good  people.  How  good  Harry 
Warrington  did  not  know  at  the  time,  perhaps,  or  until  subse- 
quent experience  showed  him  contrasts,  or  caused  him  to  feel 
remorse.  Here  was  a  tranquil,  sunshiny  day  of  a  life  that 
was  to  be  agitated  and  stormy — a  happy  hour  or  two  to  re- 
member. Not  much  happened  during  the  happy  hour  or  two. 
It  was  only  sweet  sleep,  pleasant  waking,  friendly  welcome, 
serene  pastime.  The  gates  of  the  old  house  seemed  to  shut 
the  wicked  world  out  somehow,  and  the  inhabitants  within  to 
be  better,  and  purer,  and  kinder  than  other  people.  He  was 
not  in  love.  Oh,  no !  not  the  least,  either  with  saucy  Hetty 
or  generous  Theodosia:  but  when  the  time  came  for  going 
away,  he  fastened   on  both  their  hands,  and  felt  an   immense 


:98 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


regard  for  them.  He  thought  he  should  like  to  know  their 
brothers,  and  that  they  must  be  fine  fellows  ;  and  as  for  Mrs. 
Lambert,  I  believe  she  was  as  sentimental  at  his  departure  as 
if  he  had  been  the  last  volume  of  Clarissa  Harlowe. 

"  He  is  very  kind  and  honest,"  said  Theo,  gravely,  as,  look- 
ing from  the  terrace,  they  saw  him  and  their  father  and  servants 
riding  aw^ay  on  the  road  to  Westerham. 

"I  don't  think  him  stupid  at  all  now,"  said  little  Hetty; 
"  and,  mamma,  I  think  he  is  very  like  a  swan  indeed." 

"  It  felt  just  like  one  of  the  boys  going  to  school,"  said 
mamma. 

"Just  like  it,"  said  Theo,  sadly. 

"  I  am  glad  he  has  got  papa  to  ride  with  him  to  Wester- 
ham," resumed  Miss  Hetty,  "and  that  he  bought  Farmer 
Briggs's  horse.  I  don't  like  his  going  to  those  Castlew^ood 
people.  I  am  sure  that  Madame  Bernstein  is  a  wicked  old 
woman.     I  expected  to  see  her  ride  away  on  her  crooked  stick." 

"  Hush,  Hetty  !  " 

"  Do  you  think  she  would  float  if  they  tried  her  in  the  pond 
as  poor  old  Mother  Hely  did  at  Elmhurst  t  The  other  old 
woman  seemed  fond  of  him — I  mean  the  one  with  the  fair  tour. 
She  looked  very  melancholy  when  she  went  away  ;  but  Madame 
Bernstein  whisked  her  off  with  her  crutch,  and  she  was  obliged 
to  go.  I  don't  care,  Theo.  I  know  she  is  a  wicked  w^oman. 
You  think  everybody  good,  you  do,  because  you  never  do  any- 
thing wrong  yourself." 

"  My  Theo  is  a  good  girl,"  says  the  mother,  looking  fondly 
at  both  her  daughters. 

"  Then  why  do  we  call  her  a  miserable  sinner  ?  " 

"  We  are  all  so,  my  love,"  said  mamma. 

"  What,  papa  too  ?  You  know  you  don't  think  so,"  cries 
Miss  Hester.  And  to  allow  this  was  almost  more  than  Mrs. 
Lambert  could  afford. 

"  What  was  that  you  told  John  to  give  to  Mr.  Warrington's 
black  man  ? " 

Mamma  owned,  with  some  shamefacedness,  it  was  a  bottle 
of  her  cordial  water  and  a  cake  which  she  had  bid  Betty  make. 
"  I  feel  quite  like  a  mother  to  him,  my  dears,  Lcan't  help  own- 
ing it, — and  you  know  both  our  boys  still  like  one  of  our  cakes 
to  take  to  school  or  college  with  them." 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  199 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

FROM    OAKHURST    TO    TUNBRIDGE. 

Waving  her  lily  handkerchief  in   token  of   adieu  to  the 
departing  travellers,  Mrs.  Lambert  and  her  girls  watched  them 
pacing  leisurely  on  the  first  few  hundred  yards  of  their  journey, 
and  until  such  time  as  a  tree-clumped  corner  of  the  road  hid 
them  from  the  ladies'  view..    Behind  that  clump  of   limes  the 
good  matron  had  many  a   time   watched  those  she  loved  best 
disappear.     Husband  departing  to  battle  and  danger,  sons  to 
school,  each  after  the  other  had  gone  on  his  way  behind  yonder 
green  trees,  returning  as  it  pleased  heaven's  will  at  his  good 
time,  and  bringing  pleasure  and  love  back  to  the  happy  little 
family.     Besides  their  own  instinctive  nature  (which  to  be  sure 
aids  wonderfully  in  the  matter),  the  leisure  and  contemplation 
attendant  upon  their  home  life  serve  to  foster  the  tenderness 
and  fidelity  of  our  women.     The  men  gone,  there  is  all  day  to 
think  about  them,  and  to-morrow  and  to-morrow — when  there 
certainly  will  be  a  letter— and  so  on.     There  is  the  vacant  room 
to  go  look  at,  where  the  boy  slept  last  night,  and  the  impression 
of  his  carpet-bag  is  still  on  the  bed.     There  is  his  whip  hung 
up  in  the  hall,  and  his  fishing-rod  and  basket — mute  memorials 
of  the  brief  bygone  pleasures.     At  dinner  there  comes  up  that 
cherry-tart,  half  of  which  our  darling  ate  at  two  o'clock  in  spite 
of  his  melancholy,  and  with  a  choking  little  sister  on  each  side 
of  him.     The  evening  prayer  is  said  without  that  young  scholar's 
voice  to  utter  the  due  responses.     Midnight  and  silence  come, 
and  the  good  mother  lies  wakeful,  thinking  how  one  of  the  dear 
accustomed  brood  is  away  from  the  nest.     Morn  breaks,  home 
and  holidavs  have  passed  away,  and  toil  and  labor  have  begun 
for  him.     So  those  rustling  limes  formed,  as  it  were,  a  screen 
between  the  world  and  our  ladies  of  the  house   at  Oakhurst. 
Kind-hearted  Mrs.  Lambert  always  became  silent  and  thought- 
ful, if  by  chance  she  and  her  girls  walked  up  to  the  trees  in  the 
absence  of  the  men  of  the  family.     She  said  she  would  like  to 
carve  their  names  upon  the  gray  silvered  trunks,  in  the  midst 
of  true-lovers'  knots,  as  was  then  the  kindly  fashion  ;  and  Miss 
Thee,  who  had  an  exceeding  elegant  turn  that  way,  made  some 
verses  regarding   the  trees,  which  her  delighted  parent  trans- 
mitted to  a  periodical  of  those  days. 


200  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

"  Now  we  are  out  of  sight  of  the  ladies,"  says  Colonel 
Lambert,  giving  a  parting  salute  with  his  hat,  as  the  pair  of 
gentlemen  trotted  past  the  limes  in  question.  "  I  know  my 
wife  always  watches  at  her  window  until  we  are  round  this  cor- 
ner. I  hope  we  shall  have  you  seeing  the  trees  and  the  house 
again,  Mr.  Warrington;  and  the  boys  being  at  home,  mayhap 
there  will  be  better  sport  for  you." 

''  I  never  want  to  be  happier,  sir,  than  I  have  been,"  replied 
Mr.  Warrington  ;  "  and  I  hope  you  will  let  me  say,  that  I  feel 
as  if  I  am  leaving  quite  old  friends  behind  me." 

"  The  friend  at  whose  house  we  shall  sup  to-night  hath  a 
son,  \vho  is  an  old  friend  of  our  family,  too,  and  my  wife,  who 
is  an  inveterate  marriage-monger,  would  have  made  a  match 
between  him  and  one  of  my  girls,  but  that  the  Colonel  hath 
chosen  to  fall  in  love  with  somebody  else." 

"Ah!"  sighed  Mr.  Warrington. 

"  Other  folks  have  done  the  same  thing.  There  were  brave 
fellows  before  Agamemnon." 

"  I    beg   your   pardon    sir.      Is    the    gentleman's    name  — 

Aga 1   I   did    not   quite   gather   it,"    meekly   inquired  the 

younger  traveller. 

''  No,  his  name  is  James  Wolfe,"  cried  the  Colonel,  smiling. 
"  He  is  a  young  fellow  still,  or  what  we  call  so,  being  scarce 
thirty  years  old.  He  is  the  youngest  lieutenant-colonel  in  the 
army,  unless,  to  be  sure,  we  except  a  few  scores  of  our  nobility, 
who  take  rank  before  us  common  folk." 

"  Of  course,  of  course  1  "  says  the  Colonel's  young  com- 
panion, with  true  colonial  notions  of  aristocratic  precedence. 

"  And  I  have  seen  him  commanding  captains,  and  very 
brave  captains,  who  were  thirty  years  his  seniors,  and  who  had 
neither  his  merit  nor  his  good  fortune.  But  lucky  as  he  hath 
been,  no  one  envies  his  superiority,  for,  indeed,  most  of  us  ac- 
knowledge that  he  is  our  superior.  He  is  beloved  by  every  man 
of  our  old  regiment,  and  knows  every  one  of  them.  He  is  a 
good  scholar  as  well  as  a  consummate  soldier,  and  a  master  of 
many  languages." 

"  Ah,  sir !  "  said  Harry  Warrington,  with  a  sigh  of  great 
humility  ;  "  I  feel  that  I  have  neglected  my  own  youth  sadly ; 
and  am  come  to  England  but  an  ignoramus.  Had  my  dear 
brother  been  alive,  he  would  have  rejDresented  our  name  and 
our  colony,  too,  better  than  I  can  do.  George  was  a  scholar ; 
George  was  a  musician ;  George  could  talk  with  the  most 
learned  people  in  our  country,  and  I  make  no  doubt  would  have 
held  his  own  here.     Do  you  know,  sir,  I  am  glad  to  have  come 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  2  0l 

home,  and  to  you  especially,  if  but  to  learn  how  ignorant  I 
am/' 

"  If  you  know  that  well,  'tis  a  great  gain  already,"  said  the 
Colonel,  with  a  smile. 

"  At  home,  especially  of  late,  and  since  we  lost  my  brother, 
I  used  to  think  myself  a  mighty  fine  fellow,  and  have  no  doubt 
that  the  folks  round  about  flattered  me.  I  am  wiser  now, — that 
is,  I  hope  I  am, — though  perhaps  I  am  wrong,  and  only  brag- 
ging again.  But  you  see,  sir,  the  gentry  in  our  colony  don't 
know  very  much,  except  about  dogs  and  horses,  and  betting  and 
games.     I  wish  I  knew  more  about  books,  and  less  about  them." 

"  Nay.  Dogs  and  horses  are  very  good  books,  too,  in  their 
way,  and  we  may  read  a  deal  of  truth  out  of  'em.  Some  men 
are  not  made  to  be  scholars,  and  may  be  very  worthy  citizens 
and  gentlemen  in  spite  of  their  ignorance.  What  call  have  all 
of  us  to  be  especially  learned  or  wise,  or  to  take  a  first  place  in 
the  world  ?  His  Royal  Highness  is  commander,  and  Martin 
Lambert  is  colonel,  and  Jack  Hunt,  who  rides  behind  yonder, 
was  a  private  soldier,  and  is  now  a  ^•ery  honest,  worthy  groom. 
So  as  we  all  do  our  best  in  our  station,  it  matters  not  much 
whether  that  be  high  or  low.  Nay,  how  do  we  know  what  is 
high  and  what  is  low  ?  and  whether  Jack's  currycomb,  or  my 
epaulets,  or  his  Royal  Highness's  baton,  may  not  turn  out  to 
be  pretty  equal  ?  When  I  began  life,  et  viilitavi  no?i  sine — never 
mind  what — I  dreamed  of  success  and  honor  ;  now  I  think  of 
duty,  and  yonder  folks,  from  whom  we  parted  a  few  hours  ago. 
Let  us  trot  on,  or  else  we  shall  not  reach  Westerham  before 
nightfall." 

At  \\'esterham  the  two  friends  were  welcomed  by  their  hosts, 
a  stately  matron,  an  old  soldier,  whose  recollections  and  ser- 
vices were  of  five  and  forty  years  back,  and  the  son  of  this 
gentleman  and  lady,  the  Lieutenant-Colonel  of  Kingsley's  regi- 
ment, that  was  then  stationed  at  Maidstone,  whence  the  Col- 
onel had  come  over  on  a  brief  visit  to  his  parents.  Harry 
looked  with  some  curiosity  at  this  officer,  who,  young  as  he  was. 
had  seen  so  much  service,  and  obtained  a  character  so  high. 
There  was  little  of  the  beautiful  in  his  face.  He  was  very  lean 
and  very  pale  ;  his  hair  was  red,  his  nose  and  cheek-bones  were 
high ;  but  he  had  a  fine  courtesy  towards  his  elders,  a  cordial 
greeting  towards  his  friends,  and  an  animation  in  conversation 
which  caused  those  who  heard  him  to  forget,  even  to  admire  his 
homely  looks. 

Mr.  Warrington  was  going  to  Tunbridge  ?  Their  James 
would  bear  him   company,    the  lady  of  the  house   said,   and 


202  I^^E  VIRGINIANS. 

whispered  something  to  Colonel  Lambert  at  supper,  which 
occasioned  smiles  and  a  knowing  wink  or  two  from  that  officer. 
He  called  for  wine,  and  toasted  "Miss  Lowther."  "With  all 
my  heart,"  cried  the  enthusiastic  Colonel  James,  and  drained  his 
glass  to  the  very  last  drop.  Mamma  whispered  her  friend  how 
James  and  the  lady  were  going  to  make  a  match,  and  how  she 
came  of  the  famous  Lowther  family  of  the  North. 

"  If  she  was  the  daughter  of  King  Charlemagne,"  cries  Lam- 
bert, "  she  is  not  too  good  for  James  Wolfe,  or  for  his  mother's 
son." 

"  Mr.  Lambert  would  not  say  so  if  he  knew  her,"  the  young 
Colonel  declared. 

"  Oh,  of  course,  she  is  the  priceless  pearl,  and  you  are  noth- 
ing," cries  mamma.  "  No.  I  am  of  Colonel  Lambert's  opinion  ; 
and,  if  she  brought  all  Cumberland  to  you  for  a  jointure,  I 
should  say  it  was  by  James's  due.  That  is  the  way  with  'em, 
Mr.  Warrington.  We  tend  our  children  through  fevers,  and 
measles,  and  whooping-cough,  and  small-pox  ;  we  send  them  to 
the  army,  and  can't  sleep  at  night  for  thinking ;  we  break  our 
hearts  at  parting  with  'em,  and  have  them  at  home  only  for  a 
week  or  two  in  the  3'ear,  or  maybe  ten  years,  and  after  all  our 
care,  there  comes  a  lass  with  a  pair  of  bright  eyes,  and  away 
goes  our  boy,  and  never  cares  a  fig  for  us  afterwards." 

"  And  pray,  my  dear,  how  did  you  come  to  marry  James's 
papa  ?  "  said  the  elder  Colonel  Wolfe.  "  And  why  didn't  you 
stay  at  home  with  your  parents  ?  " 

"  Because  James's  papa  was  gouty,  and  wanted  somebody 
to  take  care  of  him  I  suppose  ;  not  because  I  liked  him  a  bit," 
answers  the  lady :  and  so  with  much  easy  talk  and  kindness 
the  evening  passed  away. 

On  the  morrow,  and  with  many  expressions  of  kindness  and 
friendship  for  his  late  guest,  Colonel  Lambert  gave  over  the 
young  Virginian  to  Mr.  Wolfe's  charge,  and  turned  his  horse's 
head  homewards,  while  the  two  gentlemen  sped  towards  Tun- 
bridge  Wells.  Wolfe  was  in  a  hurry  to  reach  the  place,  Harry 
Warrington  was,  perhaps,  not  quite  so  eager :  nay,  when  Lam- 
bert rode  towards  his  own  home,  Harry's  thoughts  followed 
him  with  a  great  deal  of  longing  desire  to  the  parlor  at  Oak- 
hurst,  where  he  had  spent  three  days  in  happy  calm.  Mr. 
Wolfe  agreed  in  all  Harry's  enthusiastic  praises  of  Mr.  Lam- 
bert, and  of  his  wife,  and  of  his  daughters,  and  of  all  that 
excellent  family.  "  To  have  such  a  good  name,  and  to  live 
such  a  life  as  Colonel  Lambert's,"  said  '\Volfe,  "seem  to  me 
now  the  height  of  human  ambition." 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


203 


"And  glory  and  honor  ?  "  asked  Warrington.  "  Are  those 
nothing  ?  and  would  you  give  up  the  winning  of  them  ?  " 

"They  were  my  dreams  once,"  answered  the  Colonel,  who 
had  now  different  ideas  of  happiness,  "  and  now  my  desires 
are  much  more  tranquil.  1  have  followed  arms  ever  since  I 
was  fourteen  years  of  age.  I  have  seen  almost  every  kind  of 
duty  connected  with  my  calling.  I  know  all  the  garrison 
towns  in  this  country,  and  have  had  the  honor  to  serve  where- 
ever  there  has  been  work  to  be  done  during  the  last  ten  years. 
I  have  done  pretty  near  the  whole  of  a  soldier's  dut}^,  except, 
indeed,  the  command  of  an  army,  which  can  hardly  be  hoped 
for  by  one  of  my  years  ;  and  now,  methinks,  I  would  like  quiet, 
books  to  read,  a  wife  to  love  me,  and  some  children  to  dandle 
on  my  knee.  I  have  imagined  some  such  Elysium  for  myself, 
Mr.  Warrington.  True  love  is  better  than  glory ;  and  a  tran- 
quil fireside,  with  the  woman  of  your  heart  seated  by  it,  the 
greatest  good  the  gods  can  send  us." 

Harry  imagined  to  himself  the  picture  which  his  comrade 
called  up.  He  said  "  Yes  "  in  answer  to  the  other's  remarks  ; 
but,  no  doubt,  did  not  give  a  very  cheerful  assent,  for  his  com- 
panion observed  upon  the  expression  of  his  face. 

"  You  say  '  Yes  '  as  if  a  fireside  and  a  sweetheart  were  not 
particularly  to  your  taste." 

"  Why,  look  you.  Colonel ;  tliere  are  other  things  which  a 
young  fellow  might  like  to  enjoy.  You  have  had  sixteen  years 
of  the  world  :  and  I  am  but  a  few  months  away  from  my 
mother's  apron  strings.  When  I  have  seen  a  campaign  or  two, 
or  six,  as  you  have  :  when  I  have  distinguished  myself  like  Mr. 
Wolfe,  and  made  the  world  talk  of  me,  I  then  may  think  of 
retiring  from  it." 

To  these  remarks,  Mr.  Wolfe,  whose  heart  was  full  of  a 
very  different  matter,  replied  by  breaking  out  in  a  farther 
encomium  of  the  joys  of  marriage;  and  a  special  rhapsody 
upon  the  beauties  and  merits  of  his  mistress  —  a  theme  in- 
tensely interesting  to  himself,  though  not  so,  possibly,  to  his 
hearer,  whose  views  regarding  a  married  life,  if  he  permitted 
himself  to  entertain  any,  were  somewhat  melancholy  and  de- 
spondent. A  pleasant  afternoon  brought  them  to  the  end  of 
their  ride  ;  nor  did  any  accident  or  incident  accompany  it,  save, 
perhaps,  a  mistake  which  Harry  Warrington  made  at  some  few 
miles'  distance  from  Tunbridge  Wells,  where  two  horsemen 
stopped  them,  whom  Harry  was  for  charging,  pistol  in  hand, 
supposing  them  to  be  highwaymen.  Colonel  Wolfe,  laughing, 
bade  Mr.  Warrington  reserve  his  fire,  for  these  folks  were  only 


204  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

innkeepers'  agents,  and  not  robbers  (except  in  their  calling). 
Gumbo,  whose  horse  ran  away  with  him  at  this  particular  junc- 
ture, was  brought  back  after  a  great  deal  of  bawling  on  his 
master's  part,  and  the  two  gentlemen  rode  into  the  little  town, 
alighted  at  their  inn,  and  then  separated,  each  in  quest  of  the 
ladies  whom  he  had  come  to  visit. 

Mr.  Warrington  found  his  aunt  installed  in  handsome 
lodgings,  with  a  guard  of  London  lacqueys  in  her  ante-room, 
and  to  follow  her  chair  when  she  went  abroad.  She  received 
him  with  the  utmost  kindness.  His  cousin,  my  Lady  Maria, 
was  absent  when  he  arrived  :  I  don't  know  whether  the  young 
gentleman  was  unhappy  at  not  seeing  her  ;  or  whether  he  dis- 
guised his  feelings,  or  whether  Madame  de  Bernstein  took  any 
note  regarding  them. 

A  beau  in  a  rich  figured  suit,  the  first  specimen  of  the  kind 
Harry  had  seen,  and  two  dowagers  with  voluminous  hoops  and 
plenty  of  rouge,  were  on  a  visit  to  the  Baroness  when  her 
nephew  made  his  bow  to  her.  She  introduced  the  young  man 
to  these  personages  as  her  nephew,  the  young  Croesus  out  of 
Virginia,  of  w^hom  they  had  heard.  She  talked  about  the 
immensity  of  his  estate,  which  was  as  large  as  Kent ;  and,  as 
she  had  read,  infinitely  more  fruitful.  She  mentioned  how  her 
half-sister.  Madam  Esmond,  was  called  Princess  Pocahontas  in 
her  own  country.  She  never  tired  in  her  praises  of  mother  and 
son,  of  their  riches  and  their  good  qualities.  The  beau  shook 
the  young  man  by  the  hand,  and  was  delighted  to  have  the 
honor  to  make  his  acquaintance.  The  ladies  praised  him  to 
his  aunt  so  loudly  that  the  modest  youth  was  fain  to  blush  at 
their  compliments.  They  went  away  to  inform  the  Tunbridge 
society  of  the  news  of  his  arrival.  The  little  place  was  soon 
buzzing  with  accounts  of  the  wealth,  the  good  breeding,  and 
the  good  looks  of  the  Virginian. 

"You  could  not  have  come  at  a  better  moment,  my  dear," 
the  Baroness  said  to  her  nephew,  as  her  visitors  departed  with 
many  curtseys  and  congees.  "  Those  three  individuals  have 
the  most  active  tongues  in  the  Wells.  They  will  trumpet  your 
good  qualities  in  every  company  where  they  go.  I  have  intro- 
duced you  to  a  hundred  people  already,  and,  heaven  help  me  ! 
have  told  all  sorts  of  fibs  about  the  geography  of  Virginia  in 
order  to  describe  your  estate.  It  is  a  prodigious  large  one,  but 
I  am  afraid  I  have  magnified  it.  I  have  filled  it  with  all  sorts 
of  wonderful  animals,  gold  mines,  spices  ;  I  am  not  sure  I  have 
not  said  diamonds.  As  for  your  negroes,  I  have  given  your 
mother  armies   of   them  ;  and,  in  fact,  represented    her    as    a 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  205 

sovereign  princess  reigning  over  a  magnificent  dominion.  So 
she  has  a  magnificent  dominion  :  I  cannot  tell  to  a  few  hundred 
thousand  pounds  how  much  her  yearl)^  income  is,  but  I  have  no 
doubt  it  is  a  very  great  one.  And  you  must  prepare,  sir,  to  be 
treated  here  as  the  heir-apparent  of  this  royal  lady.  Do  not 
let  your  head  be  turned  !  From  this  day  forth  you  are  going 
to  be  flattered  as  you  have  never  been  flattered  in  your  life," 

"  And  to  what  end,  Ma'am  ?  "  asked  the  young  gentleman. 
"  I  see  no  reason  why  I  should  be  reputed  so  rich,  or  get  so 
much  flattery." 

"  In  the  first  place,  sir,  you  must  not  contradict  your  old 
aunt,  who  has  no  desire  to  be  made  a  fool  of  before  her  com- 
pany. And  as  for  your  reputation,  you  must  know  we  found  it 
here  almost  ready-made  on  our  arrival,  A  London  newspaper 
has  somehow  heard  of  you,  and  come  out  with  a  story  of  the 
immense  wealth  of  a  young  gentleman  from  Virginia  lately 
landed,  and  a  cousin  of  my  Lord  Castlewood.  Immensely 
wealthy  you  are,  and  can't  help  yourself.  All  the  world  is 
eager  to  see  you.  You  shall  go  to  church  to-morrow  morning, 
and  see  how  the  whole  congregation  will  turn  away  from  its 
books  and  prayers,  to  worship  the  golden  calf  in  your  person. 
You  would  not  have  had  me  undeceive  them,  would  you,  and 
speak  ill  of  my  own  flesh  and  blood  ?  " 

"  But  how  am  I  bettered  by  this  reputation  for  money  t  " 
asked  Harr}\ 

"  You  are  making  your  entry  into  the  world,  and  the  gold 
key  will  open  most  of  its  doors  to  you.  To  be  thought  rich  is 
as  good  as  to  be  rich.  You  need  not  spend  much  money. 
People  will  say  that  you  hoard  it,  and  your  reputation  for 
avarice  will  do  you  good  rather  than  harm.  You'll  see  how 
the  mothers  will  smile  upon  you,  and  the  daughters  will  curtsey  ! 
Don't  look  surprised  !  When  I  was  a  young  woman  myself  I 
did  as  all  the  rest  of  the  world  did,  and  tried  to.better  myself  by 
more  than  one  desperate  attempt  at  a  good  marriage.  Your 
poor  grandmother,  who  was  a  saint  upon  earth  to  be  sure, 
bating  a  little  jealousy,  used  to  scold  me,  and  called  me  worldly. 
Worldly,  my  dear  !  So  is  the  world  worldly  ;  and  we  must  ser\-e 
it  as  it  serves  us  ;  and  give  it  nothing  for  nothing.  Mr.  Henry 
Esmond  Warrington — I  can't  help  loving  the  two  first  names, 
sir,  old  woman  as  I  am,  and  that  I  tell  you — on  coming  here  or 
to  London,  would  have  been  nobody.  Our  protection  would 
have  helped  him  but  little.  Our  family  has  little  credit,  and 
entj'e  nous.,  not  much  reputation.  I  suppose  you  know  that 
Castlewood  was  more  than  suspected  in  '45,  and  hath  since 
ruined  himself  by  play  ?  " 


2o6  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

Harry  had  never  heard  about  Lord  Castlewood  or  his 
reputation, 

''  He  never  had  much  to  lose,  but  he  has  lost  that  and  more  : 
his  wretched  estate  is  eaten  up  with  mortgages.  He  has  been 
at  all  sorts  of  schemes  to  raise  money  : — my  dear,  he  has  been 
so  desperate  at  times,  that  I  did  not  think  my  diamonds  were 
safe  with  him  ;  and  have  travelled  to  and  from  Castlewood 
without  them.  Terrible,  isn't  it,  to  speak  so  of  one's  own 
nephew  ?  But  you  are  my  nephew,  too,  and  not  spoiled  by  the 
world  yet,  and  I  wish  to  warn  you  of  its  wickedness.  I  heard 
of  your  play-doings  with  Will  and  the  chaplain,  but  they  could 
do  you  no  harm, — nay,  I  am  told  you  had  the  better  of  them. 
Had  you  played  with  Castlewood,  you  would  have  had  no 
such  luck  :  and  you  7uould  have  played  had  not  an  old  aunt  of 
yours  warned  my  Lord  Castlewood  to  keep  his  hands  off  you." 

'•  What,  ma'am,  did  you  interfere  to  preserve  me  .?  " 

"  I  kept  his  clutches  off  from  you  :  be  thankful  that  you  are 
come  oat  of  that  ogre's  den  with  any  flesh  on  your  bones  !  My 
dear,  it  has  been  the  rage  and  passion  of  all  our  family.  My 
poor  silly  brother  played  ;  both  his  wives  played,  especially  the 
last  one,  who  has  little  else  to  live  upon  now  but  her  nightly  as- 
semblies in  London,  and  the  money  for  the  cards.  I  would  not 
trust  her  at  Castlewood  alone  with  you  :  the  passion  is  too 
strong  for  them,  and  they  would  fall  upon  you,  and  fleece  you ; 
and  then  fall  upon  each  other,  and  fight  for  the  plunder.  But 
for  his  place  about  the  Court  my  poor  nephew  hath  nothing, 
and  that  is  Will's  fortune,  too,  sir,  and  Maria's  and  her  sis- 
ter's." 

"  And  are  they,  too,  fond  of  the  cards  ? " 

"  No  ;  to  do  poor  Molly  justice,  gaming  is  not  her  passion  ; 
but  when  she  is  amongst  them  in  London,  little  Fanny  will  bet 
her  eyes  out  of  her  head.  I  know  what  the  passion  is,  sir  :  do 
not  look  so  astonished ;  I  have  had  it ;  as  I  had  the  measles 
when  I  was  a  child.  I  am  not  cured  quite.  For  a  poor  old 
woman  there  is  nothing  left  but  that.  You  will  see  some  high 
play  at  my  card-tables  to-night.  Hush  !  my  dear.  It  was  that 
I  wanted,  and  without  which  I  moped  so  at  Castlewood  !  I 
could  not  win  of  my  nieces  or  their  mother.  They  would  not 
pay  if  they  lost.  'Tis  best  to  warn  you,  my  dear,  in  time,  lest 
you  should  be  shocked  by  the  discovery.  I  can't  live  without 
the  cards,  there's  the  truth." 

A  few  days  before,  and  while  staying  with  his  Castlewood 
relatives,  Harry,  who  loved  cards,  and  cock-fighting,  and  bet- 
ting, and  every  conceivable  sport  himself,  would  have  laughed 


THE   VIRGnYIAiYS. 


207 


very  likely  at  this  confession.  Amongst  that  family  into  whose 
society  he  had  fallen,  many  things  were  laughed  at,  over  which 
some  folks  looked  grave.  Faith  and  honor  were  laughed  at ; 
pure  lives  were  disbelieved;  selfishness  was  proclaimed  as 
common  practice ;  sacred  duties  were  sneeringly  spoken  of, 
and  vice  flippantly  condoned.  These  were  no  Pharisees  :  they 
professed  no  hypocrisy  of  virtue,  they  flung  no  stones  at  dis- 
covered sinners  : — they  smiled,  shrugged  their  shoulders,  and 
passed  on.  The  members  of  this  family  did  not  pretend  to  be 
a  whit  better  than  their  neighbors,  whom  they  despised  heart- 
ily ;  they  lived  quite  familiarly  with  the  folks  about  whom  and 
whose  wives  they  told  such  wicked,  funny  stories  ;  they  took 
their  share  of  what  pleasure  or  plunder  came  to  hand,  and 
lived  from  day  to  day  till  their  last  day  came  for  them.  Of 
course  there  are  no  such  people  now ;  and  human  nature  is 
very  much  changed  in  the  last  hundred  years.  At  any  rate, 
card-playing  is  greatly  out  of  mode  :  about  that  there  can  be  no 
doubt;  and  very  likely  there  are  not  six  ladies  of  fashion  in 
London,  who  know  the  difference  between  Spadille  and  Manille. 

"  How  dreadfully  dull  you  must  have  found  those  humdrum 
people  at  that  village  where  we  left  you — but  the  savages  were 
very  kind  to  you,  child  !  "  said  Madame  de  Bernstein,  patting 
the  young  man's  cheek  with  her  pretty  old  hand. 

"  They  were  very  kind  ;  and  it  was  not  at  all  dull.  Ma'am, 
and  I  think  they  are  some  of  the  best  people  in  the  world," 
said  Harry,  with  his  face  flushing  up.  His  aunt's  tone  jarred 
upon  him.  He  could  not  bear  that  any  one  should  speak  or 
think  lightly  of  the  new  friends  whom  he  had  found.  He  did 
not  want  them  in  such  company. 

The  old  lady,  imperious  and  prompt  to  anger,  was  about  to 
resent  the  check  she  had  received,  but  a  second  thought  made 
her  pause.  "  Those  two  girls,"  she  thought,  "  a  sick-bed — an 
interesting  stranger — of  course  he  has  been  falling  in  love  with 
one  of  them."  Madame  de  Bernstein  looked  round  with  a  mis- 
chievous glance  at  Lady  Maria,  who  entered  the  room  at  this 
juncture. 


2o8  THE  VIRGINIANS. 

CHAPTER  XXV. 

NEW      ACQUAINTANCES. 

Cousin  Maria  made  her  appearance,  attended  by  a  couple 
of  gardeners'  boys  bearing  baskets  of  flowers,  with  which  it 
was  proposed  to  decorate  ^ladame  de  Bernstein's  drawing-room 
against  the  arrival  oif  her  ladyshijD's  company.  Three  footmen 
in  livery,  gorgeously  laced  with  worsted,  set  out  twice  as  many 
card-tables.  A  major-domo  in  black  and  a  bag,  with  fine 
laced  ruffles,  and  looking  as  if  he  ought  to  have  a  sword  by  his 
side,  followed  the  lacqueys  bearing  fasces  of  wax-candles,  of 
which  he  placed  a  pair  on  each  card-table,  and  in  the  silver 
sconces  on  the  wainscoted  wall  that  was  now  gilt  with  the 
slanting  rays  of  the  sun,  as  was  the  prospect  of  the  green  com- 
mon beyond,  with  its  rocks  and  clumps  of  trees  and  houses 
twinkling  in  the  sunshine.  Groups  of  many-colored  figures  in 
hoops  and  powder  and  brocade  sauntered  over  the  green,  and 
dappled  the  plain  with  their  shadows.  On  the  other  side  from 
the  Baroness's  windows  you  saw  the  Pantiles,  where  a  per- 
petual fair  was  held,  and  heard  the  clatter  and  buzzing  of  the 
company.  A  band  of  music  was  here  performing  for  the  bene- 
fit of  the  visitors  to  the  Wells.  Madame  Bernstein's  chief 
sitting-room  might  not  suit  a  recluse  or  a  student,  but  for  those 
who  liked  bustle,  gayety,  a  bright  cross  light,  and  a  view  of  all 
that  was  going  on  in  the  cheer)^  busy  place,  no  lodging  could  be 
pleasanter.  And  when  the  windows  were  lighted  up,  the  pas- 
sengers walking  below  were  aware  that  her  ladyship  was  at 
home  and  holding  a  card  assembly,  to  which  an  introduction  was 
easy  enough.  By  the  way,  in  speaking  of  the  past,  I  think  the 
night-life  of  society  a  hundred  years  since  was  rather  a  dark 
life.  There  was  not  one  wax-candle  for  ten  which  we  now  see 
in  a  lady's  drawing-room  :  let  alone  gas  and  the  wondrous  new 
illuminations  of  clubs.  Horrible  frutterins:  tallow  smoked  and 
stunk  in  passages.  The  candle-snuffer  was  a  notorious  officer 
in  the  theatre.  See  Hogarth's  pictures  :  how  dark  they  are, 
and  how  his  feasts  are,  as  it  were,  begrimed  with  tallow  !  In 
"  Marriage  a  la  ^Mode,"  in  Lord  Viscount  Squanderfield's  grand 
saloons,  where  he  and  his  wife  are  sitting  yawning  before  the 
horror-stricken  steward  when  their  party  is  over — there  are 
but  eight  candles — one  on  each  card-table,  and  half-a-dozen  in 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


209 


a  brass  chandelier.  If  Jack  Briefless  convoked  his  friends  to 
oysters  and  beer  in  his  chambers,  Pump  Court,  he  would  have 
twice  as  many.  Let  us  comfort  ourselves  by  thinking  that 
Louis  Quatorze  in  all  his  glory  held  his  revels  in  the  dark,  and 
bless  Mr.  Price  and  other  Luciferous  benefactors  of  mankind, 
for  banishing  the  abominable  mutton  of  our  youth. 

So  Maria  with  her  flowers  (herself  the  fairest  flower,) 
popped  her  roses,  sweetwilliams,  and  so  forth,  in  vases  here 
and  there,  and  adorned  the  apartment  to  the  best  of  her  art. 
She  lingered  fondly  over  this  bowl  and  that  dragon  jar,  casting 
but  sly  timid  glances  the  while  at  young  Cousin  Harr}',  whose 
own  blush  would  have  become  any  young  woman,  and  you 
might  have  thought  that  she  possibly  intended  to  outstay  her 
aunt ;  but  that  Baroness,  seated  in  her  arm-chair,  her  crooked 
tortoise-shell  stick  in  her  hand,  pointed  the  servants  imperi- 
ously to  their  duty ;  rated  one  and  the  other  soundly  :  Tom 
for  having  a  darn  in  his  stocking ;  John  for  having  greased  his 
locks  too  profusely  out  of  the  candle-box ;  and  so  forth — keep- 
ing a  stern  domination  over  them.  Another  remark  concern- 
ing poor  Jeames  of  a  hundred  years  ago  :  Jeames  slept  two  in 
a  bed,  four  in  a  room,  and  that  room  a  cellar  very  likely,  and 
he  washed  in  a  trough  such  as  you  would  hardly  see  anywhere 
in  London  now  out  of  the  barracks  of  her  Majesty's  Foot 
Guards. 

If  Maria  hoped  a  present  interview,  her  fond  heart  was 
disappointed.  "  Where  are  you  going  to  dine,  Harry  ?  "  asks 
Madame  de  Bernstein.  "  My  niece  Maria  and  I  shall  have  a 
chicken  in  the  little  parlor — I  think  you  should  go  to  the  best 
ordinary.  There  is  one  at  the  '  White  Horse  '  at  three,  we 
shall  hear  his  bell  in  a  minute  or  two.  And  you  will  under- 
stand, sir,  that  you  ought  not  to  spare  expense,  but  behave 
like  Princess  Pocahontas's  son.  Your  trunks  have  been  taken 
oyer  to  the  lodging  I  have  engaged  for  you.  It  is  not  good 
for  a  lad  to  be  always  hanging  about  the  aprons  of  two  old 
women.     Is  it,  Maria  ?  " 

''  No,"  says  her  ladyship,  dropping  her  meek  eyes  :  whilst 
the  other  lady's  glared  in  triumph.  I  think  Andromeda  had 
been  a  good  deal  exposed  to  the  Dragon  in  the  course  of  the 
last  five  or  six  days ;  and  if  Perseus  had  cut  the  latter's  cruel 
head  off  he  would  have  committed  not  unjustifiable^  monstricide. 
But  he  did  not  bare  sword  or  shield  ;  he  only  looked  mechani- 
cally at  the  lacqueys  in  tawny  and  blue  as  they  creaked  about 
the  room. 

"  And   there   are  good  mercers  and  tailors  from  London 

14 


2IO  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

always  here  to  wait  on  the  company  at  the  Wells.  You  had 
better  see  them,  my  dear,  for  your  suit  is  not  of  the  very  last 
fashion — a  little  lace " 

"  I  can't  go  out  of  mourning.  Ma'am,"  said  the  young  man, 
looking  down  at  his  sables. 

''  Ho,  sir,"  cried  the  lady,  rustling  up  from  her  chair  and 
rising  on  her  cane,  "  wear  black  for  your  brother  till  you  are 
as  old  as  Methuselah,  if  you  like.  I  am  sure  I  don't  want  to 
prevent  you.  I  only  want  you  to  dress,  and  to  do  like  other 
people,  and  make  a  figure  worthy  of  3'Our  name." 

"  Madam,"  said  Mr.  Warrington  with  great  state,  "  I  have 
not  done  anything  to  disgrace  it  that  I  know." 

Why  did  the  old  woman  stop  and  give  a  little  start  as  if  she 
had  been  struck  .''  Let  bygones  be  bygones.  She  and  the  boy 
had  a  score  of  little  passages  of  this  kind  in  which  swords  were 
crossed  and  thrusts  rapidly  dealt  or  parried.  She  liked  Harry 
none  the  worse  for  his  courage  in  facing  her.  "  Sure  a  little 
finer  linen  than  that  shirt  you  wear  will  not  be  a  disgrace  to  you 
sir,"  she  said,  with  rather  a  forced  laugh. 

Harry  bowed  and  blushed.  It  was  one  of  the  homely  gifts 
of  his  Oakhurst  friends.  He  felt  pleased  somehow  to  think  he 
wore  it ;  thought  of  the  new  friends,  so  good,  so  pure,  so  suii- 
ple,  so  kindly,  with  immense  tenderness,  and  felt,  while  invested 
in  this  garment,  as  if  evil  could  not  touch  him.  He  said  he 
would  go  to  his  lodging,  and  make  a  point  of  returning  arrayed 
in  the  best  linen  he  had. 

"  Come  back  here,  sir,"  said  Madame  Bernstein,  "  and  if  our 
company  has  not  arrived,  Maria  and  I  will  find  some  ruffles  for 
you  !  "  And  herewith,  under  a  footman's  guidance,  the  young 
fellow  walked  off  to  his  new  lodgings. 

Harry  found  not  only  handsome  and  spacious  apartments 
provided  for  him,  but  a  groom  in  attendance  waiting  to  be 
engaged  by  his  honor,  and  a  second  valet,  if  he  was  inclined  to 
hire  one  to  wait  upon  Mr.  Gumbo.  Ere  he  had  been  many 
minutes  in  his  rodms,  emissaries  from  a  London  tailor  and 
bootmaker  waited  on  him  with  the  cards  and  compliments  of 
their  employers,  Messrs.  Regnier  and  Tull  ;  the  best  articles  in 
his  modest  wardrobe  were  laid  out  by  Gumbo,  and  the  finest 
linen  with  which  his  thrifty  Virginian  mother  had  provided  him. 
Visions  of  the  snow-surrounded  home  in  his  own  country,  of 
the  crackling  logs  and  the  trim  quiet  ladies  working  by  the  fire, 
rose  up  before  him.  For  the  first  time  a  little  thought  that  the 
homely  clothes  were  not  quite  smart  enough,  the  home-worked 
linen  not  so  fine  as  it  might  be,  crossed  the  young  man's  mind. 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  21 1 

That  he  should  be  ashamed  of  anything  belonging  to  him  or  to 
Castlewood  !  That  was  strange.  The  simple  folks  there  were 
only  too  well  satisfied  with  all  things  that  were  done  or  said,  or 
produced  at  Castlewood ;  and  Madam  Esmond,  when  she  sent 
her  son  forth  on  his  travels,  thought  no  young  nobleman  need 
be  better  provided.  The  clothes  might  have  fitted  better  and 
been  of  a  later  fashion,  to  be  sure — but  still  the  young  fellow 
presented  a  comely  figure  enough  when  he  issued  from  his 
apartments,  his  toilette  over ;  and  Gumbo  calling  a  chair, 
marched  beside  it,  until  they  reached  the  ordinary  where  the 
young  gentleman  was  to  dine. 

Here  he  expected  to  find  the  beau  whose  acquaintance  he 
had  make  a  few  hours  before  at  his  aunt's  lodging,  and  who 
had  indicated  to  Harry  that  the  "  White  Horse  "  was  the  most 
modish  place  for  dining  at  the  Wells,  and  he  mentioned  his 
friend's  name  to  the  host  :  but  the  landlord  and  waiters  leading 
him  into  the  room  with  many  smiles  and  bows  assured  his 
honor  that  his  honor  did  not  need  any  other  introduction  than 
his  own,  helped  him  to  hang  up  his  coat  and  sword  on  a  peg, 
asked  him  whether  he"  would  drink  Burgundy,  Pontac,  or 
Champagne  to  his  dinner,  and  led  him  to  a  table. 

Though  the  most  fashionable  ordinary  in  the  village,  the 
"  White  Horse  ''  did  not  happen  to  be  crowded  on  this  day. 
Monsieur  Barbeau,  the  landlord,  informed  Harry  that  there  was 
a  great  entertainment  at  Summer  Hill,  which  had  taken  away 
most  of  the  company  ;  indeed,  when  Harry  entered  the  room, 
there  were  but  four  other  gentlemen  in  it.  Two  of  these  guests 
were  drinking  wine,  and  had  finished  their  dinner :  the  other 
two  were  young  men  in  the  midst  of  their  meal,  to  whom  the 
landlord,  as  he  passed,  must  have  whispered  the  name  of  the 
new  comer,  for  they  looked  at  him  with  some  appearance  of 
interest,  and  made  him  a  slight  bow  across  the  table  as  the 
smiling  host  bustled  away  for  Harry's  dinner. 

Mr.  Warrington  returned  the  salute  of  the  two  gentlemen, 
who  bade  him  welcome  to  Tunbridge,  and  hoped  he  would  like 
the  place  upon  better  acquaintance.  Then  they  smiled  and 
exchanged  waggish  looks  with  each  other,  of  which  Harry  did 
not  understand  the  meaning,  nor  why  they  cast  knowing  glances 
at  the  two  other  guests  over  their  wine. 

One  of  these  persons  was  in  a  somewhat  tarnished  velvet 
coat,  with  a  huge  queue  and  bag,  and  voluminous  rufiies  and 
embroidery.  The  other  was  a  little  beetle-browed,  hook-nosed, 
high-shouldered  gentleman,  whom  his  opposite  companion  ad- 
dressed as  milor,  or  my  lord,  in   a  very  high  voice.     My  lord, 


2  12  THE   VTRGrXlANS. 

who  was  sipping  the  wine  before  him,  barely  glanced  at  the  new 
comer,  and  then  addressed  himself  to  his  own  companion. 

"■  And  so  you  know  the  nephew  of  the  old  woman — the 
Croesus,  who  comes  to  arrive  ?  " 

"You're  thrown  out  there,  Jack!"  says  one  young  gentle- 
man to  the  other. 

"  Never  could  manage  the  lingo,"  said  Jack.  The  two 
elders  had  begun  to  speak  in  the  French  language. 

"  But  assuredly,  my  dear  lord  !  "  says  the  gentleman  with 
the  long  queue. 

"  You  have  shown  energy,  my  dear  Baron  !  He  has  been 
here  but  two  hours.  My  people  told  me  of  him  only  as  I  came 
to  dinner." 

"  I  knew  him  before ! — I  have  met  him  often  in  London  with 
the  Baroness  and  my  lord,  his  cousin,"  said  the  Baron. 

A  smoking  soup  for  Harry  here  came  in,  borne  by  the  smil- 
ing host.  "Behold,  sir!  Behold  a  potage  of  my  fashion!" 
says  my  landlord,  laying  dow^n  the  dish  and  whispering  to 
Harry  the  celebrated  name  of  the  nobleman  opposite.  Harry 
thanked  Monsieur  Barbeau  in  his  own  language,  upon  which  the 
foreign  gentleman,  turning  round,  grinned  most  graciously  at 
Harry,  and  said,  "  Fous  bossedez  notre  langue  barfaidement. 
Monsieur."  Mr.  Warrington  had  never  heard  the  French  lan- 
guage pronounced  in  that  manner  in  Canada.  He  bowed  in 
return  to  the  foreign  gentleman. 

"  Tell  me  more  about  the  Croesus,  my  good  Baron,"  con- 
tinued his  lordship,  speaking  rather  superciliously  to  his  com- 
panion, and  taking  no  notice  of  Harry,  which  perhaps  some- 
what nettled  the  young  man. 

"  What  will  you,  that  I  tell  you,  my  dear  lord  'i  Croesus  is  a 
youth  like  other  youths  ;  he  is  tall,  like  other  youths ;  he  is 
awkward,  like  other  youths  ;  he  has  black  hair,  as  they  all  have 
who  come  from  the  Indies.  Lodgings  have  been  taken  for  him 
at  Mrs.  Rose's  toy-shop." 

'•  I  have  lodgings  there  too,"  thought  Mr.  Warrington. 
"  Who  is  Croesus  they  are  talking  of  ?     How  good  the  soup  is  !  " 

"  He  travels  with  a  large  retinue,"  the  Baron  continued, 
"  four  servants,  two  postchaises,  and  a  pair  of  outriders.  His 
chief  attendant  is  a  black  man,  who  saved  his  life  from  the 
savages  in  America,  and  who  will  not  hear,  on  any  account,  of 
being  made  free.  He  persists  in  wearing  mourning  for  his  elder 
brother,  from  whom  he  inherits  his  principality." 

"  Could  anything  console  you  for  the  death  of  yours, 
Chevalier.?  "  cried  out  the  elder  gentleman. 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


213 


"  jMilor  !  his  property  might,"  said  the  Chevalier,  "which 
you  know  is  not  small." 

"  Your  brother  li\'es  on  his  patrimony — which  you  have  told 
me  is  immense — you  by  your  industrv,  my  dear  Chevalier." 

"  Milor  !  "  cries  the  individual  addressed  as  Chevalier. 

"  By  your  industry  or  your  esprit, — how  much  more  noble  ! 
Shall  you  be  at  the  Baroness's  to-night  ?  She  ought  to  be  a 
little  of  your  parents.  Chevalier  ?  " 

"Again  I  fail  to  comprehend  your  lordship,"  said  the  other 
gentleman,  rather  sulkily. 

"  Why,  she  is  a  woman  of  great  wit — she  is  of  noble  birth — 
she  has  undergone  strange  adventures — she  has  but  little  prin- 
ciple (there  you  happily  have  the  advantage  of  her).  But  what 
care  we  men  of  the  world  .-*  You  intend  to  go  and  play  with  the 
young  Creole,  no  doubt,  and  get  as  much  money  from  him  as 
you  can.  By  the  way.  Baron,  suppose  he  should  be  a  giiet  a 
pens.,  that  young  Creole  ,''  Suppose  our  excellent  friend  has 
invented  him  up  in  London,  and  brings  him  down  with  his 
character  for  wealth  to  prey  upon  the  innocent  folks  here .''  " 

"  J'y  ai  souvent  pense,  Milor,"  says  the  little  Baron,  placing 
his  finger  to  his  nose  very  knowingly,  "  that  Baroness  is  capa- 
able  of  anything." 

"  A  Baron — a  Baroness,  que  voulez-vous,  my  friend  ?  I 
mean  the  late  lamented  husband.    Do  you  know  who  he  was  ?  " 

"  Intimately.  A  more  notorious  villain  never  dealt  a  card. 
At  Venice,  at  Brussels,  at  Spa,  at  Vienna — the  jails  of  every 
one  of  which  places  he  knew.     I  knew  the  man,  my  lord." 

"  I  thought  you  would.  I  saw  him  at  the  Hague,  where  I 
first  had  the  honor  of  meeting  you,  and  a  more  disreputable 
rogue  never  entered  my  doors.  A  Minister  must  open  them  to 
all  sorts  of  people.  Baron, — spies,  sharpers,  ruffians  of  every 
sort." 

"  Parbleu,  Milor,  how  you  treat  them  !  "  says  my  lord's 
companion. 

"  A  man  of  my  rank,  my  friend — of  the  rank  I  held  then — 
of  course,  must  see  all  sorts  of  people — entre  autres  your 
acquaintance.  What  his  wife  could  want  with  such  a  name  as 
his  I  can't  conceive." 

"  Apparently,  it  was  better  than  the  lady's  own." 

"  Effectively  !  So  I  have  heard  of  my  friend  Paddy  chang- 
ing clothes  with  the  scarecrow.  I  don't  know  which  name  i: 
the  most  distinguished,  that  of  the  English  bishop  or  the  Ger- 
man baron." 

"  My  lord,"  cried  the  other  gentleman,  rising  and  laying  his 


214 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


hand  on  a  large  star  on  his  coat,  "  you  forget  that  I,  too,  am  a 
Baron  and  a  ChevaUer  of  the  Holy  Roman " 

"  — Order  of  the  Spur ! — not  in  the  least,  my  dear  knight 
and  baron  !  You  will  have  no  more  wine  ?  We  shall  meet  at 
Madame  de  Bernstein's  to-night."  The  knight  and  baron 
quitted  the  table,  felt  in  his  embroidered  pockets,  as  if  for 
money  to  give  the  waiter,  who  brought  him  his  great  laced  hat, 
and  waving  that  menial  off  with  a  hand  surrounded  by  large 
ruffles  and  blazing  rings,  he  stalked  away  from  the  room. 

It  was  only  when  the  person  addressed  as  my  lord  had 
begun  to  speak  of  the  bishop's  widow  and  the  German  baron's 
wife  that  Harry  Warrington  was  aware  how  his  aunt  and  him- 
self had  been  the  subject  of  the  two  gentlemen's  conversation. 
Ere  the  conviction  had  settled  itself  on  his  mind,  one  of  the 
speakers  had  quitted  the  room,  and  the  other  turning  to  a  table 
at  which  two  gentlemen  sat,  said,  "  What  a  little  sharjDer  it  is  ! 
Everything  I  said  about  Bernstein  relates  mutato  nomine  to 
him.  I  knew  the  fellow  to  be  a  spy  and  a  rogue.  He  has 
changed  his  religion  I  don't  know  how  many  times.  I  had  him 
turned  out  of  the  Hague  myself  when  I  was  ambassador,  and  I 
know  he  was  caned  in  Vienna." 

"  I  wonder  my  Lord  Chesterfield  associates  with  such  a 
villain  !  "  called  out  Harry  from  his  table.  The  other  couple 
of  diners  looked  at  him.  To  his  surprise  the  nobleman  so 
addressed  went  on  talking. 

"  There  cannot  be  a  v^ox^ficffe  coquui  than  this  Poellnitz. 
Why,  heaven  be  thanked,  he  has  actually  left  me  my  snuff- 
box! You  laugh? — the  fellow  is  capable  of  taking  it."  And 
my  lord  thought  it  was  his  own  satire  at  which  the  young  men 
were  laughing. 

"  You  are  quite  right,  sir,"  said  one  of  the  two  diners,  turn- 
ing to  Mr.  Warrington,  "  though,  saving  your  presence,  I  don't 
know  what  business  it  is  of  yours.  My  lord  will  play  with  any- 
body who  will  set  him.  Don't  be  alarmed,  he  is  as  deaf  as  a 
post,  and  did  not  hear  a  word  that  you  said  ;  and  that's  why 
my  lord  will  play  with  anybody  who  will  put  a  pack  of  cards 
before  him,  and  that  is  the  reason  why  he  consorts  with  this 
rogue." 

"  Faith,  I  know  other  noblemen  who  are  not  particular  as 
to  their  company,"  says  Mr.  Jack. 

"  Do  you  mean  because  I  associate  with  you  ?  I  know  my 
company,  my  good  friend,  and  I  defy  most  men  to  have  the 
better  of  me." 

Not  having  paid  the  least  attention  to  Mr.  Warrington's 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  215 

angry  interruption,  my  lord  opposite  was  talking  in  his  favorite 
French  with  Monsieur  Barbeau,  the  landlord,  and  graciously 
complimenting  him  on  his  dinner.  The  host  bowed  again  and 
again  ;  was  enchanted  that  his  Excellency  was  satisfied :  had 
not  forgotten  the  art  which  he  had  learned  when  he  was  a 
young  man  in  his  Excellency's  kingdom  of  Ireland.  The  salmi 
was  to  my  lord's  liking  ?  He  had  just  served  a  dish  to  the 
young  American  seigneur  who  sat  opposite,  the  gentleman  from 
Virginia. 

''  To  whom  / "  My  lord's  pale  face  became  red  for  a  mo- 
ment, as  he  asked  this  question,  and  looked  towards  Harry 
Warrington,  opposite  to  him. 

"  To  the  young  gentleman  from  Virginia  who  has  just  ar- 
rived, and  who  perfectly  possesses  our  beautiful  language  !  " 
says  Mr.  Barbeau,  thinking  to  kill  two  birds,  as  it  were,  with 
this  one  stone  of  a  compliment. 

"  And  to  whom  your  lordship  will  be  answerable  for  lan- 
guage reflecting  upon  my  family,  and  uttered  in  the  presence 
of  these  gentlemen,"  cried  out  Mr.,  Warrington,  at  the  top  of 
his  voice,  determined  that  his  opponent  should  hear. 

"  You  must  go  and  call  into  his  ear,  and  then  he  may  per- 
chance hear  you,"  said  one  of  the  younger  guests. 

"  I  will  take  care  that  his  lordship  shall  understand  my 
meaning,  one  w^ay  or  other,"  Mr.  Warrington  said,  with  much 
dignity  ;  "  and  will  not  suffer  calumnies  regarding  my  relatives 
to  be  uttered  by  him  or  any  other  man  !  " 

Whilst  Harry  was  speaking,  the  little  nobleman  opposite  to 
him  did  not  hear  him,  but  had  time  sufficient  to  arrange  his 
own  reply.  He  had  risen,  passing  his  handkerchief  once  or 
twice  across  his  mouth,  and  laying  his  slim  fingers  on  the  table. 
"  Sir,"  said  he,  "  you  will  believe,  on  the  word  of  a  gentleman, 
that  I  had  no  idea  before  whom  I  was  speaking,  and  it  seems 
that  my  acquaintance.  Monsieur  de  Poellnitz,  knew  you  no 
better  than  myself.  Had  I  known  you,  believe  me  that  I 
should  have  been  the  last  man  in  the  world  to  utter  a  syllable 
that  should  give  you  annoyance  ;  and  I  tender  you  my  regrets 
and  apologies  before  my  Lord  March  and  Mr.  Morris  here 
present." 

To  these  words^  Mr.  Warrington  could  only  make  a  bow, 
and  mumble  out  a  few  words  of  acknowledgment ;  which 
speech  having  made  believe  to  hear,  my  lord  made  Harry 
another  very  profound  bow,  and  saying  he  should  have  the 
honor  of  waiting  upon  Mr.  Warrington  at  his  lodgings,  saluted 
the  company,  and  went  away. 


2i6  THE   VIRGINIANS. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

IN    WHICH    WE    ARE    AT    A    VERY    GREAT    DISTANCE    FROM    OAK- 
HURST. 

Within  the  precincts  of  the  "  White  Horse  Tavern,"  and 
coming  up  to  the  windows  of  the  eating-room,  was  a  bowHng- 
green,  with  a  table  or  two,  where  guests  might  sit  and  partake 
of  punch  or  tea.  The  three  gentlemen  having  come  to  an  end 
of  their  dinner  about  the  same  time,  Mr.  Morris  proposed  that 
they  should  adjourn  to  the  Green,  and  there  drink  a  cool  bot- 
tle. "Jack  Morris  would  adjourn  to  the  'Dust  Hole,'  as  a 
pretext  for  a  fresh  drink,"  said  my  lord.  On  which  Jack  said 
he  supposed  each  gentleman  had  his  own  favorite  way  of  going 
to  the  deuce.     His  weakness,  he  owned,  was  a  bottle. 

"  My  Lord  Chesterfield's  deuce  is  deuce-ace,"  says  my 
Lord  March.  "  His  lordship  can't  keep  away  from  the  cards 
or  dice." 

"  My  Lord  March  has  not  one  devil,  but  several  devils. 
He  loves  gambling,  he  loves  horse-racing,  he  loves  betting,  he 
loves  drinking,  he  loves  eating,  he  lo\es  money,  he  loves 
women  ;  and  you  have  fallen  into  bad  company,  Mr.  Warring- 
ton, when  you  lighted  upon  his  lordship.  He  will  play  you  for 
every  acre  you  have  in  Virginia." 

"  With  the  greatest  pleasure  in  life,  Mr.  Warrington  !  "  in- 
terposes my  lord. 

"  And  for  all  your  tobacco,  and  for  all  your  spices,  and  for 
all  your  slaves,  and  for  all  your  oxen  and  asses,  and  for  every- 
thing that  is  yours." 

"  Shall  we  begin  now.  Jack  1  you  are  never  without  a  dice- 
box  or  a  bottle-scre\v.  I  will  set  Mr.  Warrington  for  what  he 
likes." 

"  Unfortunately,  my  lord,  the  tobacco,  and  the  slaves,  and 
the  asses,  and  the  oxen,  are  not  mine,  as  yet.  I  am  just  of  age, 
and  my  mother,  scarce  twenty  years  older,  has  quite  as  good 
chance  of  long  life  as  I  have." 

"  I  will  bet  you  that  you  survive  her.  I  will  pay  you  a  sum 
now  against  four  times  the  sum  to  be  paid  at  her  death.  I  will 
set  you  a  fair  sum  over  this  table  against  the  reversion  of  your 
estate  in  Virginia  at  the  old  lady's  departure.  What  do  you 
call  your  place  1  " 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  217 

"Castlewood." 

"A  principality,  I  hear  it  is.  I  will  bet  that  its  value  has 
been  exaggerated  ten  times  at  least  amongst  the  quidnuncs  here. 
How  came  you  by  the  name  of  Castlewood  ? — you  are  related 
to  my  lord  ?  Oh,  stay  :  I  know, — my  lady,  your  mother,  de- 
scends from  the  real  head  of  the  house.  He  took  the  losing 
side  in  '15.  I  have  had  the  stor}^  a  dozen  times  from  my  old 
Duchess.  She  knew  your  grandfather.  He  was  friend  of  Ad- 
dison and  Steele,  and  Pope  and  Milton,  I  dare  say,  and  the 
bigwigs.  It  is  a  pity  he  did  not  stay  at  home,  and  transport 
the  other  branch  of  the  family  to  the  plantations." 

"  I  have  just  been  staying  at  Castlewood  with  my  cousin 
there,"  remarked  Mr.  Warrington. 

"  Hm  !  Did  you  play  with  him  ?  He's  fond  of  pasteboard 
and  bones." 

"  Never  but  for  sixpences  and  a  pool  of  commerce  with  the 
ladies." 

"  So  much  the  better  for  both  of  you.  But  you  played  with 
Will  Esmond  if  he  was  at  home  ?  I  will  lay  ten  to  one  you 
played  with  Will  Esmond." 

Harry  blushed,  and  owned  that  of  an  evening  his  cousin 
and  he  had  had  a  few  games  at  cards. 

"And  Tom  Sampson,  the  chaplain,"  cried  Jack  Morris, 
"was  he  of  the  party?  I  wager  that  Tom  made  a  third,  and 
the  Lord  deliver  you  from  Tom  and  Will  Esmond  together  !  " 

"  Nay.  The  truth  is  I  won  of  both  of  them,"  said  Mr. 
Warrington. 

"  And  they  paid  you  ?     Well,  miracles  will  never  cease  !  " 

'•  I  did  not  say  anything  about  miracles,"  remarked  Mr. 
Harry,  smiling  over  his  wine. 

"And  you  don't  tell  tales  out  of  school — and  so  much  the 
better,  Mr.  Warrington .''  "  says  my  lord. 

"  If  Mr.  Warrington  has  been  to  school  to  Lord  Castlewood 
and  Will  Esmond,  your  tutors  must  have  cost  you  a  pretty 
penny,  mustn't  they,  March  ?  " 

"  Must  they,  Morris  t  "  said  my  lord,  as  if  he  only  half  liked 
the  other's  familiarity. 

Both  of  the  two  gentlemen  were  dressed  alike,  in  small 
scratchwigs  without  powder,  in  blue  frocks  with  plate  buttons, 
in  buckskins  and  riding  boots,  in  little  hats  with  a  narrow  cord 
of  lace,  and  no  outward  mark  of  fashion. 

"  I  don't  care  for  indoor  games  much,  my  lord,"  says  Harr}^, 
warming  with  his  wine  ;  "  but  I  should  like  to  go  to  Newmar- 
ket, and  long  to  see  a  good  English  hunting-field." 


2i8  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

"  We  will  show  you  Newmarket  and  the  hunting-field,  sir. 
Can  you  ride  j^retty  well  ?  " 

"  I  think  I  can,"  Harry  said  ;  "  and  I  can  shoot  pretty  well, 
and  jump  some." 

"  What's  your  weight  ?  I  bet  you  we  w^eigh  even,  or  I 
weigh  most.  I  bet  you  Jack  Morris  beats  you  at  birds  or  a 
mark,  at  five-and-twenty  paces.  I  bet  you  I  jump  farther  than 
you  on  flat  ground,  here  on  this  green." 

"  I  don't  know  Mr.  Morris's  shooting — I  never  saw  either 
gentleman  before — but  I  take  your  bets,  my  lord,  at  what  you 
please,"  cries  Harry,  who  by  this  time  was  more  than  warm  with 
Burgundy. 

"  Ponies  on  each  !  "  cried  my  lord. 

"  Done  and  done  !  "  cried  my  lord  and  Harry  together. 
The  young  man  thought  it  was  for  the  honor  of  his  country  not 
to  be  ashamed  of  any  bet  made  to  him. 

"  We  can  try  the  last  bet  now,  if  your  feet  are  jDretty  steady," 
said  my  lord,  springing  up,  stretching  his  arms  and  limbs,  and 
looking  at  the  crisp  dry  grass.  He  drew  his  boots  off,  then  his 
coat  and  waistcoat,  buckling  his  belt  round  his  waist,  and  fling- 
ing his  clothes  down  to  the  ground. 

Harry  had  more  respect  for  his  garments.  It  was  his  best 
suit.  He  took  off  the  velvet  coat  and  waistcoat,  folded  them 
up  daintily,  and,  as  the  two  or  three  tables  were  slopped  with 
drink,  went  to  place  the  clothes  on  a  table  in  the  eating-room, 
of  which  the  windows  were  open. 

Here  a  new  guest  had  entered ;  and  this  was  no  other  than 
Mr.  Wolfe,  who  was  soberly  eating  a  chicken  and  salad,  with  a 
modest  pint  of  wine.  Harry  was  in  high  spirits.  He  told  the 
Colonel  he  had  a  bet  with  my  Lord  March — would  Colonel 
Wolfe  stand  him  halves  ?  The  Colonel  said  he  was  too^poor 
to  bet.  Would  he  come  out  and  see  fair  play  ?  That  he  would 
with  all  his  heart.  Colonel  Wolfe  set  down  his  glass,  and 
stalked  through  the  open  window  after  his  young  friend. 

"  Who  is  that  tallow-faced  Put  wqth  the  carroty  hair  ?"  says 
Jack  Morris,  on  whom  the  Burgundy  had  had  its  due  effect. 

Mr.  Warrington  explained  that  this  was  Lieutenant-Colonel 
Wolfe,  of  the  20th  Regiment. 

"  Your  humble  servant,  gentlemen  ! "  says  the  Colonel, 
making  the  company  a  rigid  military  bow. 

"  Never  saw  such  a  figure  in  mv  life  !  "  cries  Jack  Morris. 
"  Did  you— March  ?  " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  I  think  you  said  March  ?  "  said  the 
Colonel,  looking  very  much  surprised. 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


219 


"I  am  the  Earl  of  March,  sir,  at  Colonel  Wolfe's  service," 
said  the  nobleman,  bowing.  "My  friend,  Mr.  Morris,  is  so 
intimate  with  me,  that  after  dinner,  we  are  quite  like  brothers." 

"  Why  is  not  all  Tunbridge  Wells  by  to  hear  this  ?  "  thought 
Morris.  And  he  was  so  delighted  that  he  shouted  out,  "  Two 
to  one  on  my  lord  !  " 

"  Done  !  "  calls  out  Mr.  Warrington  ;  and  the  enthusiastic 
Jack  was  obliged  to  cry  "  Done  !  "  too. 

"Take  him.  Colonel,"  Harry  whispers  to  his  friend. 

But  the  Colonel  said  he  could  not  afford  to  lose,  and  there- 
fore could  not  hope  to  v/in. 

"  I  see  you  have  won  one  of  our  bets  already,  Mr.  Warring- 
ton," my  Lord  March  remarked,  "  I  am  taller  than  you  by  an 
inch  or  two,  but  you  are  broader  round  the  shoulders." 

"  Pooh,  my  dear  Will  !  I  bet  you  you  weigh  twice  as  much 
as  he  does  !  "  cries  Jack  Morris. 

"  Done,  Jack  !  "  says  my  lord,  laughing.  "  The  bets  are 
all  ponies.     \Vill  you  take  him,  Mr.  Warrington  ?  " 

"  No,  my  dear  fellow — one's  enough,"  says  Jack. 

"  Veiy  good,  my  dear  fellow,"  says  ray  lord  ;  "  and  now  we 
will  settle  the  other  wager. 

Having  already  arrayed  himself  in  his  best  silk  stockings, 
black  satin-net  breeches,  and  neatest  pumps,  Harry  did  not 
care  to  take  off  his  shoes  as  his  antagonist  had  done,  whose 
heavy  riding-boots  and  spurs  were,  to  be  sure,  little  calculated 
for  leaping.  They  had  before  them  a  fine  even  green  turf  of 
some  thirty  yards  in  length,  enough  for  a  run  and  enough  for  a 
jump.  A  gravel  walk  ran  around  this  green,  beyond  which  was 
a  waJl  and  gate -sign — a  field  azure,  bearing  the  Hanoverian 
White  Horse  rampant  between  two  skittles  proper,  and  for 
motto  the  name  of  the  landlord  and  of  the  animal  depicted. 

My  lord's  friend  laid  a  handkerchief  on  the  ground  as  the 
mark  whence  the  leapers  were  to  take  their  jump,  and  Mr. 
Wolfe  stood  at  the  other  end  of  the  grass-plot  to  note  the  spot 
where  each  came  down.  "  My  lord  went  first,"  writes  Mr. 
Warrington,  in  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Mountain,  at  Castlewood, 
Virginia,  still  extant.  "  He  was  for  having  me  take  the  lead ; 
but,  remembering  the  story  about  'the  Battel  of  Fontanoy ' 
which  my  dearest  George  used  to  tell,  I  says,  '  Monseigneur  le 
Comte,  tirez  le  premier,  s'il  vous  play.'  So  he  took  his  run  in 
his  stocking-feet,  and  for  the  honor  of  Old  Virginia,  I  had  the 
gratafacatioji  of  beating  his  lordship  by  more  than  two  feet — 
viz.,  two  feet  nine  inches — me  jumping  twenty-one  feet  three 
inches,  by  the   drawer's  measured  tape,  and  his  lordship  only 


2  20  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

eighteen  six.  I  had  won  from  him  about  my  weight  before 
(which  I  knew  the  moment  I  set  my  eye  upon  him).  So  he  and 
M7'.  Jack  paid  me  these  two  bctts.  And  with  my  best  duty  to 
my  mother — she  will  not  be  displeased  with  me,  for  I  bett  for 
the  hono?'  of  the  Old  Dominwn,  and  my  opponent  was  a  noble- 
man of  the  first  quality,  himself  holding  tivo  Ertdo7?ies,  and  heir 
to  a  Duke.  Betting  is  all  the  rage  here-,  and  the  bloods  and 
young  fellows  of  fashion  are  betting  away  from  morning  till 
night. 

"  I  told  them — and  that  was  my  mischief  perhaps — that 
there  was  a  gentleman  at  home  who  could  beat  me  by  a  good 
foot ;  and  when  they  asked  who  it  was,  and  I  said  Col.  G.- 
Washington of  Mount  Vernon — as  you  know  he  can,  and  he's 
the  only  man  in  his  county  or  mine  that  can  do  it — Mr.  Wolfe 
asked  me  ever  so  many  questions  about  Col.  G.  W.,  and  showed 
that  he  had  heard  of  him,  and  talked  over  last  year's  iinhappy 
campane  as  if  he  knew  every  inch  of  the  ground,  and  he  knew 
the  names  of  all  our  rivers,  only  he  called  the  Potowmac  Potto- 
mac,  at  which  we  had  a  good  laugh  at  him.  My  Lord  of  March 
and  Ruglen  was  not  in  the  least  ill-hiniior  about  losing,  and  he 
and  his  friend  handed  me  notes  out  of  their  pocketbooks,  which 
filled  mine  that  was  getting  very  empty,  for  the  vales  to  the  ser- 
vants at  my  Cousin  Castlewood's  house  and  buying  a  horse  at 
Oakhurst  have  very  nearly  put  me  on  the  necessity  of  mak- 
ing another  draft  upon  my  honored  mother  on  her  London  or 
Bristol  agent." 

These  feats  of  activity  over,  the  four  gentlemen  now  strolled 
out  of  the  tavern  garden  into  the  public  walk,  where,  by  this 
time,  a  great  deal  of  company  was  assembled  :  upon  whom  Mr. 
Jack,  who  was  of  a  frank  and  free  nature,  with  a  loud  voice, 
chose  to  make  remarks  that  were  not  always  agreeable.  And 
here,  if  my  Lord  March  made  a  joke,  of  which  his  lordshijD  was 
not  sparing,  Jack  roared,  "  Oh,  ho,  ho  !  Oh,  good  Gad  !  Oh, 
my  dear  earl  !     Oh,  my  dear  lord,  you'll  be  the  death  of  me  !  " 

"  It  seemed,  as  if  he  wished  ever}^body  to  know,"  writes 
Harry  sagaciously  to  Mrs.  Mountain,  "  that  his  friend  and  com- 
panion was  a7i  Erl /■'' 

There  was,  indeed,  a  great  variety  of  characters  who  passed. 
M.  Poellnitz,  no  finer  dressed  than  he  had  been  at  dinner, 
grinned,  and  saluted  with  his  great  laced  hat  and  tarnished 
feathers.  Then  came  by  my  Lord  Chesterfield,  in  a  pearl- 
colored  suit,  with  his  blue  ribbon  and  star,  and  saluted  the 
young  men  in  his  turn. 

"  I  will  back  the  old  boy  for  taking  his  hat  off  against  the 


& 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  221 

whole  kingdom,  and  France,  either,"  says  my  Lord  March. 
"  He  has  never  changed  the  shape  of  that  hat  of  his  for  twenty 
years.  Look  at  it.  There  it  goes  again!  Do  you  see  that 
reat  big  awkward  pock-marked,  snuff-colored  man,  who  hardly 

touches  his  clumsy  beaver  in   reply.     D his  confounded 

impudence — do  you  know  who  that  is  ?  " 

"  No,  curse  him  !  Who  is  it,  March  ?  "  asks  Jack,  with  an 
oath. 

"  It's  one  Johnson,  a  Dictionary-maker,  about  whom  my 
Lord  Chesterfield  wrote  some  capital  paj^ers,  when  his  diction- 
ary was  coming  out,  to  patronize  the  fellow.  I  know  they  were 
capital.  r"ve  heard  Horry  Walpole  say  so,  and  he  knows  all 
about  that  kind  of  thing.  Confound  the  impudent  school- 
master !  " 

"  Hang  him,  he  ought  to  stand  in  the  pillory  !  "  roars  Jack. 

"  That  fat  man  he's  walking  with  is  another  of  your  writing 
fellows, —  a  printer, —  his  name  is  Richardson;  he  wrote 
'  Clarissa,'  you  know." 

"  Great  heavens  !  my  lord,  is  that  the  great  Richardson  ? 
Is  that  the  man  who  wrote  '  Clarissa  .'' '  "  called  out  Colonel 
Wolfe  and  Mr.  Warrington,  in  a  breath. 

Harry  ran  forward  to  look  at  the  old  gentleman  toddling 
along  the  walk  with  a  train  of  admiring  ladies  surrounding 
him. 

"  Indeed,  my  ver^^  dear  sir,"  one  was  saying,  "  you  are  too 
great  and  good  to  live  in  such  a  world ;  but  sure  you  were  sent 
to  teach  it  virtue  !  " 

"Ah,  my  Miss  Mulso  !  Who  shall  teach  the  teacher.?" 
said  the  good,  fat  old  man,  raising  a  kind  round  face  skywards. 
"  Even  he  has  his  faults  and  errors  !  Even  his  age  and  expe- 
rience does  not  prevent  him  from  stumbl Heaven  bless 

my  soul,  Mr.  Johnson  !  I  ask  your  pardon  if  I  have  trodden 
on  your  corn." 

"  You  have  done  both,  sir.  You  have  trodden  on  the  corn, 
and  received  the  pardon,"  said  Mr.  Johnson,  and  went  on 
mumbling  some  verses,  swaying  to  and  fro,  his  eyes  turned 
towards  the  ground,  his  hands  behind  him,  and  occasionally 
endangering  with  his  great  stick  the  honest,  meek  eyes  of  his 
companion  author. 

"  They  do  not  see  very  well,  my  dear  Mulso,"  he  says  to  the 
young  lady,  "  but  such  as  they  are,  I  would  keep  my  lash  from 
Mr.  Johnson's  cudgel.  Your  servant,  sir."  Here  he  made  a 
low  bow,  and  took  off  his  hat  to  Mr.  Warrington,  who  shrank 
back  with  many  blushes,  after  saluting  the  great  author.     The 


2  22  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

great  author  was  accustomed  to  be  adored.  A  gentler  wind 
never  puffed  mortal  vanity.  Enraptured  spinsters  flung  tea- 
leaves  round  him,  and  incensed  him  with  the  coffee-pot. 
Matrons  kissed  the  slippers  they  had  worked  for  him.  There 
was  a  halo  of  virtue  round  his  nightcap.  All  Europe  had 
thrilled,  panted,  admired,  trembled,  wept  over  the  pages  ot  the 
immortal  little  kind  honest  man  with  the  round  paunch.  Harry 
came  back  quite  glowing  and  proud  at  having  a  bow  from  him. 
"  Ah  !  "  says  he,  "  my  lord,  I  am  glad  to  have  seen  him !  " 

"  Seen  him  !  why,  dammy,  you  may  see  him  any  day  in  his 
shop,  I  suppose  ?  "  says  Jack,  with  a  laugh. 

"My  brother  declared  that  he,  and  Mr.  Fielding,  I  think, 
was  the  name,  were  the  greatest  geniuses  in  England  ;  and  often 
used  to  say  that  when  we  came  to  Europe,  his  first  pilgrimage 
would  be  to  Mr.  Richardson,"  cried  Harr}',  always  impetuous, 
honest,  and  tender,  when  he  spoke  of  the  dearest  friend. 

"  Your  brother  spoke  like  a  man,''  cried  Mr.  Wolfe,  his  pale 
face  likewise  flushing  up.  "  I  would  rather  be  a  man  of  genius, 
than  a  peer  of  the  realm." 

"  Every  man  to  his  taste.  Colonel,"  says  my  lord,  much 
amused.  "  Your  enthusiasm — I  don't  mean  anything  personal 
— refreshes"  me,  on  my  honor  it  does." 

"So  it  does  me — bv  gad  —  perfectly  refreshes  me,"  cries 
Jack. 

"  So  it  does  Jack — you  see — it  actually  refreshes  Jack  !  I 
say,  Jack,  which  would  you  rather  be  ? — a  fat  old  printer  who 
has  written  a  story  about  a  confounded  girl  and  a  fellow  that 
ruins  her, — or  a  Peer  of  Parliament  with  ten  thousand  a  year  ?  " 

"  March — my  Lord  March,  do  you  take  me  for  a  fool  ?  " 
says  Jack,  with  a  tearful  voice.  "  Have  I  done  anything  to 
deserve  this  language  from  you  ?  " 

"  I  would  rather  win  honor  than  honors  :  I  would  rather 
have  genius  than  wealth.  I  would  rather  make  my  name  than 
inherit  it,  though  my  father's,  thank  God,  is  an  honest  one," 
said  the  young  Colonel.  "  But  pardon  me,  gentlemen !  " 
And  here  making  them  a  hasty  salutation,  he  ran  across  the 
parade  towards  a  young  and  elderly  lady,  and  a  gentleman, 
who  were  now  advancing. 

"  It  is  the  beautiful  Miss  Lowther.  I  remember  now," 
says  my  lord.  "  See  !  he  takes  her  arm  !  The  report  is,  he  is 
engaged  to  her." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  such  a  fellow  is  engaged  to  any  of 
the  Lowthers  of  the  North  ? "  cries  out  Jack.  "  Curse  me, 
what   is    the   world   come    to,  with    your   printers,   and   youi 


I ,  ,-Ja    \   '■■■ 


\i  J^J^r^^ 


-\ 


THE  "  DICTIONARY-MAKER." 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  223 

half-pay  ensigns,   and  your  schoolmasters,    and    your  inferna: 
nonsense  ?  " 

The  Dictionary-maker,  who  had  shown  so  little  desire  to 
bow  to  my  Lord  Chesterfield,  when  that  famous  noblema!* 
courteously  saluted  him,  was  here  seen  to  take  off  his  oeaver, 
and  bow  almost  to  the  ground,  before  a  florid  personage  in  a 
large  round  hat,  M'ith  bands  and  a  gown,  who  made  his  appear- 
ance in  the  Walk.  This  was  my  Lord  Bishop  of  Salisbury, 
wearing  complacently  the  blue  ribbon  and  badge  of  the  Garter, 
of  which  Noble  Order  his  lordship  was  prelate. 

Mr.  Johnson  stood,  hat  in  hand,  during  the  whole  time  of 
his  conversation  with  Dr.  Gilbert ;  who  made  many  flattering 
and  benedictory  remarks  to  Mr.  Richardson,  declaring  that  he 
was  the  supporter  of  virtue,  the  preacher  of  sound  morals, 
the  mainstay  of  religion,  of  all  which  points  the  honest  printer 
himself  was  perfectly  convinced. 

Do  not  let  any  young  lady  trip  to  her  grandpapa's  bookcase 
in  consequence  of  this  eulogium,  and  rashly  take  down 
'•  Clarissa  "  from  the  shelf.  She  would  not  care  to  read  the 
volumes,  over  which  her  pretty  ancestresses  wept  and  thrilled 
a  hundred  years  ago  ;  which  were  commended  by  divines  from 
pulpits  and  belauded  all  Europe  over.  I  wonder,  are  our 
women  more  virtuous  than  their  grandmothers,  or  only  more 
squeamish  ?  If  the  former,  then  Miss  Smith  of  New  York  is 
certainly  more  modest  than  Miss  Smith  of  London,  who  still 
does  not  scruple  to  say  that  tables,  pianos,  and  animals  have 
legs.  Oh,  my  faithful,  good  old  Samuel  Richardson  !  Hath 
the  news  yef  reached  thee  in  Hades  that  thy  sublime  novels 
are  huddled  away  in  corners,  and  that  our  daughters  may  no 
more  read  "  Clarissa  "  than  "  Tom  Jones  ?  "  Go  up,  Samuel, 
and  be  reconciled  with  thy  brother  scribe,  whom  in  life  thou 
didst  hate  so,  I  wonder  whether  a  century  hence  the  novels 
of  to-day  will  be  hidden  behind  locks  and  wires,  and  make 
pretty  little  maidens  blush  1 

"  Who  is  yonder  queer  person  in  the  high  head-dress  of  my 
grandmother's  time,  who  stops  and  speaks  to  Mr.  Richardson  ?  " 
asked  Harry,  as  a  fantastically  dressed  lady  came  up,  and  per- 
formed a  curtsey  and  a  compliment  to  the  bowing  printer. 

Jack  Morris  nervously  struck  Harry  a  blow  in  the  side  with 
the  butt  end  of  his  whip.     Lord  March  laughed. 

"  Yonder  queer  person  is  my  gracious  kinswoman,  Katherine, 
Duchess  of  Dover  and  Queensberry,  at  your  service,  Mr. 
Warrington.  She  was  a  beauty  once  !  She  is  changed  now, 
isn't  she  ?   What  an  old  Gorgon  it  is  !    She  is  a  great  patroness 


254  ^-^-^   VIRGINIANS. 

of  your  book -men  :  and  when  that  old  frump  was  young,  they 
actually  made  verses  about  her." 

The  Earl  quitted  his  friends  for  a  moment  to  make  his  bow 
to  the  old  Duchess,  Jack  Morris  explaining  to  Mr.  Warrington 
how,  at  the  Duke's  death,  my  Lord  of  March  and  Rugien 
would  succeed  to  his  cousin's  dukedoms. 

"  I  suppose,"  says  Harry,  simply,  "  his  lordship  is  here  in 
attendance  upon  the  old  lady  ?  " 

Jack  burst  into  a  loud  laugh. 

"  Oh,  yes  !  very  much — exactly  !  "  says  he.  "  Why,  my 
dear  fellow,  you  don't  mean  to  say  you  haven't  heard  about  the 
little  Opera-dancer .?  " 

"  I  am  but  lately  arrived  in  England,  Mr.  Morris,"  said 
Harry,  with  a  smile,  "  and  in  Virginia,  I  own,  we  have  not 
heard  much  about  the  little  Opera-dancer." 

Luckily  for  us,  the  secret  about  the  little  Opera-dancer  never 
was  revealed,  for  the  young  men's  conversation  was  interrupted 
by  a  lady  in  a  cardinal  cape — and  a  hat  by  no  means  unlike 
those  lovely  head-pieces  which  have  returned  into  vogue  a 
hundred  years  after  the  date  of  our  present  history — who  made 
a  profound  curtsey  to  the  two  gentlemen  and  received  their 
salutation  in  return.  She  stopped  opposite  to  Harry ;  she  held 
out  her  hand,  rather  to  his  wonderment : 

"  Have  you  so  soon  forgotten  me,  Mr.  Warrington  ?  "  she 
said. 

Off  went  Harry's  hat  in  an  instant.  He  started,  blushed, 
stammered,  and  called  out  "  Good  heavens  ! "  as  if  there  had 
been  any  celestial  wonder  in  the  circumstance  !  It  was  Lady 
Maria  come  out  for  a  walk.  He  had  not  been  thinking  about 
her.  She  was,  to  say  truth,  for  the  moment  so  utterly  out  of 
the  young  gentleman's  mind,  that  her  sudden  re-entry  there  and 
appearance  in  the  body  startled  Mr.  Warrington's  faculties,  and 
caused  those  guilty  blushes  to  crowd  into  his  cheeks. 

No.  He  was  not  even  thinking  of  her  !  A  week  ago — a 
year,  a  hundred  years  ago  it  seemed — he  would  not  have  been 
surprised  to  meet  her  anywhere.  Appearing  from  amidst  dark- 
ling shrubberies,  gliding  over  green  garden  terraces,  loitering 
on  stairs,  or  corridors,  hovering  even  in  his  dreams,  all  day  or 
all  night,  bodily  or  spiritually,  he  had  been  accustomed  to  meet 
her.  A  week  ago  his  heart  used  to  beat.  A  week  ago,  and  at 
the  very  instant  when  he  jumped  out  of  his  sleep  there  was  her 
idea  smiling  on  him.  And  it  was  only  last  Tuesday  that  his 
love  was  stabbed  and  slain,  and  he  not  only  had  left  off  mourn- 
ing for  her,  but  had  forgotten  her  ! 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  22$ 

"  You  will  come  and  walk  with  me  a  little  ?  "  she  said.  "  Or 
would  you  like  the  music  best  ?  I  dare  say  you  wdll  like  the 
music  best." 

"You  know,"  said  Harry,  "I  don't  care  about  any  music 
much  except  " — he  was  thinking  of  the  evening  hymn — "  except 
of  your  playing."  He  turned  very  red  again  as  he  spoke,  he 
felt  he  was  perjuring  himself  horribly. 

The  poor  lady  w^as  agitated  herself  by  the  flutter  and  agita- 
tion which  she  saw  in  her  young  companion.  Gracious  heaven  ! 
Could  that  tremor  and  excitement  mean  that  she  was  mistaken, 
and  that  the  lad  was  still  faithful  1  "  Give  me  your  arm,  and 
let  us  take  a  little  walk,"  she  said,  waving  round  a  curtsey  to 
the  other  two  gentlemen  :  "  my  aunt  is  asleep  after  her  dinner." 
Harry  could  not  but  offer  the  arm,  and  press  the  hand  that  lay 
against  his  heart.  Maria  made  another  fine  curtsey  to  Harry's 
bowing  companions,  and  walked  ofif  with  her  prize.  In  her 
griefs,  in  her  rages,  in  the  pains  and  anguish  of  wrong  and 
desertion,  how  a  w'oman  remembers  to  smile,  curtsey,  caress, 
dissemble !  How  resolutely  they  discharge  the  social  propri- 
eties ;  how  they  have  a  word,  or  a  kind  little  speech  or  reply  for 
the  passing  acquaintance  w4io  crosses  unknowing  the  path  of 
the  tragedy,  drops  a  light  airy  remark  or  tw^o,  (happy  self- 
satisfied  rogue  !)  and  passes  on.  He  passes  on,  and  thinks  : 
*'  That  woman  was  rather  pleased  with  what  I  said.  That  joke 
I  made  was  rather  neat.  I  do  really  think  Lady  Maria  looks 
rather  favorably  at  me,  and  she's  a  dev'Iish  fine  woman,  begad 
she  IS  !  "  O  you  wiseacre  !  Such  w^as  Jack  Morris's  observa- 
tion and  case  as  he  walked  away  leaning  on  the  arm  of  his 
noble  friend,  and  thinking  the  whole  Society  of  the  Wells  was 
looking  at  him.  He  had  made  some  exquisite  remarks  about  a 
particular  run  of  cards  at  Lady  Flushington's  the  night  before, 
and  Lady  Maria  had  replied  graciously  and  neatly,  and  so 
away  went  Jack  perfectly  happy. 

The  absurd  creature  !  I  declare  we  know  nothing  of  any- 
body (but  //^<^/ for  my  part  I  know  better  and  better  everyday). 
You  enter  smiling  to  see  your  new  acquaintance,  Mrs.  A.  and  her 
charming  family.  You  make  your  bow  in  the  elegant  drawing- 
room  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  B  ?  I  tell  you  that  in  your  course 
through  life  you  are.  for  ever  putting  your  great  clumsy  foot 
upon  the  mute  invisible  wounds  of  bleeding  tragedies.  Mrs. 
B.'s  closets  for  w^hat  you  know^are  stuffed  with  skeletons.  Look 
there  under  the  sofa-cushion.  Is  that  merely  Missy's  doll,  or 
is  it  the  limb  of  a  stifled  Cupid  peeping  out  ?  What  do  you 
suppose  are  those  ashes  smouldering  in  the  grate  .' — Ver}'  likely 

15 


226  THE  VIRGINIANS. 

a  suttee  has  been  offered  up  there  just  before  you  came  in  :  a 
faithful  heart  has  been  burned  out  upon  a  callous  corpse,  and 
3'ou  are  looking  on  the  cineri  doloso.  Vou  see  B.  and  his  wife 
receiving  their  company  before  dinner.  Gracious  powers  !  Do 
you  know  that  that  bouquet  which  she  wears  is  a  signal  to 
Captain  C,  a  id  that  he  will  find  a  note  under  the  little  bronze 
Shakspeare  on  the  mantel-piece  in  the  study  ?  And  with  all 
this  you  go  up  and  say  some  uncommonly  neat  thing  (as  you 
fancy)  to  Mrs.  B.  about  the  weather  (clever  dog  !),  or  about 
Lady  E.'s  last  party  (fashionable  buck  !),  or  about  the  dear 
children  in  the  nursery  (insinuating  rogue !).  Heaven  and 
earth,  my  good  Sir,  how  can  you  tell  that  B.  is  not  going  to 
pitch  all  the  children  out  of  the  nursery  window  this  very  night, 
or  that  his  lady  has  not  made  an  arrangement  for  leaving  them, 
and  running  off  with  the  Captain  ?  How  do  you  know  that 
those  footmen  are  not  disguised  bailiffs  ? — that  yonder  large- 
looking  butler  (really  a  skeleton)  is  not  the  pawnbroker's  man  ? 
and  that  there  are  not  skeleton  rotis  and  entrees  under  every 
one  of  the  covers?  Look  at  their  feet  peeping  from  under  the 
tablecloth.  Mind  how  you  stretch  out  your  own  lovely  little 
slippers,  Madam,  lest  you  knock  over  a  rib  or  two.  Remark 
the  Death's-head  moths  fluttering  among  the  flowers.  See  the 
pale  winding-sheets  gleaming  in  the  wax-candles  !  I  know  it  is 
an  old  story,  and  especially  that  this  preacher  has  yelled  vanitas 
vanitatum  five  hundred  times  before.  I  can't  help  always  fall- 
ing upon  it,  and  cry  out  with  particular  loudness  and  wailing, 
and  become  especially  melancholy,  when  I  see  a  dead  love  tied 
to  a  live  love.  Ha  !  I  look  up  from  my  desk,  across  the 
street :  and  there  come  in  Mr.  and  Mrs.  D.  from  their  walk  in 
Kensington  Gardens.  How  she  hangs  on  him  !  how  jolly  and 
happy  he  looks,  as  the  children  frisk  round  !  My  poor  dear 
benig-hted  Mrs.  D.,  there  is  a  Regent's  Park  as  well  as  a  Ken- 
sington Gardens  in  the  world.  Go  in,  fond  wretch  !  Smflingly 
lay  before  him  what  you  know  he  likes  for  dinner.  Show  him 
the  children's  copies  and  the  reports  of  their  masters.  Go  with 
Missy  to  the  piano,  and  play  your  ardess  duet  together ;  and 
fancy  you  are  happy  ! 

There  go  Harry  and  Maria  taking  their  evening  walk  on 
the  common,  away  from  the  village  which  is  waking  up  from  its 
after-dinner  siesta,  and  where  the  people  are  beginning  to  stir 
and  the  music  to  play.  With  the  music  Maria  knows  Madame 
de  Bernstein  will  waken  :  v.'ith  the  candles  she  must  be  back  to 
the  tea-table  and  the  cards.  Never  mind.  Here  is  a  minute. 
It  may  be  my  love  is  dead,  but  here  is  a  minute  to  kneel  over 


THE   VIRGINIAN'S.  227 

the  f^rave  and  pray  by  it.  He  certainly  was  not  thinking  about 
her  :  he  was  startled  and  did  not  even  know  her.  He  was 
lauo-hing  and  talking  with  Jack  Morris  and  my  Lord  March. 
He^is  twenty  years  younger  than  she.  Never  mind.  To-day 
is  to-day  in  which  we  are  all  equal.  This  moment  is  ours. 
Come,  let  us  walk  a  little  way  over  the  heath,  Harry.  She  will 
go,  though  she  feels  a  deadly  assurance  that  he  will  tell  her  all 
is  over  between  them,  and  that  he  loves  the  dark-haired  girl  at 
Oakhurst. 


CHAPTER  XXVn. 

PLENUM      OPUS      ALEvE. 


Let  me  hear  about  those  children,  child,  whom  I  saw  run- 
ing  about  at  the  house  where  they  took  you  in,  poor  dear  boy, 
after  your  dreadful  fall  ?  "  says  Maria,  as  they  paced  the  com- 
mon. "  Oh,  that  fall,  Harry  !  I  thought  I  should  have  died 
when  I  saw  it !  You  needn't  squeeze  one's  arm  so.  You  know 
you  don't  care  for  me  ?  " 

"  The  people  are  the  very  best,  kindest,  dearest  people  I 
have  ever  met  in  the  world,"  cries  Mr.  Warrington.  "  Mrs. 
Lambert  was  a  friend  of  my  mother  when  she  was  in  Europe 
for  her  education.  Colonel  Lambert  is  a  most  accomplished 
gentleman,  and  has  seen  service  everywhere.  He  was  in  Scot- 
land with  his  Royal  Highness,  in  Flanders,  at  Minorca.  No 
natural  parents  could  be  kinder  than  they  were  to  me.  How 
can  I  show  my  gratitude  to  them  ?  I  want  to  make  them  a 
present :  I  must  make  them  a  present,"  says  Harry,  clapping 
his  hand  into  his  pocket,  which  was  filled  with  the  crisp  spoils 
of  Morris  and  March. 

"  We  can  go  to  the  toy-shop,  my  dear,  and  buy  a  couple  of 
dolls  for  the  children,"  says  Lady  Maria.  "  You  would  offend 
the  parents  by  offering  anything  like  payment  for  their  kind- 
ness." 

"  Dolls  for  Hester  and  Theo  !  Why,  do  you  think  a  woman 
is  not  woman  till  she  is  fort}',  Maria .'' "  (The  arm  under 
Harry's  here  gave  a  wince  perhaps, — ever  so  slight  a  wince.) 
"  I  can  tell  you  Miss  Hester  by  no  means  considers  herself  a 
child,  and  Miss  Theo  is  older  than  her  sister.  They  know  ever 
so  many  languages.     They  have  read  books — oh  !  piles  and 


2  28  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

piles  of  books  !  They  play  on  the  harpsichord  and  sing  to- 
gether admirable  ;  and  Theo  composes,  and  sings  songs  of  her 
own." 

"  Indeed  !  I  scarcely  saw  them.  I  thought  they  were  chil- 
dren. They  looked  quite  childish.  I  had  no  idea  they  had  all 
these  perfections,  and  were  such  wonders  of  the  world." 

"  That's  just  the  way  with  you  women  !  At  home,  if  me  or 
George  praised  a  woman,  Mrs.  Esmond  and  Mountain,  too, 
would  be  sure  to  find  fault  with  her  !  "  cries  Harry. 

"  I  am  sure  I  would  find  fault  with  no  one  who  is  kind  to 
you,  Mr.  Warrington,"  sighed  Maria,  "though  you  are  not 
angry  with  me  for  envying  them  because  they  had  to  take  care 
of  you  when  you  were  wounded  and  ill — whilst  I — I  had  to 
leave  you  ? " 

"  You  dear,  good  Maria  I  " 

'•  No,  Harry  !  I  am  not  dear  and  good.  There,  sir,  you 
needn't  be  so  pressing  in  your  attentions.  Look  !  There  is 
your  black  man  walking  with  a  score  of  other  wretches  in  livery. 
The  horrid  creatures  are  going  to  fuddle  at  the  tea-garden,  and 
get  tipsy  like  their  masters.  That  dreadful  Mr.  Morris  was 
perfectly  tipsy  when  I  came  to  you,  and  frightened  you  so." 

"  I  had  just  won  great  bets  from  both  of  them.  What  shall 
I  buy  for  you,  my  dear  cousin  ?  "  And  Harry  narrated  the  tri- 
umphs which  he  had  just  achieved.  He  was  in  high  spirits  :  he 
laughed,  he  bragged  a  little.  "  For  the  honor  of  Virginia  I  was 
determined  to  show  them  what  jumping  was,"  he  said.  "  With 
a  little  practice  I  think  I  could  leap  two  foot  further." 

Maria  was  pleased  with  the  victories  of  her  young  champion. 
"But  you  must  beware  about  play,  child,"  she  said.  "You 
know  it  hath  been  the  ruin  of  our  family.  My  brother  Castle- 
wood,  Will,  our  poor  father,  our  aunt.  Lady  Castlewood  herself, 
they  have  all  been  victims  to  it :  as  for  my  Lord  March,  he  is 
the  most  dreadful  gambler  and  the  most  successful  of  all  the 
nobility." 

"I'don't  intend  to  be  afraid  of  him,  nor  of  his  friend  Mr. 
Jack  Morris  neither,"  says  Harry,  again  fingering  the  delightful 
notes.  "What  do  you'play  at  Aunt  Bernstein's?  Cribbage, 
all-fours,  brag,  whist,  commerce,  picquet,  quadrille  ?  I'm  ready 
at  any  of  'em.    What  o'clock  is  that  striking — sure  'tis  seven! " 

"  And  you  want  to  begin  now,"  said  the  plaintive  Maria. 
"  You  don't  care  about  walking  with  your  poor  cousin.  Not 
long  ago  you  did." 

"  Hey  !  Youth  is  youth,  cousin  !  "  cried  Mr.  Harry,  tossing 
up  his  head,  "  and  a  young  fellow  must  have  his  fling  !  "  and  he 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


229 


Strutted  by  his  partner's  side,  confident,  happy,  and  eager  for 
pleasure.  Not  long  ago  he  did  like  to  walk  with  her.  Only 
yesterday  he  liked  to  be  with  Theo  and  Hester,  and  good  Mrs. 
Lambert  ;  but  pleasure,  life,  gayety,  the  desire  to  shine  and  to 
conquer,  had  also  their  temptations  for  the  lad,  who  seized  the 
cup  like  other  lads,  and  did  not  care  to  calculate  on  the  head- 
ache in  store  for  the  morning.  Whilst  he  and  his  cousin  were 
talking,  the  fiddles  from  the  open  orchestra  on  the  Parade 
made  a  great  tuning  and  squeaking,  preparatory  to  their  usual 
eveningxoncert.  Maria  knew  her  aunt  was  awake  again,  and 
that  she  must  go  back  to  her  slavery.  Harry  never  asked 
about  that  slavery,  though  he  must  have  known  it,  had  he  taken 
the  trouble  to  think.  He  never  pitied  his  cousin.  He  was 
not  thinking  about  her  at  all.  Yet  when  his  mishap  befell  him, 
she  had  been  wounded  far  more  cruelly  than  he  was.  He  had 
scarce  ever  been  out  of  her  thoughts,  which  of  course  she  had 
had  to  bury  under  smiling  hypocrisies,  as  is  the  way  with  her 
sex.  I  know,  my  dear  Mrs.  Grundy,  you  think  she  was  an  old 
fool  ?  Ah  !  do  )^ou  suppose  fools'  caps  do  not  cover  gray  hair, 
as  well  as  jet  or  auburn  ?  Bear  gently  with  our  elderly 
fredaines^  O  you  Minerva  of  a  woman  !  Or  perhaps  you  are 
so  good  and  wise  that  you  don't  read  novels  at  all  ?  This  I 
know,  that  there  are  late  crops  of  wild  oats,  as  well  as  early 
harvests  of  them  ;  and  (from  observation  of  self  and  neighbor) 
I  have  an  idea  that  the  avena  fatua  grows  up  to  the  very  last 
days  of  the  year. 

Like  worldly  parents  anxious  to  get  rid  of  a  troublesome 
child,  and  go  out  to  their  evening  party,  Madame  Bernstein  and 
her  attendants  had  put  the  sun  to  bed,  whilst  it  was  as  yet 
light,  and  had  drawn  the  curtains  over  it,  and  were  busy  about 
their  cards  and  their  candles,  and  their  tea  and  negus,  and 
other  refreshments.  One  chair  after  another  landed  ladies  at 
the  Baroness's  door,  more  or  less  painted,  patched,  brocaded. 
To  these  came  gentlemen  in  gala  raiment.  Mr.  Poellnitz's 
star  was  the  largest,  and  his  coat  the  most  embroidered  of  all 
present.  My  Lord  of  March  and  Ruglen,  when  he  made  his 
appearance,  was  quite  changed  from  the  individual  with  whom 
Harry  had  made  acquaintance  at  the  "  White  Horse."  His 
tight  brown  scratch  was  exchanged  for  a  neatly  curled  feather 
top,  with  a  bag  and  gray  powder,  his  jockey-dress  and  leather 
breeches  replaced  by  a  rich  and  elegant  French  suit.  Mr.  Jack 
Morris  had  just  such  another  wig  and  a  suit  of  stuff  as  closely 
as  possible  resembling  his  lordship's.  Mr.  Wolfe  came  in  attend- 
ance  upon  his  beautiful  mistress,  Miss  Lowther,  and  her  aunt 


230  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

who  loved  cards,  as  all  the  world  did.  When  my  Lady  Maria 
.Esmond  made  her  appearance,  'tis  certain  that  her  looks  belied 
Madame  Bernstein's  account  of  her.  Her  shape  was  very  fine, 
and  her  dress  showed  a  great  deal  of  it.  Her  complexion  was 
by  nature  exceeding  fair,  and  a  dark  frilled  ribbon,  clasped 
by  a  jewel,  round  her  neck,  enhanced  its  snowy  whiteness. 
Her  cheeks  were  not  redder  than  those  of  other  ladies  present, 
and  the  roses  were  pretty  openly  purchased  by  everybody  at 
the  perfumery-shops.  An  artful  patch  or  two,  it  was  supposed, 
added  to  the  lustre  of  her  charms.  Her  hoop  was  not  largei 
than  the  iron  contrivances  which  ladies  of  the  present  day  hang 
round  their  persons  ;  and  we  may  pronounce  that  the  costume, 
if  absurd  in  some  points,  was  pleasing  altogether.  Suppose 
our  ladies  took  to  wearing  of  bangles  and  nose-rings  ?  I  dare 
say  we  should  laugh  at  the  ornaments,  and  not  dislike  them,  and 
lovers  would  make  no  difficulty  about  lifting  ujd  the  ring  to  be 
able  to  approach  the  rosy  lips  underneath. 

As  for  the  Baroness  de  Bernstein,  when  that  lady  took  tliQ 
pains  of  making  a  grand  toilette,  she  appeared  as  an  object, 
handsome  still,  and  magnificent,  but  melancholy,  and  even 
somewhat  terrifying  to  behold.  You  read  the  past  in  some  old 
faces,  while  some  others  lajDse  into  mere  meekness  and  content. 
The  fires  go  quite  out  of  some  eyes,  as  the  crow's-feet  pucker 
round  them  ;  they  flash  no  longer  with  scorn,  or  with  anger,  or 
love  ;  they  gaze,  and  no  one  is  melted  by  their  sapphire 
glances  ;  they  look,  and  no  one  is  dazzled.  My  fair  young 
reader,  if  you  are  not  so  perfect  a  beauty  as  the  peerless  Linda- 
mira,  Queen  of  the  Ball ;  if  at  the  end  of  it,  as  you  retire  to 
bed,  you  meekly  own  that  you  have  had  but  two  or  three 
partners,  whilst  Lindamira  has  had  a  crowd  round  her  all  night 
— console  yourself  with  thinking  that,  at  fifty,  you  will  look  as 
kind  and  pleasant  as  you  appear  now  at  eighteen.  You  will  not 
have  to  lay  down  your  coach  and  six  of  beauty  and  see  another 
step  into  it,  and  walk  yourself  through  the  rest  of  life.  You 
will  have  to  forego  no  long-accustomed  homage ;  you  will  not 
witness  and  own  the  depreciation  of  your  smiles.  You  will  not 
see  fashion  forsake  your  quarter ;  and  remain  all  dust,  gloom, 
and  cobwebs  within  your  once  splendid  saloons,  with  placards 
in  your  sad  windows,  gaunt,  lonely,  and  to  let  1  You  may  not 
have  known  any  grandeur,  but  you  won't  feel  any  desertion. 
You  will  not  have  enjoyed  millions,  but  you  will  have  escaped 
bankruptcy.  "Our  hostess,"  said  m.y  Lord  Chesterfield  to  his 
friend  in  a  confidential  whisper,  of  which  the  utterer  did  not  in 
the  least  know  the  loudness,    "  jDuts  me   in  mind  of   Covent 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  231 

Garden  in  mv  vouth.  Then  it  was  the  court  end  of  the  town, 
and  inhabiteVrbv  the  highest  fashion.  Now,  a  nobleman's 
house  is  a  gaming-house,  or  you  may  go  ui  with  a  friend  and 
call  for  a  bottle." 

''  Hey !  a  bottle  and  a  tavern  are  good  things  m  their  way, 
says  my  Lord  March,  with  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders.     "  I  was 
not  born  before  the  Georges  came  in,  though  I  intend  to  live  to 
a  hundred.     I  never  knew  the  Bernstein  but  as  an  old  woman  ; 
and  if  she  ever  had  beauty,  hang  me  if  I  know  how  she  spent 

''  No,  hang  me,  how  did  she   spend   it  ?  "  laughs  out  Jack 

Morris.  ,  ,  ^ 

"  Here's  a  table  !  Shall  we  sit  down  and  have  a  game?— 
Don't  let  the  German  come  in.  He  won't  pay.  Mr.  Warring- 
ton, will  you  take  a  card?"  Mr.  Warrington  and  my  Lord 
Chesterfield  found  themselves  partners  against  IVIr.  Morris  and 
the  Earl  of  March.  "  You  have  come  too  late.  Baron,"  says  the 
elder  nobleman  to  the  other  nobleman  who  was  advancing. 
'We  have  made  our  game.  What,  have  you  forgotten  Mr. 
Warrington  of  Virginia— the  young  gentleman  whom  you  met 
in  London  ?  " 

"  The  young  gentleman  whom  I  met  at  Arthur  s  Chocolate 
House  had  black  hair,  a  little  cocked  nose,  and  was  by  no  means 
so  fortunate  in  his  personal  appearance  as  Mr.  Warrington," 
said  the  Baron  with  much  presence  of  mind.  "  Warrington, 
Dorrington,  Harrington  ?  We  of  the  continent  cannot  retain 
your  insular  names.  I  certify  that  this  gentleman  is  not  the 
individual  of  whom  I  spoke  at  dinner."  And  glancing  kmdly 
upon  him,  the  old  beau  sidled  away  to  a  farther  end  of  the 
room,  where  Mr.  Wolfe  and  Miss  Lowther  were  engaged  in 
deep  conversation  in  the  embrasure  of  a  window.  Here  the 
Baron  thought  fit  to  engage  the  Lieutenant-Colonel  upon  the 
Prussian  manual  exercise,  which  had  lately  been  introduced 
into  King  George  XL's  army— a  subject  with  which  Mr.  Wolfe 
was  thoroughly  familiar,  and  which  no  doubt  would  have  inter- 
ested him  at  any  other  moment  but  that.  Nevertheless  the  old 
gentleman  uttered  his  criticisms  and  opinions,  and  thought  he 
perfectly  charmed  the  two  persons  to  whom  he  communicated 
them. 

At  the  commencement  of  the  evening  the  Baroness  received 
her  guests  personally,  and  as  they  arrived  engaged  them  in  talk 
and  introductory  courtesies.  But  as  the  rooms  and  tables  filled 
and  the  parties  were  made  up,  ISIadame  de  Bernstein  became 
more  and  more  restless,  and  finally  retreated  with  three  friends 


232  THE   VIRGIiYIANS. 

to  her  own  corner,  where  a  table  specially  reserved  for  her  was 
occupied  by  her  major-domo.  And  here  the  old  lady  sat  down 
resolutely,  never  changing  her  place  or  quitting  her  game  till 
cock-crow.  The  charge  of  receiving  the  company  devolved 
now  upon  my  Lady  Maria,  who  did  not  care  for  cards,  but 
dutifully  did  the  honors  of  the  house  to  her  aunt's  guests,  and 
often  rustled  by  the  table  where  her  young  cousin  was  engaged 
with  his  three  friends. 

"  Come  and  cut  the  cards  for  us,"  said  my  Lord  March  to 
her  ladyship,  as  she  jDassed  on  one  of  her  wistful  visits.  "  Cut 
the  cards,  and  bring  us  luck.  Lady  Maria  !  We  have  had  none 
to-night,  and  Mr.  Warrington  is  winning  everything.'' 

"I  hope  you  are  not  playing  high,  Harry,"  said  the  lady, 
timidly. 

"Oh,  no,  only  sixpences,"  cried  my  lord,  dealing. 

"  Only  sixpences,"  echoed  Mr.  Morris,  who  was  Lord  March's 
partner.  But  Mr.  Morris  must  have  been  very  keenly  alive  to 
the  value  of  sixpence,  if  the  loss  of  a  few  such  coins  could 
make  his  round  face  look  so  dismal.  My  Lord  Chesterfield  sat 
opposite  ]\Ir.  Warrington,  sorting  his  cards.  No  one  could  say 
by  inspecting  that  calm  physiognomy,  whether  good  or  ill  for- 
tune was  attending  his  lordship. 

Some  word,  not  altogether  indicative  of  delight,  slipped  out 
of  Mr.  Morris's  lips,  on  which  his  partner  cried  out,  "  Hang  it, 
Morris,  play  your  cards,  and  hold  your  tongue  !  "  Considering 
they  were  only  playing  for  sixpences,  his  lordship,  too,  was 
strangely  affected. 

Maria,  still  fondly  lingering  by  Harry's  chair,  with  her  hand 
at  the  back  of  it,  could  see  his  cards,  and  that  a  whole  covey  of 
trumps  was  ranged  in  one  corner.  She  had  not  taken  away  his 
luck.  She  was  pleased  to  think  she  had  cut  that  pack  which 
had  dealt  him  all  those  pretty  trumps.  As  Lord  March  was 
dealing,  he  had  said  in  a  quiet  voice  to  Mr.  Warrington,  "  The 
bet  as  before,  Mr.  Warrington,  or  shall  we  double  it  :  " 

"Anything  you  like,  my  lord,"  said  Mr.  Warrington,  very 
quietly. 

"  We  will  say,  then — shillings." 

"  Yes,  shillings,"  says  Mr.  Warrington,  and  the  game  pro- 
ceeded. 

The  end  of  the  day's,  and  some  succeeding  days'  sport  may 
be  gathered  from  the  following  letter,  which  was. never  delivered 
to  the  person  to  whom  it  was  addressed,  but  found  its  way  to 
America  in  the  papers  of  Mr.  Henry  Warrington  : — 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


233 


"  Tuiibridge  IVells,  August  10,  1756. 

"  Dear  George, — As  White's  two  bottles  of  Burgundy  and  a  pack  of  cards  constitute 
all  the  joys  of  your  life,  I  take  for  granted  that  you  are  in  London  at  this  moment,  preferring 
smoke  and  f.iro  to  fresh  air  and  fresh  haystacks.  This  will  be  delivered  to  you  by  a  young 
gentleman  with  whom  I  have  lately  made  acquaintance,  and  w-hom  you  will  be  charmed  to 
know.  He  will  play  with  you  at  any  game  for  any  stake,  up  to  any  hour  of  the  night,  and 
drink  any  reasonable  number  of  bottles  during  the  play.  Mr.  Warrington  is  no  other  than 
the  Fortunate  Youth  about  whom  so  many  stories  have  been  told  in  the  Public  Advertiser 
and  other  prints.  He  has  an  estate  in  Virginia  as  big  as  Yorkshire,  with  the  incumbrance 
of  a  mother,  the  reigning  Sovereign  ;  but,  as  the  country  is  unwholesome,  and  fevers  plenti- 
ful, let  us  hope  that  Mrs.  Esmond  will  die  soon,  and  leave  this  virtuous  lad  in  undisturbed 
possession.  She  is  aunt  of  that  polisso7i  of  a  Castlewood,  who  never  pays  his  play-debts, 
unless  he  is  more  honorable  in  his  dealings  with  you  than  he  has  been  with  me.  Mr.  W. 
is  de  bonne  race.  We  must  have  him  of  our  society,  it  it  be  only  that  1  may  win  my  money 
back  from  him. 

"  He  has  had  the  devil's  luck  here,  and  has  been  winning  everything,  whilst  his  old 
card-playing  beldam  of  an  aunt  has  been  losing.  A  few  nights  ago,  when  I  first  had  the  ill 
luck  to  make  his  acquaintance,  he  beat  me  in  jumping  (havmg  practised  the  art  amongst  the 
savages,  and  running  away  from  bears  in  his  native  woods) ;  he  won  bets  of  me  and  Jack 
Morris  about  my  weight  ;  and  at  night,  when  we  sat  down  to  play,  at  old  Bernstein's,  he 
won  from  us  all  round.  If  you  can  settle  our  last  Epsom  account,  please  hand  over  to  Mr. 
Warrington  350/.,  which  I  still  owe  him,  after  pretty  well  emptying  my  pocket-book. 
Chesterfield  has  dropped  six  hundred  to  him,  too  ;  but  his  lordship  does  not  wish  to  have  it 
known,  having  sworn  to  give  up  p'ay,  and  live  cleanly.  Jack  Morris,  who  has  not  been  hit 
as  hard  as  either  of  us,  and  can  afford  it  quite  as  well,  for  the  fat  chuff  has  no  houses  nor 
traiii  to  keep  up,  and  all  his  misbegotten  father's  money  in  hand,  roars  like  a  bull  of  Bashan 
about  his  losses.  We  had  a  second  night's  play,  en  petit  comite,  and  Barbeau  served  us  a 
fair  dinner  in  a  private  room.  Mr.  Warrington  holds  his  tongue  like  a  gentleman,  and 
none  of  us  have  talked  about  our  losses  ;  but  the  whole  place  does,  for  us.  Yesterday  the 
Cattarina  looked  as  sulky  as  thunder,  because  I  would  not  give  her  a  diamond  necklace, 
and  says  I  refuse  her,  because  I  have  lost  five  thousand  to  the  Virginian.  My  old  Duchess 
of  Q.  has  the  very  same  story,  besides  knowing  to  a  fraction  what  Chesterfield  and  Jack 
have  lost. 

'•  Warrington  treated  the  comnany  to  breakfast  and  music  at  the  rooms  ;  and  you  should 
have  seen  how  the  women  tore  him  to  pieces.  That  fiend  of  a  Cattarina  ogled  him  out  of 
my  vis-a-vis,  and  under  my  very  nose,  yesterday  as  we  were  driving  to  Penshurst,  and  I 
have  no  doubt  has  sent  him  a  billet-do2ix  ere  this.  He  shot  Jack  Morris  all  to  pieces  at  a 
mark  :  we  shall  try  him  with  partridges  when  the  season  comes. 

"He  is  a  fortunate  fellow,  certaitily.  He  has  youth  (which  is  not  deboshed  by  evil 
courses  in  Virginia,  as  ours  is  in  England) ;  he  has  good  health,  good  looks,  and  good 
luck. 

"  In  a  wore",  Mr.  Warrington  has  won  our  money  in  a  very  gentlemanlike  manner  ;  and 
as  I  like  him,  and  wish  tc  win  some  of  it  back  again,  I  put  him  under  your  worship's  saintly 
guardianship.     Adieu!   I  am  going  to  the  North,  and  shall  be  back  for  Doncaster. 

' '  Yours  ever,  dear  George, 

"  M.  &  R." 
"  To  George  Augustus  Selvv^yn,  Esq.,  at  White's  Chocolate  House, 

St.  James's  Street." 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

THE    WAY   OF    THE   WORLD. 


Our  young  "Virginian  found  himself,  after  two  or  three  days 
at  Tunbridge  Wells,  by  far  the  most  important  personage  in 
that  merry  little  watering-place.  No  nobleman  in  the  place  in- 
spired so  much  curiosity.  My  Lord  Bishop  of  Salisbury  him- 
self was  scarce  treated  with  mo're  respect.     People  turned  round 


234 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


to  look  after  Harry  as  he  passed,  and  country-folks  stared  at 
him  as  they  came  into  market.  At  the  rooms,  matrons  encour- 
aged him  to  come  round  to  them,  and  found  means  to  leave 
him  alone  with  their  daughters,  most  of  whom  smiled  upon  him. 
Everybody  knew,  to  an  acre  and  a  shilling,  the  extent  of  his 
Virginian  propertv,  and  the  amount  of  his  income.  At  every 
tea-table  in  the  Wells,  his  winnings  at  play  were  told  and  cal- 
culated. \\'onderful  is  the  knowledge  which  our  neighbors 
have  of  our  affairs  !  So  great  was  the  interest  and  curiosity 
which  Harry  inspired,  that  people  even  smiled  upon  his  ser- 
vant, and  took  Gumbo  aside  and  treated  him  with  ale  and  cold 
meat,  in  order  to  get  news  of  the  young  Virginian.  Mr.  Gumbo 
fattened  under  the  diet,  became  a  leading  member  of  the  So- 
ciety of  Valets  in  the  place,  and  lied  more  enormously  than 
ever.  No  party  was  complete  unless  Mr.  Warrington  attended 
it.  The  lad  w^as  not  a  little  amused  and  astonished  by  this 
prosperity,  and  bore  his  new  honors  pretty  well.  He  had  been 
bred  at  home  to  think  too  well  of  himsel.^,  and  his  present  good 
fortune  no  doubt  tended  to  confirm  his  self-satisfaction.  But 
he  was  not  too  much  elated.  He  did  not  brag  about  his  vic- 
tories or  give  himself  any  particular  airs.  In  engaging  in  play 
with  the  gentlemen  who  challenged  him,  he  had  acted  up  to  his 
queer  code  of  honor.  He  felt  as  if  he  'was  bound  to  meet  them 
when  the}^  summoned  him,  and  that  if  they  invited  him  to  a 
horse-race,  or  a  drinking-bout,  or  a  match  at  cards,  for  the  sake 
of  Old  Virginia  he  must  not  draw  back.  Mr.  Harry  found  his 
new  acquaintances  ready  to  try  him  at  all  these  sports  and  con- 
tests. He  had  a  strong  head,  a  skilful  hand,  a  firm  seat,  an 
unflinching  nerve.  The  representative  of  old  Virginia  came  off 
very  well  in  his  friendly  rivalry  with  the  mother  country. 

Madame  de  Bernstein,  who  got  her  fill  of  cards  every  night, 
and,  no  doubt,  repaired  the  ill  fortune  of  which  we  heard  in  the 
last  chapter,  was  delighted  with  her  nephew's  victories  and 
reputation.  He  had  shot  with  Jack  Morris  and  beat  him  :  he 
had  ridden  a  match  with  Mr.  Scamper  and  won  it.  He  played 
tennis  with  Captain  Batts,  and,  though  the  boy  had  never  tried 
the  game  before,  in  a  few  days  he  held  his  own  uncommonly 
well.  He  had  engaged  in  play  with  those  celebrated  game- 
sters, my  Lords  of  Chesterfield  and  March  ;  and  they  both 
bore  testimony  to  his  coolness,  gallantry,  and  good  breeding. 
At  his  books  Harry  was  not  brilliant  certainly  ;  but  he  could 
write  as  well  as  a  great  number  of  men  of  fashion  ;  and  the 
fiaivete  of  his  ignorance  amused  the  old  lady.  She  had  read 
books  in  her  time,  and   could  talk  very  well  about  them  with 


THE   VIRGINTANS. 


23s 


bookish  people  :  she  had  a  rehsh  for  humor  and  delighted  in 
Moliere  and  Mr.  Fielding,  but  she  loved  the  world  far  better 
than  the  library,  and  was  never  so  interested  in  any  novel  but 
that  she  would  leave  it  for  a  game  of  cards.  She  superintended 
with  fond  pleasure  the  improvements  of  Harry's  toilette  :  rum- 
maged out  fine  laces  for  his  ruffles  and  shirt,  and  found  a  pretty 
diamond-brooch  for  his  frill.  He  attained  the  post  of  prime 
favorite  of  all  her  nephews  and  kinsfolk.  1  fear  Lady  Maria 
was  only  too  well  pleased  at  the  lad's  successes,  and  did  not 
grudge  him  his  superiority  over  her  brothers  ;  but  those  gen- 
tlemen must  have  quaked  with  fear  and  envy  when  they  heard 
of  j\Ir.  Warrington's  prodigious  successes,  and  the  advance 
which  he  had  made  in  their  wealthy  aunt's  fav^or. 

After  a  fortnight  of  Tunbridge,  Mr.  Harr}^  had  become 
quite  a  personage.  He  knew  all  the  good  company  in  the 
place,  ^^'as  it  his  fault  if  he  became  acquainted  with  the  bad 
likewise  ?  Was  he  ver}'  wrong  in  taking  the  world  as  he  found 
it,  and  drinking  from  that  sweet  sparkling  pleasure-cup,  which 
was  filled  for  him  to  the  brim  ?  The  old  aunt  enjoyed  his 
triumphs,  and  for  her  part  only  bade  him  pursue  his  enjoy- 
ments. She  was  not  a  rigorous  old  moralist,  nor,  perhaps,  a 
very  wholesome  preceptress  for  youth.  If  the  Cattarina  wrote 
him  billets-doux,  I  fear  Aunt  Bernstein  would  have  bade  him 
accept  the  invitations  :  but  the  lad  had  brought  with  him  from 
his  colonial  home  a  stock  of  modesty  which  he  still  wore  along 
with  the  honest  home-spun  linen.  Libertinism  was  rare  in 
those  thinly-peopled  regions  from  which  he  came.  The  vices 
of  great  cities  were  scarce  known  or  practised  in  the  rough 
towns  of  the  American  Continent.  Harr}^  Warrington  blushed 
like  a  girl  at  the  daring  talk  of  his  new  European  associates  : 
even  Aunt  Bernstein's  conversation  and  jokes  astounded  the 
young  Virginian,  so  that  the  worldly  old  woman  would  call 
him  Joseph,  or  simpleton. 

But,  however  innocent  he  was,  the  world  gave  him  credit  for 
being  as  bad  as  other  folks.  How  was  he  to  know  that  he  was 
not  to  associate  with  that  saucy  Cattarina  ?  He  had  seen  my 
Lord  March  driving  her  about  in  his  lordship's  phaeton.  Harry 
thought  there  was  no  harm  in  giving  her  his  arm,  and  parading 
openly  with  her  in  the  public  walks.  She  took  a  fancy  to  a 
trinket  at  the  toy-shop  ;  and,  as  his  pockets  were  full  of  money, 
he  was  delighted  to  make  her  a  present  of  the  locket,  which 
she  coveted.  The  next  day  it  was  a  piece  of  lace  :  again  Harry 
gratified  her.  The  next  day  it  was  something  else  :  there  was 
no  end  to  Madam  Cattarina's  fancies  :  but  here  the  young  gen- 


236 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


tleman  stopped,  turning  off  her  request  with  a  joke  and  a 
laugh.  He  was  shrewd  enough,  and  not  reckless  and  prodigal, 
though  generous.  He  had  no  idea  of  purchasing  diamond 
drops  for  the  petulant  little  lady's  pretty  ears. 

But  who  was  to  give  him  credit  for  his  modesty  .''  Old  Bern- 
stein insisted  upon  believing  that  her  nephew  was  playing  Don 
Juan's  part,and  supplanting  my  Lord  March.  She  insisted  the 
more  when  poor  Maria  was  by ;  loving  to  stab  the  tender 
heart  of  that  spinster,  and  enjoying  her  niece's  piteous  silence 
and  discomfiture. 

"Why,  my  dear,"  says  the  Baroness,  "boys  will  be  boys, 
and  I  don't  want  Harry  to  be  the  first  milksop  in  the  family  !  " 
The  bread  which  Maria  ate  at  her  aunt's  expense  choked  her 
sometimes.  Oh  me,  how  hard  and  indigestible  some  women 
know  how  to  make  it  ! 

Mr.  Wolfe  was  for  ever  coming  over  from  Westerham  to  pay 
court  to  the  lady  of  his  love  ;  and,  knowing  that  the  Colonel 
was  entirely  engaged  in  that  pursuit,  Mr.  Warrington  scarcely 
expected  to  see  much  of  him,  however  much  he  liked  that 
officer's  conversation  and  society.  It  was  different  from  the 
talk  of  the  ribald  people  round  about  Harry.  Mr.  Wolfe  never 
spoke  of  cards,  or  horses'  pedigrees  ;  or  bragged  of  his  per- 
formances in  the  hunting-field,  or  boasted  of  the  favors  of 
women  ;  or  retailed  any  of  the  innumerable  scandals  of  the  time. 
It  was  not  a  good  time.  That  old  world  was  more  disso- 
lute than  ours.  There  was  an  old  king  with  mistresses  openly 
in  his  train,  to  whom  the  great  folks  of  the  land  did  honor. 
There  was  a  nobility,  many  of  whom  were  mad  and  reckless  in 
the  pursuit  of  pleasure ;  there  was  a  looseness  of  words  and 
acts  which  we  must  note,  as  faithful  historians,  without  going 
into  particulars,  and  needlessly  shocking  present  readers.  Our 
young  gentleman  had  lighted  upon  some  of  the  wildest  of  these 
wild  people,  and  had  found  an  old  relative  who  lived  in  the 
very  midst  of  the  rout. 

Harry  then  did  not  remark  how  Colonel  Wolfe  avoided  him, 
or  when  they  casually  met,  at  first  notice  the  Colonel's  cold  and 
altered  demeanor.  He  did  not  know  the  stories  that  were  told 
of  him.  Who  does  know  the  stories  that  are  told  of  him  ? 
Who  makes  them  ?  Who  are  the  fathers  of  those  wondrous 
lies  }  Poor  Harry  did  not  know  the  reputation  he  was  getting  ; 
and  that,  whilst  he  was  riding  his  horse  and  playing  his  game 
and  taking  his  frolic,  he  was  passing  amon2:st  many  respectable 
persons  for  being  the  most  abandoned  and  profligate  and  god- 
less of  young  men. 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  237 

Alas  and  alas  !  to  think  that  the  lad  whom  we  liked  so,  and 
who  was   so  gentle  and   quiet  when  with  us,  so  simple  and  so 
easily  pleased,  should  be  a  hardened  profligate,  a  spendthrift, 
a   confirmed   gamester,    a   frequenter    of   abandoned    women! 
These   stories   came  to  worthy  Colonel  Lambert  at  Oakhurst : 
first  one  bad  story,  then  another,  then  crowds  of  them,  till  the 
o-ood  man's  kind  heart  was  quite  rilled  with  grief  and  care,  so 
that  his  family  saw  that   something  annoyed  him.      At  first  he 
would  not  speak  on  the  matter  at  all,  and  put  aside  the  wife's 
fond  queries.       Mrs.  Lambert  thought  a  great  misfortune  had 
happened ;  that  her  husband  had  been  ruined  ;  that  he  had 
been  ordered  on  a  dangerous  service ;  that  one  of  the  boys  was 
ill,  disgraced,  dead  ;  who  can  resist  an  anxious  woman,  or  escape 
the  cross-examination  of  the   conjugal  pillow  ?       Lambert  was 
obliged  to  tell  a  part  of  what  he  knew  about  Harry  Warrmgton. 
The^vife  was  as  much  grieved  and  amazed  as  her  husband  had 
been.     From    papa's   and    mamma's  bedroom  the  grief,  after 
being  stifled  for  a  while  under  the  bed-pillows  there,  came  down 
stairs.     Theo  and  Hester  took  the  complaint  after  their  parents, 
and  had  it  very  bad.    O  kind  little  wounded  hearts  !    At  first  Hes- 
ter turned  red,  flew  into  a  great  passion,  clenched  her  little  fists, 
and  vowed  she  would  not  believe  a  word  of  the  wicked  stories  ; 
but  she  ended  by  believing  them.     Scandal  almost  always  does 
master  people  :  especially  good  and  innocent  people.     Oh,  the 
serpent   they  had  nursed   by  their  fire  !     Oh,   the    wretched, 
wretched  boy  !     To  think  of  his  walking  about  with  that  horrible 
painted  Frenchwoman,  and  giving  her  diamond  necklaces,  and 
parading  his  shame  before  all  the  society  at  the  Wells  !     The 
three  ladies  having  cried  over  the  story,  and  the  father  being 
deeply  moved  bv  it,  took  the  parson  into  their  confidence.   In  vain 
he  preached  at 'church  next  Sunday  his  favorite  sermon   about 
scandal,   and    inveighed    against  our  propensity  to  think  evil. 
We  repent  ;   we  promise  to  do  so  no  more  ;  but  when  the  next 
bad  story  comes  about  our  neighbor  we  believe  it.     So  did  those 
kind,  wretched  Oakhurst  folks  believe  what  they  heard  about 
poor  Harry  Warrington. 

Harry  Warrington  meanwhile  was  a  great  deal  too  well 
pleased  with  himself  to  know  how  ill  his  friends  were  thinking 
of  him,  and  was  pursuing  a  very  idle  and  pleasant,  if  unprofit- 
able, life,  without  having  the  least  notion  of  the  hubbub  he  was 
creating,  and  the  dreadful  repute  in  which  he  was  held  by  many 
good  nien.  Coming  out  from  a  match  at  tennis  with  Mr.  Batts, 
and  pleased  with  his  play  and  all  the  world,  Harry  overtook 
Colonel  Wolfe,  who  had  been  on  one  of  his  visits  to  the  lady  of  his 


238 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


heart.  Harry  held  out  his  hand,  which  the  Colonel  took,  but 
the  latter's  salutation  was  so  cold,  that  the  young  man  could 
not  help  remarking  it,  and  especially  noting  how  Mr.  Wolfe,  in 
return  for  a  fine  bow  from  Mr.  Batts's  hat,  scarcely  touched  his 
own  wdth  his  forefinger.  The  tennis  captain  walked  away  look- 
ing somewhat  disconcerted,  Harry  remaining  behind  to  talk 
with  his  friend  of  Westerham.  Mr.  Wolfe  walked  by  him  for 
a  while,  very  erect,  'silent,  and  cold. 

"  1  have  not  seen  you  these  many  days,"  says  Harr}\ 

"You  have  had  other  companions,"  remarks  Mr.  Wolfe, 
curtly. 

"  But  I  had  rather  be  with  you  than  any  of  them,"  cries  the 
young  man. 

"  Indeed  I  might  be  better  company  for  you  than  some  of 
them,"  says  the  other. 

'*  Is  it  Captain  Batts  you  mean  ?  "  asked  Harry. 

"  He  is  no  favorite  of  mine,  I  own  ;  he  bore  a  rascally  re- 
putation when  he  was  in  the  army,  and  I  doubt  has  not  mended 
it  since  he  was  turned  out.  You  certainly  might  find  a  better 
friend  than  Captain  Batts.  Pardon  the  freedom  which  I  take 
in  saying  so,"  says  Mr.  Wolfe,  grimly. 

"  Friend  !  he  is  no  friend  :  he  only  teaches  me  to  play  tennis  : 
he  is  hand-in-glove  with  my  lord,  and  all  the  people  of  fashion 
here  who  play." 

"I  am  not  a  man  of  fashion,"  says  Mr.  Wolfe. 

"  My  dear  Colonel,  \vhat  is  the  matter?  Have  I  angered 
you  in  any  way  ?  You  speak  almost  as  if  I  had,  and  I  am  not 
conscious  of  having  done  anything  to  forfeit  your  regard,"  said 
Mr.  Warrington. 

"  I  wall  be  free  with  you,  Mr.  Warrington,"  said  the  Colonel, 
gravely,  "  and  tell  you  with  frankness  that  I  don't  like  some  of 
your  friends." 

"Why,  sure,  they  are  men  of  the  first  rank  and  fashion  in 
England,"  cries  Harry,  not  choosing  to  be  offended  with  his 
companion's  bluntness. 

"  Exactly  !  They  are  men  of  too  high  rank  and  too  great 
fashion  for  a  hard-working  poor  soldier  like  me  ;  and  if  you  con- 
tinue to  live  with  such,  believe  me,  you  will  find  numbers  of  us 
humdrum  people  can't  afford  to  keep  such  company.  I  am  here, 
Mr.  Warrington,  paying  my  addresses  to  an  honorable  lady.  I 
met  you  yesterday  openly  walking  with  a  French  ballet-dancer, 
and  you  took  off  your  hat.  I  must  frankly  tell  you  that  I  had 
rather  you  would  not  take  off  your  hat  when  you  go  out  in  such 
company." 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


239 


"Sir,"  said  Mr.  Warrington,  growing  --very  red,  "do  you 
mean  that  I  am  to  forego  the  honor  of  Colonel  Wolfe's  acquaint- 
ance altogether?" 

'*  I  certainly  shall  request  you  to  do  so  when  you  are  in 
company  with  that  person,"  said  Colonel  Wolfe,  angrily  ;  but 
he  used  a  word  not  to  be  written  at  present,  though  Shakspeare 
puts  it  in  the  mouth  of  Othello. 

"  Great  heavens  !  what  a  shame  it  is  to  speak  so  of  any 
woman  !  "  cries  Mr.  Warrington.  "  How  dare  any  man  say  that 
that  poor  creature  is  not  honest  ?  " 

"  You  ought  to  know  best,  sir,"  says  the  other,  looking  at 
Harry  with  some  surprise,  "  or  the  world  belies  you  very 
much.". 

"  What  ought  I  to  know  best  ?  I  see  a  poor  little  French 
dancer  who  is  come  hither  with  her  mother,  and  is  ordered  by 
the  doctors  to  drink  the  waters.  I  know  that  a  person  of  my 
rank  in  life  does  not  ordinarily  keep  company  with  people  of 
hers  ;  but  really,  Colonel  Wolfe,  are  you  so  squeamish  ?  Have 
I  not  heard  you  say  that  you  did  not  value  birth,  and  that  all 
honest  people  ought  to  be  equal  ?  Why  should  I  not  give  this 
little  unprotected  woman  my  arm  ?  there  are  scarce  half-a-dozen 
people  here  who  can  speak  a  word  of  her  language.  I  can  talk 
a  little  French,  and  she  is  welcome  to  it  ;  and  if  Colonel  Wolfe 
does  not  choose  to  touch  his  hat  to  me,  when  I  am  walking 
with  her,  by  George  !  he  may  leave  it  alone,"  cried  Harry,  flush- 
ing up. 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say,"  says  Mr.  Wolfe,  eyeing  him,  "  that 
you  don't  know  the  woman's  character  ?  " 

"  Of  course,  sir,  she  is  a  dancer,  and,  I  suppose,  no  better 
or  worse  than  her  neighbors.  But  I  mean  to  say  that,  had  she 
been  a  duchess,  or  your  grandmother,  I  couldn't  have  respected 
her  more." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  you  did  not  win  her  at  dice, 
from  Lord  March." 

"  At  what !  " 

"  At  dice,  from  Lord  March.  Everybody  knows  the  story. 
Not  a  person  at  the  Wells  is  ignorant  of  it.  I  heard  it  but  now, 
in  the  company  of  that  good  old  Mr.  Richardson,  and  the 
ladies  were  saying  that  you  would  be  a  character  for  a  colonial 
Lovelace." 

"  What  on  earth  else  have  they  said  about  me  ? "  asked 
Harry  Warrington ;  and  such  stories  as  he  knew  the  Colonel 
told.  The  most  alarming  accounts  of  his  own  wickedness  and 
profligacy  were  laid  before  him.     He  was  a  corrupter  of  virtue. 


240  THE  VIRGLYIAXS. 

an  habitual  drunktird  and  gamester,  a  notorious  blasphemer  and 
freethinker,  a  fitting  companion  for  my  Lord  March,  finally,  and 
the  company  into  whose  society  he  had  fallen.  "  I  tell  you 
these  things,"  said  Mr.  Wolfe,  "  because  it  is  fair  that  you  should 
know  what  is  said  of  you,  and  because  I  do  heartily  believe, 
from  your  manner  of  meeting  the  last  charge  brought  against 
you,  that  you  are  innocent  on  most  of  the  other  counts.  I  feel, 
Mr.  Warrington,  that  I,  for  one,  have  been  doing  you  a  wrong  ; 
and  sincerely  ask  you  to  pardon  me." 

Of  course,  Harry  was  eager  to  accept  his  friend's  apology, 
and  they  shook  hands  with  sincere  cordiality  this  time.  In  re- 
spect of  most  of  the  charges  brought  against  him,  Harry  rebutted 
them  easily  enough  :  as  for  the  plav,  he  owned  to  it.  He  thought 
that  a  gentleman  should  not  refuse  a  fair  challenge  from  other 
gentlemen,  if  his  means  allowed  him  :  and  he  never  would  play 
beyond  his  means.  After  winning  considerably  at  first,  he 
could  afford  to  play  large  stakes,  for  he  was  playing  with  other 
people's  money.  Play,  he  thought,  was  fair, — it  certainly  was 
pleasant.  Why,  did  not  all  England,  except  the  Methodists, 
play  ?  Had  he  not  seen  the  best  company  at  the  Wells  over  the 
cards — his  aunt  amongst  them  ? 

Mr.  Wolfe  made  no  immediate  comment  upon  Harry's 
opinion  as  to  the  persons  who  formed  the  best  company  at  the 
Wells,  but  he  frankly  talked  with  the  young  man,  whose  own 
frankness  had  won  him,  and  warned  him  that  the  life  he  was 
leading  might  be  the  pleasantest,  but  surely  was  not  the  most 
profitable  of  lives.  "It  can't  be,  sir,"  said  the  Colonel,  "  that 
a  man  is  to  pass  his  days  at  horse-racing  and  tennis,  and  his 
nights  carousing  or  at  cards.  Sure  every  man  was  made  to  do 
some  work  ;  and  a  gentleman,  if  he  has  none,  must  make  some. 
Do  you  know  the  laws  of  your  countr}^,  Mr.  Warrington  ?  Being 
a  great  proprietor,  you  will  doubtless  one  day  be  a  magistrate 
at  home.  Have  you  travelled  over  the  country,  and  made  your- 
self acquainted  with  its  trades  and  manufactures  1  These  are 
fit  things  for  a  gentleman  to  study,  and  may  occupy  him  as  well 
as  a  cockfight  or  a  cricket-match.  Do  you  know  anything  of 
our  profession  ?  That,  at  least,  you  will  allow  is  a  noble  one, 
and,  believe  me  there  is  plenty  in  it  to  learn,  and  suited,  I 
should  think,  to  you.  I  speak  of  it  rather  than  of  books  and 
the  learned  professions,  because,  as  far  as  I  can  judge,  your 
genius  does  not  lie  that  way.  But  honor  is  the  ami  of  life," 
cried  Mr.  Wolfe,  "  and  every  man  can  serve  his  country  one  way 
or  the  other.  Be  sure,  sir,  that  idle  bread  is  the  most  dangerous 
of  all  that  is  eaten  ;  that  cards  and  pleasure  may  be  taken  by 


^^-r 


PREACHING   AND   PRACTICE. 


THE  VIRGINIANS.  241 

way  of  pastime  after  work,  but  not  instead  of  work,  and  all  day. 
And  do  you  know,  Mr.  Warrington,  instead  of  being  the 
Fortunate  Youth,  as  all  the  world  calls  you,  I  think  you  are 
rather  Warrington  the  Unlucky,  for  you  are  followed  by  daily 
idleness,  daily  flattery,  daily  temptation,  and  the  Lord,  I  say, 
send  you  a  good  deliverance  out  of  your  good  fortune." 

Harry  did  not  like  to  tell  his  aunt  that  afternoon  why 
it  was  he  looked  so  grave.  He  thought  he  would  not  drink, 
but  there  were  some  jolly  fellows  at  the  ordinary  who  passed 
the  bottle  round  ;  and  he  meant  not  to  play  in  the  evening, 
but  a  fourth  was  wanted  at  his  aunt's  table,  and  how  could 
he  resist  ?  He  was  the  old  lady's  partner  several  times  during 
the  night,  and  he  had  Somebody's  own  luck  to  be  sure  ;  and 
once  more  he  saw  the  dawn,  and  feasted  on  chickens  and 
champagne  at  sunrise. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

IN  WHICH  HARRY  CONTINUES    TO    ENJOY  OTIUM  SINE    DIGNITATE. 

Whilst  there  were  card-players  enough  to  meet  her  at  her 
lodgings  and  the  assembly-rooms,  Madame  de  Bernstein  re- 
mained pretty  contentedly  at  the  W^lls,  scolding  her  niece,  and 
playing  her  rubber.  At  Harry's  age  almost  all  places  are 
pleasant,  where  you  can  have  lively  company,  fresh  air,  and 
your  share  of  sport  and  diversion.  Even  all  pleasure  is  pleas- 
ant at  twenty.  We  go  out  to  meet  it  with  alacrity,  speculate 
upon  its  coming,  and  when  its  visit  is  announced,  count  the 
days  until  -it  and  we  shall  come  together.  How  very  gently 
and  coolly  we  regard  it  towards  the  close  of  Life's  long  season  ! 
Madam,  don't  you  recollect  your  first  ball ;  and  does  not  your 
memory  stray  towards  that  happy  past,  sometimes,  as  you  sit 
ornamenting  the  wall  whilst  your  daughters  are  dancing  ?  I, 
for  my  part,  can  remember  when  I  thought  it  was  delightful  to 
walk  three  miles  and  back  in  the  country  to  dine  with  old  Cap- 
tain Jones.  Fancy  liking  to  walk  three  miles,  now,  to  dine 
with  Jones  and  drink  his  half-pay  port  !  No  doubt  it  was 
bought  from  the  little  country-town  wine-merchant,  and  cost 
but  a  small  sum  ;  but  'twas  offered  with  a  kindly  welcome,  and 
youth  gave  it  a  flavor  which  no  age  of  wine  or  man  can  impart 

16 


242  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

to  it  now-a-days.  Vixi?niis  iiuper.  I  am  not  disposed  to  look 
so  severely  upon  young  Harry's  conduct  and  idleness,  as  his 
friend  the  stern  Colonel  of  the  Twentieth  Regiment.  O  blessed 
Idleness  !  Divine  lazy  Nymph!  Reach  me  a  novel  as  I  lie  in 
my  dressing  gown  at  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon;  compound 
a  sherry-cobbler  for  me,  and  bring  me  a  cigar  !  Dear  slatternly, 
smiling  Enchantress  !  They  may  assail  thee  with  bad  names 
— swear  thy  character  away,  and  call  thee  the  Mother  of  Evil ; 
but,  for  all  that,  thou  art  the  best  company  in  the  world ! 

My  Lord  of  March  went  away  to  the  north ;  and  my  Lord 
Chesterfield,  finding  the  Tunbridge  waters  did  no  good  to  his 
deafness,  returned  to  his  solitude  at  Blackheath ;  but  other 
gentlemen  remained  to  sport  and  take  their  pleasure,  and  Mr. 
Warrington  had  quite  enough  of  companions  at  his  ordinary  at 
the  "  White  Horse."  He  soon  learned  to  order  a  French  dinner 
as  well  as  the  best  man  of  fashion  out  of  St.  James's  ;  could  talk 
to  Monsieur  Barbeau,  in  Monsieur  B.'s  native  language,  much 
more  fluently  than  most  other  folks, — discovered  a  very  elegant 
and  decided  taste  in  wines,  and  could  distinguish  between  Clos 
Vougeot  and  Romance  with  remarkable  skill.  He  was  the 
young  King  of  the  Wells,  of  which  the  general  frequenters 
were  easy-going  men  of  the  world,  who  w'ere  by  no  means 
shocked  at  the  reputation  for  gallantry  and  extravagance 
which  Harry  had  got,  and  which  had  so  frightened  Mr.  \A'olfe. 

Though  our  Virginian  lived  amongst  the  revellers,  and  sw^am 
and  sported  in  the  same  waters  with  the  loose  fish,  the  boy  had 
a  natural  shrewdness  and  honesty  which  kept  him  clear  of  the 
snares  and  baits  which  are  commonly  set  for  the  unwary,  lie 
made  very  few  foolish  bets  with  the  jolly  idle  fellows  round 
about  him,  and  the  oldest  hands  found  it  difficult  to  take  him 
in.  He  engaged  in  games  out-doors  and  in,  because  he  had  a 
natural  skill  and  aptitude  for  them,  and  was  good  to  hold  al- 
most any  match  with  any  fair  competitor.  He  was.  scrupulous 
to  play  only  with  those  gentlemen  whom  he  knew,  and  always 
to  settle  his  own  debts  on  the  spot.  He  would  have  made  but 
a  very  poor  figure  at  a  college  examination  ;  though  he  pos- 
sessed prudence  and  fidelity,  keen,  shrew^l  perception,  great 
generosity,  and  dauntless  personal  courage. 

And  he  was  not  without  occasion  for  showing  of  what  stuff 
he  was  made.  For  instance,  when  that  unhappy  little  Cattarina, 
who  had  brought  him  into  so  much  trouble,  carried  her  impor- 
tunities beyond  the  mark  at  which  Harry  thought  his  generosity 
should  stop  ;  he  withdrew  from  the  advances  of  the  Opera-House 
siren  with  perfect  coolness   and  skill,  leaving  her  to  exercise 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


243 


her  blandishments  upon  some  more  easy  victim.  In  vain  the 
mermaid's  hysterical  mother  waited  upon  Harry  and  vowed  that 
a  cruel  bailiff  had  seized  all  her  daughter's  goods  for  debt,  and 
that  her  venerable  father  was  at  present  languishing  in  a  Lon- 
don jail.  Harry  declared  that  be^veen  himself  and  the  bailiff 
there  could  be  no  dealings,  and  that  because  he  had  had  the 
good  fortune  to  become  known  to  Mademoiselle  Cattarina,  and 
to  gratify  her  caprices  by  presenting  her  with  various  trinkets 
and  knicknacks  for  which  she  had  a  fancy,  he  was  not  bound 
to  pay  the  past  debts  of  her  family,  and  must  decline  being 
bail  for  her  papa  in  London,  or  settling  her  outstanding  ac- 
counts at  Tunbridge.  The  Catarina's  mother  first  called  him  a 
monster  and  an  ingrate,  and  then  asked  him  with  a  veteran 
smirk,  why  he  did  not  take  pay  for  the  services  he  had  rendered 
to  the  young  person  ?  At  first,  Mr.  Warrington  could  not 
understand  what  the  nature  of  the  payment  might  be  ;  but  when 
that  matter  was  explained  by  the  old  woman,  the  simple  lad 
rose  up  in  horror,  to  think  that  a  woman  should  traffic  in  her 
child's  dishonor,  told  her  that  he  came  from  a  country  where 
the  very  savages  would  recoil  from  such  a  bargain  ;  and,  having 
bowed  the  old  lady  ceremoniously  to  the  door,  ordered  Gumbo  to 
mark  her  well,  and  never  admit  her  to  his  lodgings  again.  No 
doubt  she  retired  breathing  vengence  against  the  Iroquois  :  no 
Turk  or  Persian,  she  declared,  would  treat  a  lady  so  ;  and  she 
and  her  daughter  retreated  to  London  as  soon  as  their  anxious 
landlord  would  let  them.  Then  Harry  had  his  perils  of  gaming, 
as  well  as  his  perils  of  gallantry.  A  man  who  plays  at  bowls, 
as  the  phrase  is,  must  expect  to  meet  with  rubbers.  After 
dinner  at  the  ordinary,  having  declined  to  play  picquet  any 
further  with  Captain  Batts,  and  being  roughly  asked  his  reason 
for  refusing,  Harry  fairly  told  the  Captain  that  he  only  played 
with  gentlemen  who  paid,  like  himself :  but  expressed  himself 
so  ready  to  satisfy  Mr.  Batts,  as  soon  as  their  outstanding  little 
account  was  settled,  that  the  Captain  declared  himself  satisfied 
d\wance,  and  straightway  left  the  Wells  without  paying  Harry  or 
any  other  creditor.  Also  he  had  an  occasion  to  show  his  spirit 
by  beating  a  chairman  who  was  rude  to  old  Miss  Whiffler  one 
evening  as  she  was  going  to  the  assembly  :  and  finding  that 
calumny  regarding  himself  and  that  unlucky  opera-dancer  was 
repeated  by  Mr.  Hector  Buckler,  one  of  the  fiercest  frequenters 
of  the  Wells,  Mr.  Warrington  stepped  up  to  Mr.  Buckler  in  the 
pump-room,  where  the  latter  was  regaling  a  number. of  water- 
drinkers  with  the  very  calumny,  and  publicly  informed  Mr. 
Buckler  that  the  story  was  a  falsehood,  and  that  he  should  hold 


244  '^^^^   VIRGINIANS. 

any  person  accountable  to  himself  who  henceforth  uttered  it. 
So  that  though  our  friend,  being  at  Rome,  certainly  did  as 
Rome  did,  yet  he  showed  himself  to  be  a  valorous  and  worthy 
Roman  ;  and,  hurlant  avec  les  loups^  was  acknowledged  by  Mr. 
Wolfe  himself  to  be  as  brave  as  the  best  of  the  w'olves. 

If  that  officer  had  told  Colonel  Lambert  the  stories  which 
had  given  the  latter  so  much  pain,  we  may  be  sure  that  when 
Mr.  Wolfe  found  his  young  friend  was  innocent,  he  took  the 
first  opportunity  to  withdraw  the  odious  charges  against  him. 
And  there  was  joy  among  the  Lamberts,  in  consequence  of  the 
lad's  acquittal — something,  doubtless,  of  that  pleasure,  which 
is  felt  by  higher  natures  than  ours,  at  the  recovery  of  sinners. 
Never  had  the  little  family  been  so  happy — no,  not  even  when 
they  got  the  news  of  Brother  Tom  winning  his  scholarship — as 
when  Colonel  Wolfe  rode  over  with  the  account  of  the  conver-* 
sation  which  he  had  with  Harry  Warrington.  "  Hadst  thou 
brought  me  a  regiment,  James,  I  think  I  should  not  have  been 
better  pleased,"  said  Mr,  Lambert.  Mrs.  Lambert  called  to 
-her  daughters  who  were  in  the  garden,  and  kissed  them  both 
when  they  came  in,  and  cried  out  the  good  news  to  them. 
Hetty  jumped  for  joy,  and  Theo  performed  some  uncommonly 
brilliant  operations  upon  the  harpsichord  that  night  ;  and  when 
Dr.  Boyle  came  in  for  his  backgammon,  he  could  not,  at  first, 
account  for  the  illumination  in  all  their  faces,  until  the  three 
ladies,  in  a  happy  chorus,  told  him  how  right  he  had  been  in 
his  sermon,  and  how  dreadfully  they  had  wronged  that  poor 
dear,  good  young  Mr.  Warrington. 

"  What  shall  w^e  do,  my  dear  ? "  says  the  Colonel  to  his 
wife.  "  The  hay  is  in,  the  corn  won't  be  cut  for  a  fortnight, — 
the  horses  have  nothing  to  do.  Suppose  we  *  *  *  •'  And  here 
he  leans  over  the  table  and  whispers  in  her  ear. 

*'  My  dearest  Martin  !  The  very  thing  I ''  cries  j\Irs.  Lam- 
bert, taking  her  husband's  hand  and  pressing  it. 

"  What's  the  very  thing,  mother  ?  "  cries  young  Charley, 
who  is  home  for  his  Bartlemytide  holidays. 

"  The  very  thing  is  to  go  to  supper.  Come,  Doctor  !  ^^'e 
wall  have  a  bottle  of  wine  to-night,  and  drink  repentance  to  all 
who  think  evil." 

"  Amen,"  says  the  Doctor  ;  "  with  all  my  heart  !  "  And 
with  this  the  worthy  family  w^ent  to  their  supper. 


THE  VIRGINIANS.  245 

CHAPTER    XXX. 

CONTAINS    A    LETTER    TO    VIRGINIA. 

Having  repaired  one  day  to  his  accustomed  dinner  at  the 
"  White  Horse  "  ordinary,  Mr.  Warrington  was  pleased  to  see 
amongst  the  faces  around  the  table  the  jolly  good-looking 
countenance  of  Parson  Sampson,  who  was  regaling  the  com- 
pany when  Henry  entered,  with  stories  and  bons  mots,  which 
kept  them  in  roars  of  laughter.  Though  he  had  not  been  in 
London  for  some  months,  the  Parson  had  the  latest  London 
news,  or  what  passed  for  such  with  the  folks  at  the  ordinary  : 
what  was  doing  in  the  King's  house  at  Kensington  ;  and  what 
in  the  Duke's  in  Pall  Mall :  how  Mr.  Byng  was  behaving  in 
prison,  and  who  came  to  him  :  what  were  the  odds  at  New- 
market, and  who  was  the  last  reigning  toast  in  Covent  Garden  ; 
— the  jolly  Chaplain  could  give  the  company  news  upon  all 
these  points, — news  that  might  not  be  very  accurate  indeed, 
but  was  as  good  as  if  it  were  for  the  country  gentlemen  who 
heard  it.  For  suppose  that  my  Lord  Viscount  Squanderiield 
was  ruining  himself  for  Mrs.  Polly,  and  Sampson  called  her  Mrs. 
Lucy  ?  that  it  was  Lady  Jane  who  was  in  love  with  the  actor, 
and  not  Lady  Mary  ?  that  it  was  Harry  Hilton  of  the  Horse 
Grenadiers,  who  had  the  quarrel  with  Chevalier  Solingen,  at 
Marybone  Garden,  and  not  Tommy  Ruffler,  of  the  Foot  Guards  ? 
The  names  and  dates  did  not  matter  much.  Provided  the  stories 
were  lively  and  wicked,  their  correctness  was  of  no  great 
importance ;  and  Mr.  Sampson  laughed  and  chatted  away 
amongst  his  country  gentlemen,  charmed  them  with  his  spirits 
and  talk,  and  drank  his  share  of  one  bottle  after  another,  for 
which  his  delighted  auditory  persisted  in  calling.  A  hundred 
years  ago,  the  Abbe  Parson,  the  clergyman  who  frequented  the 
theatre,  the  tavern,  the  race  course,  the  world  of  fashion,  was 
no  uncommon  character  in  English  society :  his  voice  might  be 
heard  the  loudest  in  the  hunting-field :  he  could  sing  the  jolli- 
est  song  at  the  "  Rose "  or  the  "  Bedford  Head,"  after  the 
play  was  over  at  Covent  Garden,  and  could  call  a  main  as  well 
as  any  at  the  gaming-table. 

It  may  have  been  modest}^  or  it  may  have  been  claret,  which 
caused  his  reverence's  rosy  face  to  redden  deeper,  but  when 
he  saw  Mr.  Warrington  enter,  he  whispered  "  Maxima  debetur" 


246 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


to  the  laughing  country  squire  who  sat  next  him  in  his  drab 
coat  and  gold-laced  red  waist-coat,  and  rose  up  from  his  chair 
and  ran — nay,  stumbled  forward — in  his  haste  to  greet  the  Vir- 
ginian :  "  My  dear  sir,  my  very  dear  sir,  my  conqueror  of 
spades,  and  clubs, -and  hearts  too,  I  am  delighted  to  see  your 
honor  looking  so  fresh  and  well,"  cries  the  Chaplain. 

Harry  returned  the  clergyman's  greeting  with  great  pleas- 
ure :  he  was  glad  to  see  Mr.  Sampson ;  he  could  also  justly 
compliment  his  reverence  upon  his  cheerful  looks  and  rosy 
gills. 

The  squire  in  the  drab  coat  knew  Mr.  Warrington ;  he 
made  a  place  beside  himself ;  he  called  out  to  the  parson  to 
return  to  his  seat  on  the  other  side,  and  to  continue  his  story 

about  Lord   Ogle  and  the  grocer's  wife  in ,  where  he  did 

not  say,  for  his  sentence  was  interrupted  by  a  shout  and  an 
oath  addressed  to  the  parson  for  treacling  on  his  gouty  toe. 

The  Chaplain  asked  pardon,  hurriedly  turned  round  to  Mr. 
Warrington,  and  informed  him,  and  the  rest  of  the  company 
indeed,  that  my  Lord  Castlewood  sent  his  affectionate  remem- 
brances to  his  cousin,  and  had  given  special  orders  to  him  (Mr. 
Sampson)  to  come  to  Tunbridge  Wells  and  look  after  the 
young  gentleman's  morals  ;  that  my  Lady  Viscountess  and  my 
Lady  Fanny  were  gone  to  Harrogate  for  the  waters  ;  that  Mr. 
Will  had  won  his  money  at  Newmarket,  and  was  going  on  a 
visit  to  my  Lord  Duke  ;  that  Molly  the  house-maid  was  crying 
her  eyes  out  about  Gumbo,  Mr.  Warrington's  valet ; — in  fine, 
all  the  news  of  Castlewood  and  its  neighborhood.  Mr.  War- 
rington was  beloved  by  all  the  country  round,  Mr.  Sampson 
told  the  company,  managing  to  introduce  the  names  of  some 
persons  of  the  very  highest  rank  into  his  discourse.  ''  All 
Hampshire  had  heard  of  his  successes  at  Tunbridge,  successes 
of  every  kind,"  says  Mr.  Sampson,  looking  particularly  arch  ; 
my  lord  hoped,  their  ladyships  hoped,  Harry  would  not  be 
spoilt  for  his  quiet  Hampshire  home. 

The  guests  dropped  off  one  by  one,  leaving  the  young  Vir- 
ginian to  his  bottle  of  wine  and  the  chaplain. 

"  Though  I  have  had  plenty,"  says  the  jolly  chaplain,  "that 
is  no  reason  why  I  should  not  have  plenty  more,"  and  he  drank 
toast  after  toast,  and  bumper  after  bumper,  to  the  amusement 
of  Harry,  who  always  enjoyed  his  society. 

By  the  time  when  Sampson  had  had  his  "plenty  more,'' 
Harr}^,  too,  was  become  specially  generous,  warm-hearted,  and 
friendly.  A  lodging  ? — why  should  ]Mr.  Simpson  go  to  the  ex- 
pense of  an  inn,  when  there  was  a  room  at  Harry's  quarters  ? 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  247 

The  Chaplain's  trunk  was  ordered  thither,  Gumbo  was  bidden 
to  make  Mr,  Sampson  comfortable — most  comfortable  ;  nothing 
would  satisfy  Mr.  Warrington  but  that  Sampson  should  go  down 
to  his  stables  and  see  his  horses  :  he  had  several  horses  now ; 
and  when  at  the  stable  Sampson  recognized  his  own  horse, 
which  Harry  had  won  from  him  ;  and  the  fond  beast  whinnied 
with  pleasure,  and  rubbed  his  nose  against  his  old  master's 
coat.  Harry  rapped  out  a  brisk  energetic  expression  or  two, 
and  vowed  by  Jupiter  that  Sampson  should  have  his  old  horse 
back  again  :  he  would  give  him  to  Sampson,  that  he  would  :  a 
gift  which  the  Chaplain  accepted  by  seizing  Harr}''s  hand,  and 
blessing  him, — by  flinging  his  arms  around  the  horse's  neck, 
and  weeping  for  joy  there,  weeping  tears  of  Bordeaux  and  grat- 
itude. Arm-in-arm  the  friends  walked  to  Madame  Bernstein's 
from  the  stable,  of  which  they  brought  the  odors  into  her  lady- 
ship's apartment.  Their  flushed  cheeks  and  brightened  eyes 
showed  what  their  amusement  had  been.  Many  gentlemen's 
cheeks  were  in  the  habit  of  flushing  in  those  days,  and  from 
the  same  cause. 

Madame  Bernstein  received  her  nephew's  chaplain  kindly 
enough.  The  old  lady  relished  Sampson's  broad  jokes  and 
rattling  talk  from  time  to  time,  as  she  liked  a  highly  spiced 
dish  or  a  new  entre'e  composed  by  her  cook,  upon  its  two  or 
three  first  appearances.  The  only  amusement  of  which  she  did 
not  grow  tired,  she  owned,  was  cards.  "  The  cards  don't 
cheat,"  she  used  to  say.  "  A  bad  hand  tells  you  the  truth  to 
your  face  :  and  there  is  nothing  so  flattering  in  the  world  as  a 
good  suite  of  trumps."  And  when  she  was  in  a  good  humor, 
and  sitting  down  to  her  favorite  pastime,  she  would  laughingly 
bid  her  nephew's  chaplain  say  grace  before  the  meal.  Honest 
Sampson  did  not  at  first  care  to  take  a  hand  at  Tunbridge  Wells. 
Her  ladyship's  play  was  too  high  for  him,  he  would  own,  slap- 
ping his  pocket  with  a  comical  piteous  look,  and  its  contents 
had  already  been  handed  over  to  the  fortunate  youth  at  Castle- 
wood.  Like  most  persons  of  her  age  and  indeed  her  sex, 
Madame  Bernstein  was  not  prodigal  of  money.  I  suppose  it 
must  have  been  from  Harry  Warrington,  whose  heart  was  over- 
flowing with  generosity  as  his  purse  with  guineas,  that  the 
Chaplain  procured  a  small  stock  of  ready  coin,  with  which  he 
was  presently  enabled  to  ajDpear  at  the  card-table. 

Our  young  gentleman  welcomed  Mr.  Sampson  to  his  coin, 
as  to  all  the  rest  of  the  good  things  which  he  had  gathered 
about  him.  'Twas  surprising  how  quickly  the  young  Virginian 
adapted  himself  to  the  habits  of  life  of  the  folks  amongst  whom 


248  THE   VIRGFNIANS. 

he  lived.  His  suits  were  still  black,  but  of  the  finest  cut  and 
quality.  "  With  a  star  and  ribbon,  and  his  stocking  down,  and 
his  hair  over  his  shoulder,  he  would  make  a  pretty  Hamlet," 
said  the  gay  old  Duchess  Queensberry.  "  And  I  make  no 
doubt  he  has  been  the  death  of  a  dozen  Ophelias  already,  here 
and  amongst  the  Indians,"  she  added,  thinking  not  at  all  the 
worse  of  Harry  for  his  supposed  successes  among  the  fair. 
Harry's  lace  and  linen  were  as  fine  as  his  aunt  could  desire. 
He  purchased  fine  shaving-plate  of  the  toy-shop  women,  and  a 
couple  of  magnificent  brocade  bed-gowns,  in  which  his  worship 
lolled  at  ease,  and  sipped  his  chocolate  of  a  morning.  He  had 
swords  and  walking-Canes,  and  French  watches  with  painted 
backs  and  diamond  settings,  and  snuff-boxes  enamelled  by 
artists  of  the  same  cunning  nation.  He  had  a  levee  of  grooms, 
jockeys,  tradesmen,  daily  waiting  in  his  anteroom,  and  admitted 
one  by  one  to  him  and  Parson  Sampson,  over  his  chocolate, 
by  Gumbo  the  groom  of  the  chambers.  We  have  no  account 
of  the  number  of  men  whom  Mr.  Gumbo  now  had  under  him. 
Certain  it  is  that  no  single  negro  could  have  taken  care  of  all 
the  fine  things  which  Mr.  Warrington  now  possessed,  let  alone 
the  horses  and  the  post-chaise  which  his  honor  had  bought. 
Also  Harry  instructed  himself  in  the  arts  which  became  a  gen- 
tleman ni  those  days.  A  French  fencing-master,  and  a  dancing- 
master  of  the  same  nation,  resided  at  Tunbridge  during  that 
season  when  Harry  made  his  appearance  :  these  men  of  science 
the  young  Virginian  sedulously  frequented,  and  acquired  con- 
siderable skill  and  grace  in  the  peaceful  and  warlike  accom- 
plishments which  they  taught.  Ere  many  weeks  were  over  he 
could  handle  the  foils  against  his  master  or  any  frequenter  of 
the  fencing-school, — and,  with  a  sigh.  Lady  Maria  (who  danced 
very  elegantly  herself)  owned  that  there  was  no  gentleman  at 
Court  who  could  walk  a  minuet  more  gracefully  than  Mr. 
Warrington.  As  for  riding,  though  Mr.  Warrington  took  a  few 
lessons  on  the  great  horse  from  a  riding-master  who  came  to 
Tunbridge,  he  declared  that  their  own  Virginian  manner  was 
well  enough  for  him,  and  that  he  saw  no  one  amongst  the  fine 
folks  and  the  jockeys  who  could  ride  better  than  his  friend 
Colonel  George  Washington  of  Mount  Vernon. 

The  obsequious  Sampson  found  himself  in  better  quarters 
than  he  had  enjoyed  for  ever  so  long  a  time.  He  knew  a  great 
deal  of  the  world,  and  told  a  great  deal  more,  and  Harry  was 
delighted  with  his  stories,  real  or  fancied.  The  man  of  twenty 
looks  up  to  the  man  of  thirty,  admires  the  latter's  old  jokes, 
stale  puns,  and  tarnished  anecdotes,  that  are  slopped  with  the 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  249 

wine  of  a  hundred  dinner-tables.  Sampson's  town  and  college 
pleasantries  were  all  new  and  charming  to  the  young  Virginian. 
A  hundred  years  ago, — no  doubt  there  are  no  such  people  left 
in  the  world  now, — there  used  to  be  grown  men  in  London  who 
loved  to  consort  with  fashionable  youths  entering  life ;  to  tickle 
their  young  fancies  with  merry  stories ;  to  act  as  Covent  Gar- 
den Mentors  and  masters  of  ceremonies  at  the  Round-house  ;  to 
accompany  lads  to  the  gaming-table,  and  perhaps  have  an  un- 
derstanding with  the  punters ;  to  drink  lemonade  to  Master 
Hopeful's  Burgundy  ;  and  to  stagger  into  the  street  with  per- 
fectly cool  heads  when  my  young  lord  reeled  out  to  beat  the 
watch.  Of  this,  no  doubt  extinct  race,  Mr.  Sampson  was  a 
specimen  :  and  a  great  comfort  it  is  to  think  (to  those  who  choose 
to  believe  the  statement)  that  in  Queen  Victoria's  reign  there 
are  no  flatterers  left,  such  as  existed  in  the  reign  of  her  royal 
great-grandfather,  no  parasites  pandering  to  the  follies  of  young 
men  ;  in  fact,  that  all  the  toads  have  been  eaten  off  the  face  of 
the  island,  (except  one  or  two  that  are  found  in  stones,  where 
they  have  \2i\K\  perdu s  these  hundred  years,)  and  the  toad-eaters 
have  perished  for  lack  of  nourishment. 

With  some  sauce,  as  I  read,  the  above-mentioned  animals 
are  said  to  be  exceedingly  fragrant,  wholesome,  and  savory  eat- 
ing. Indeed,  no  man  could  look  more  rosy  and  healthy,  or 
flourish  more  cheerfully,  than  friend  Sampson  upon  the  diet. 
He  became  our  young  friend's  confidential  leader,  and,  from 
the  following  letter,  which  is  preserved  in  the  \\'arrington  cor- 
respondence, it  will  be  seen  that  Mr.  Harry  not  only  had 
dancing  and  fencing-masters,  but  likewise  a  tutor,  chaplain,  and 
secretary  : — 

"  TO  MRS.  ESMOND  WARRINGTON,    OF  CASTLEWOOD, 

"  AT    HER    HOUSE   AT    RICHMOND,    VIRGINIA. 

'"'  Mrs.  BligJi's  Lodgings,  Pantiles,  Tunbridge  Wells, 
A  ugnst  2  5r/i,  1 756 . 

"  Honored  Madam, — Your  honored  letter  of  20  June,  per  A!r.  Trail  of  Bristol,  has 
been  forwarded  to  me  duly,  and  I  have  to  thank  your  goodness  and  kindness  for  the  good 
advice  which  you  are  pleased  to  give  me,  as  also  for  the  remembrances  of  dear  home,  which 
I  shall  love  never  the  worse  for  having  been  to  the  home  0/  our  ancestors  in  England. 

"  I  writ  3'ou  a  letter  by  the  last  monthly  packet,  informing  my  honored  mother  of  the 
little  accident  I  had  on  the  road  hither,  and  of  the  kind  friends  who  I  found  and  whom  took 
me  in.  Since  then  I  have  been  profiting  of  the  fine  weather  and  the  good  company  here, 
and  have  made  many  friends  among  our  nobility,  whose  acquaintance  I  am  sure  you  will 
not  be  sorry  that  I  should  make.  Among  their  lordships  I  may  mention  the  famous  Earl 
of  Chesterfield,  late  Ambassador  to  Holland,  and  Viceroy  of  the  Kingdom  of  Ireland  ;  the 
Earl  of  March  and  Ruglen,  who  will  be  Duke  of  Queensbury  at  the  death  of  his  Grace  ; 
and  her  Grace  the  Duchess,  a  celebrated  beauty  of  the  Queen's  time,  when  she  remembers 
my  grandpapa  at  Court.  These  and  many  more  persons  of  the  first  fashion  attend  my 
aurt'-  assemblies,  w'nch  are  the  mn%t  crowded  at  this  crowded  place.  A^so  on  my  way 
hither  I  stayed  at  Westerham,  at  the  house  of  an  officer,  Lieut.-Gen.  Wolfe,  who  served 
with  my  grandfather  and  General  Webb  in  the  famous  wars  of  the  Duke  of  Marlborough. 


250  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

Mr.  Wolfe  has  a  son,  Lieut.-Col.  James  Wolfe,  engaged  to  be  married  to  a  beautiful  lady 
now  in  this  place,  I\Iiss  Lovvther  of  the  North— and  though  but  30  years  old  he  is  looked  up 
to  as  much  as  any  oiificer  in  the  whole  army,  and  hath  served  with  honor  under  his  Royal 
Highness  the  Duke  wherever  our  arms  have  been  employed- 

"  1  thank  my  honored  mother  for  announcing  to  me  that  a  quarter's  allowance  of  ;^52.io 
will  be  paid  me  by  Mr.  Trail.  I  am  in  no  present  want  of  cash,  and  by  practising  a  rigid 
economy,  which  will  be  necessary  (as  I  do  not  disguise)  for  th.e  maintenance  of  horses, 
Gumbo,  and  the  equipage  and  apparel  requisite  /(?r  a  yowig  geiitleiiian  of  good  family,  hope 
to  be  able  to  maintain  my  credit  without  unduly  trespassing  upon  yours.  The  linnen  and 
clothes  which  I  brought  with  me  will  with  due'care  last  for  some  years— as  you  say.  'Tis 
not  quite  so  fine  as  worn  here  by  persons  of  fashion,  and  I  may  have  to  purchase  a  itv/ very 
fine  shirts  ior  great  days  :  but  those  I  have  are  excellent  for  daily  wear. 

"  I  am  thankful  that  I  have  been  quite  without  occasion  to  use  your  excellent  family 
pills.  Gumbo  hath  taken  them  with  great  benefit,  who  grows  fat  and  saucy  upon  English 
beef,  ale,  and  air.  He  sends  his  humble  duty  to  his  mistress,  and  prays  Mrs.  Mountain  to 
remember  him  to  all  his  fellow-servants,  especially  Dinah  and  Lily,  for  whom  he  has 
posey-rings  at  Tunbridge  Fair. 

"  Besides  partaking  cf  all  the  pleasures  of  the  place,  I  hope  my  honored  mother  will 
believe  that  I  have  not  been  unmindful  0/  viy  education.  I  have  had  masters  in  fencing 
and  dancing,  and  my  lord  Castlewood's  chaplain,  the  Reverend  Mr.  Sampson  having  come 
hither  to  drink  the  waters,  has  been  so  good  as  to  take  a  vacant  room  at  my  lodging.  Mr. 
S.  breakfasts  with  me,  and  we  read  together  cf  a  morning — he  saying  that  I  am  not  qitite 
such  a  a'unce  as  I  used  to  appear  at  home.  We  have  read  in  Mr.  Rapin's  History,  Dr- 
Barrow's  Sermons,  and  for  amusement  Shakspeare,  Mr.  Pope's  Homer,  and  (in  French) 
the  translation  of  an  Arabian  Work  of  Tales,  very  diverting-  Several  men  0/  Iarnifigh?t.\-ft 
been  staying  here  besides  the  persons  of  fashion  ;  and  amongst  the  former  was  Mr.  Rich- 
ardson, the  author  of  the  famous  books  which  you  and  Mountain  and  my  dearest  brother 
used  to  love  so.  He  was  pleased  when  I  told  him  that  his  works  were  in  your  closet  in 
Virginia,  and  begged  me  to  convey  his  respectful  compliments  to  my  lady  mother.  Mr.  R. 
is  a  short  fat  man,  with  little  of  the  f  re  of  ge^iijis  visible  in  his  eye  or  person. 

"  My  aunt  and  my  cousin,  the  Lady  Maria,  desire  their  affectionate  compliments  to 
you,  and  with  best  regards  for  Mountain,  to  whom  I  enclose  a  note,  I  am, 
'■  Honored  Madam, 

"  Your  dutiful  Son, 

"  H.  Esmond  Warrington." 

Note  i}i  Madam  Esjuo^td^s  Handwriting. 
"  From  my  son.  Received  October  15  at  Richmond.  Sent  16  jars  preserved  peaches, 
224  lbs.  best  tobacco,  24  finest  hams,  per  "  Royal  William  "  of  Liverpool,  8  jars  peaches,  12 
hams  for  my  nephew,  the  Right  Honorable  the  Earl  of  Castlewood.  4  jars  6  hams  for  the 
Baroness  Bernstein,  ditto  ditto  for  IMrs.  Lambert  of  Oakhurst,  Surrey,  and  %  cwt.  tobacco. 
Packet  of  Infallible  Family  Pills  for  Gumbo.  My  Papa's  large  silver-gilt  shoe-buckles 
for  H.,  and  red  silver-laced  saddle-cloth. 

II.  (enclosed  in  No.   I.) 
"  For  UNIrs.  Mountain. 

"What  do  you  mien,  you  silly  old  Mountain,  by  sending  an  order  for  your  poor  old 
divadends^ew  at  Xmas  ?  I'd  have  you  to  know  I  don't  want  your  ^^7.10,  and  have  toar 
your  order  up  into  1000  bitts.  I've  plenty  of  money.  But  I  am  ableaged  to  you  all  same. 
A  kiss  to  Fanny  from 

'*  Your  loving 

"  Harry." 
Note  in  Madar7t  Esmond^ s  Handwriting. 
"  This  note,  which  I  desired  M.  to  show  to  me,  proves  that  she  hath  a  good  heart,  and 
that  she  wished  to  show  her  gratitude  to  the  family,  by  giving  up  her  half-yearly  divd.  (on 
500/.  3  per  ct-)  to  my  boy.  Hence  I  reprimanded  her  very  slightly  for  daring  to  send 
money  to  I\Ir.  E.  Warrington,  unknown  to  his  mother.  Note  to  Mountain  not  so  well 
spelt  as  letter  to  me. 

"  Mem.  to  write  to  Revd.  Mr.  Sampson  desire  to  know  what  theolog.  books  he  reads 
with  H.  Recommend  Law,  Baxter,  Drelincourt.— Request  H.  to  say  his  catechism  to 
Mr.  S.,  which  he  has  never  quite  been  able  to  master.  By  next  ship  peaches  (3),  tobacco  % 
cwt.    Hams  for  Mr.  S." 

The  mother  of  the  Virginians  and  her  sons  have  long  long 
since  passed  away.  So  how  are  we  to  account  for  the  fact, 
that  of  a  couple  of  letters  sent  under  one  enclosure  and  by  one 
packet,  one  should  be  well   spelt,  and   the  other  not  entirely 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  25 1 

orthographical  ?  Had  Harry  found  some  wonderful  instructor, 
such  as  exists  in  the  present  lucky  times,  and  who  would  im- 
prove his  writing  in  six  lessons  ?  My  view  of  the  case,  after 
deliberately  examining  the  two  notes,  is  this  :  No.  i,  in  which 
there  appears  a  trifling  grammatical  slip  ("  the  kind  friends  who 
I  found  and  ivhoin  took  me  in,")  must  have  been  re-written 
from  a  rough  copy  which  had  probably  undergone  the  super- 
vision of  a  tutor  or  friend.  The  more  artless  composition,  No. 
2,  was  not  referred  to  the  scholar  who  prepared  No.  i  for  the 
maternal  eye,  and  to  whose  corrections  of  "  who  "  and  "  whom  " 
Mr.  Warrington  did  not  pay  very  close  attention.  Who  knows 
how  he  may  have  been  disturbed  .?  A  pretty  milliner  may  have 
attracted  Harrv's  attention  out  of  window — a  dancing  bear 
with  pipe  and  tabor  may  have  passed  along  the  common — a 
jockey  come  under  his  windows  to  show  off  a  horse  there  t 
There  are  some  days  when  any  of  us  may  be  ungrammatical 
and  spell  ill.  Finally,  suppose  Harry  did  not  care  to  spell  so 
elegantly  for  Mrs.  Mountain  as  for  his  lady-mother,  what  affair 
is  that  of  the  present  biographer,  century,  reader  ?  And  as  for 
your  objection  that  Mr.  Warrington,  in  the  above  communica- 
tion to  his  mother,  showed  some  little  h3^pocrisy  and  reticence 
in  his  dealings  with  that  venerable  person,  I  dare  say,  young 
folks,  you  in  your  time  have  written  more  than  one  prim  letter 
to  your  papas  and  mammas  in  which  not  quite  all  the  transac- 
tions of  your  lives  were  narrated,  or  if  narrated,  were  exhibited 
in  the  most  favorable  light  for  yourselves — I  dare  say,  old 
folks  !  )'ou,  in  your  time,  were  not  altogether  more  candid. 
There  must  be  a  certain  distance  between  me  and  my  son 
Jacky.  There  must  be  a  respectful,  an  amiable,  a  virtuous 
hypocrisy  between  us.  I  do  not  in  the  least  wish  that  he 
should  treat  me  as  his  equal,  that  he  should  contradict  me, 
take  my  arm-chair,  read  the  newspaper  first  at  breakfast,  ask 
unlimited  friends  to  dine  when  I  have  a  party  of  my  own,  and 
so  forth.  No ;  where  there  is  not  equality,  there  must  be 
hypocrisy.  Continue  to  be  blind  to  my  faults  ;  to  hush  still  as 
mice  when  I  fall  asleep  after  dinner ;  to  laugh  at  my  old  jokes  ; 
to  admire  my  sayings  ;  to  be  astonished  at  the  impudence  of 
those  unbelieving  reviewers  ;  to  be  dear  filial  humbugs,  O  my 
children  !  In  my  castle  I  am  king.  Let  all  my  royal  house- 
hold back  before  me.  'Tis  not  their  natural  way  of  walking,  I 
know  :  but  a  decorous,  becoming,  and  modest  behavior  highly 
agreeable  to  me.  Away  from  me  they  may  do,  nay,  they  do 
do,  what  they  like.  They  may  jump,  skip,  dance,  trot,  tumble 
over  head  and  heels,  and  kick  about  freely,  when  they  are  out 


252 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


of  the  presence  of  my  majesty.  Do  not  then,  my  dear  young 
friends,  be  surprised  at  your  mother  and  aunt  when  they  cry 
out,  "  Oh,  it  was  highly  immoral  and  improper  of  Air,  War- 
rington to  be  w'riting  home  humdrum  demure  letters  to  his  dear 
mamma,  when  he  was  playing  all  sorts  of  merry  pranks  !  " — 
but  drop  a  curtsey,  anel  say,  "  Yes,  dear  grandmamma  (or 
aunt,  as  may  be,)  it  was  very  wrong  of  him  :  and  I  suppose  you 
never  had  your  fun  when  _r^//  were  young."  Of  course,  she 
didn't !  And  the  sun  never  shone,  and  the  blossoms  never 
budded,  and  the  blood  never  danced,  and  the  fiddles  never 
sang,  in  her  spring-time.  Eh^  B abet  I  ?non  lait  de  poule  et  man 
bo7met  de  niiit !  Ho,  Betty!  my  gruel  and  my  slippers  !  And 
go,  ye  frisky,  merry  little  souls  !  and  dance,  and  have  your 
merry  little  supper  of  cakes  and  ale  ! 


CHAPTER   XXXI. 

THE    BEAR    AXD    THE    LEADER. 


Our  candid  readers  know  the  real  state  of  the  case  regard- 
ing Harry  Warrington  and  that  luckless  Cattarina ;  but  a  num- 
ber of  the  old  ladies  at  Tunbridge  Wells  supposed  the  Vir- 
ginian to  be  as  dissipated  as  any  young  English  nobleman  of 
the  highest  quality,  and  Madame  d^  Bernstein  was  especially 
incredulous  about  her  nephew's  innocence.  It  was  the  old 
lady's  firm  belief  that  Harry  was  leading  not  only  a  merry  life 
but  a  wicked  one,  and  her  wish  was  father  to  the  thought  that 
the  lad  might  be  no  better  than  his  neighbors.  An  old  Roman 
herself,  she  liked  her  nephew  to  do  as  Rome  did.  All  the 
scandal  reo^ardino;  Air.  Warring-ton's  Lovelace  adventures  she 
eagerly  and  complacently  accepted.  We  have  seen  how,  on 
one  or  two  occasions,  he  gave  tea  and  music  to  the  company  at 
the  Wells  ;  and  he  was  so  gallant  and  amiable  to  the  ladies  (to 
ladies  of  a  much  better  figure  and  character  than  the  unfor- 
tunate Cattarina),  that  Madame  Bernstein  ceased  to  be  dis- 
quieted regarding  the  silly  lo\'e  affair  which  had  had  a  com- 
mencement at  Castlewood,  and  relaxed  in  her  vigilance  over 
Lady  Maria.  Some  folks — many  old  folks — are  too  selfish  to 
interest  themselves  long  about  the  affairs  of  their  neighbors. 
The  Baroness,  had  her  trumps  to  think  of,  her  dinners,  her 
twinges  of  rheumatism  :  and  her  suspicions  regarding   Maria 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


253 


and  Harry,  lately  so  lively,  now  dozed,  and  kept  a  careless, 
unobservant  watch.  She  may  have  thought  that  the  danger 
was  over,  or  she  may  have  ceased  to  care  whether  it  existed  or 
not,  or  that  artful  Maria,  by  her  conduct,  may  have  quite 
cajoled,  soothed,  and  misguided  the  old  Dragon,  to  whose 
charge  she  was  given  over.  At  Maria'sage,  nay,  earlier  indeed, 
maidens  have  learnt  to  be  very  sly,  and  at  Madame  Bernstein's 
time  of  life,  dragons  are  not  so  fierce  and  alert.  They  cannot 
turn  so  readily,  some  of  their  old  teeth  have  dropped  out,  and 
their  eyes  require  more  sleep  than  they  needed  in  days  when 
they  were  more  active,  venomous,  and  dangerous.  I,  for  my 
part,  know  a  few  female  dragons  de par  le  vionde.,  and  as  I  watch 
them  and  remember  what  they  were,  admire  the  softening  influ- 
ence of  years  upon  these  whilom  destroyers  of  man  and  woman- 
kind. Their  scales  are  so  soft  that  any  knight  with  a  moderate 
power  of  thrust  can  strike  them  :  their  claws,  once  strong 
enough  to  tear  out  a  thousand  eyes,  only  fall  with  a  feeble  pat 
that  scarce  raises  the  skin  :  their  tongues,  from  their  toothless 
old  gums,  dart  a  venom  which  is  rather  disagreeable  than 
deadly.  See  them  trailing  their  languid  tails,  and  crawling 
home  to  their  caverns  at  roosting  time  !  How  weak  are  their 
powers  of  doing  injury  !  their  maleficence  how  feeble !  How 
changed  are  they  since  the  brisk  days  when  their  eyes  shot 
wicked  fire  ;  their  tongue  spat  poison  ;  their  breath  blasted 
rejDutation  ;  and  they  gobbfed  up  a  daily  victim  at  least ! 

If  the  good  folks  at  Oakhurst  could  not  resist  the  testimony 
which  was  brought  to  .them  regarding  Harry's  ill-doings,  why 
should  Madam  Bernstein,  who  in'the  course  of  her  long  days 
had  had  more  experience  of  evil  than  all  the  Oakhurst  family 
put  together,  be  less  credulous  than  they?  Of  course  every 
single  old  woman  of  her  ladyship's  society  believed  every  story 
that  was  told  about  Mr.  Harry  Warrington's  dissipated  habits, 
and  was  ready  to  believe  as  much  more  ill  of  him  as  you  please. 
When  the  little  dancer  went  back  to  London,  as  she  did,  it  was 
because  that  heartless  Harry  deserted  her.  He  deserted  her 
for  somebody  else,  whose  name  was  confidently  given, — whose 
name  ! — whose  half-dozen  names  the  society  at  TunlDridge  Wells 
would  whisper  about ;  where  there  congregated  people  of  all 
ranks  and  degrees,  women  of  fashion,  women  of  reputation,  of 
demi-reputation,  of  virtue,  of  no  virtue, — all  mingling  in  the 
same  rooms,  dancing  to  the  same  fiddles,  drinking  out  of  the 
same  glasses  at  the  Wells,  and  alike  in  search  of  health,  or 
society,  or  pleasure.  A  century  ago,  and  our  ancestors,  the  most 
free  or  the   most  strait-laced,  met  together  at  a   score  of  such 


254 


THE  VIRGINIANS. 


merry  places  as  that  where  our  present  scene  lies,  and  danced, 
and  frisked,  and  gamed,  and  drank  at  Epsom,  Bath,  Tunbridge, 
Harrogate,  as  they  do  at  Hombourg  and  Baden  now. 

Harry's  bad  reputation  then  comforted  his  old  aunt  exceed- 
ingly, and  eased  her  mind  in  respect  to  the  boy's  passion  for 
Lady  Maria.  So  easy  was  she  in  her  mind,  that  when  the 
chaplain  said  he  came  to  escort  her  ladyship  home,  Madame 
Bernstein  did  not  even  care  to  part  from  her  neice.  She  pre- 
ferred rather  to  keep  her  under  her  eye,  to  talk  to  her  about 
her  wicked  young  cousin's  wild  extravagances,  to  whisper  to 
her  that  boys  would  be  boys,  to  confide  to  Maria  her  intention 
of  getting  a  proper  wife  for  Harry, — some  one  of  a  suitable  age, 
— some  one  with  a  suitable  fortune, — all  which  pleasantries 
poor  Maria  had  to  bear  with  as  much  fortitude  as  she  could 
muster. 

There  lived,  during  the  last  century,  a  certain  French  duke 
and  marquis,  who  distinguished  himself  in  Europe,  and  America 
likewise,  and  has  obliged  posterity  by  leaving  behind  him  a 
choice  volume  of  memoirs,  which  the  gentle  reader  is  specially 
warned  not  to  consult.  Having  performed  the  part  of  Don 
Juan  in  his  own  country,  in  ours,  and  in  other  parts  of  Europe, 
he  has  kindly  noted  down  the  names  of  many  court-beauties 
who  fell  victims  to  his  powers  of  fascination  ;  and  very  pleasant 
reading  no  doubt  it  must  be  for  the  grandsons  and  descendants 
of  the  fashionable  persons  amongs't  whom  our  brilliant  noble- 
man moved,  to  find  the  names  of  their  ancestresses  adorning 
M.  le  Due's  sprightly  pages,  and  their  frailties  recorded  by  the 
candid  writer  who  caused  them. 

In  the  course  of  the  peregrinations  of  this  nobleman,  he 
visited  North  America,  and,  as  had  been  his  custom  in  Europe, 
proceeded  straightway  to  fall  in  love.  And  curious  it  is  to  con- 
trast the  elegant  refinements  of  European  society,  where  accord- 
ing to  Monseigneur,  he  had  but  to  lay  siege  to  a  woman  in 
order  to  vanquish  her,  with  the  simple  lives  and  habits  of  the 
colonial  folks,  amongst  whom  this  European  enslaver  of  hearts 
did  not,  it  appears,  make  a  single  conquest.  Had  he  done  so 
he  would  as  certainly  have  narrated  his  victories  in  Pennsyl-  • 
vania  and  New  England,  as  he  described  his  successes  in  this 
and  his  own  country.  Travellers  in  America  have  cried  out 
quite  loudly  enough  against  the  rudeness  and  barbarism  of 
Transatlantic  manners  ;  let  the- present  writer  give  the  humble 
testimony  of  his  experience  that  the  conversation  of  American 
gentlemen  is  generally  modest,  and,  to  the  best  of  his  belief, 
the  lives  of  the  women  pure. 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


255 


We  have  said  that  Mr.  Harr}'  Warrington  brought  his  colo- 
nial modesty  along  with  him  to  the  old  country- ;  and  though 
he  could  not  help  hearing  the  free  talk  of  the  persons  amongst 
whom  he  lived,  and  who  were  men  of  pleasure  and  the  world, 
he  sat  pretty  silent  himself  in  the  midst  of  their  rattle  ;  never 
indulged  in  double  entendre  in  his  conversation  with  women  ;  had 
no  victories  over  the  sex  to  boast  of ;  and  was  shy  and  awkward 
when  he  heard  such  narrated  by  others. 

This  youthful  modesty  Mr.  Sampson  had  remarked  during 
his  intercourse  with  the  lad  at  Castlewood,  where  Mr.  Warring- 
ton had  more  than  once  shown  himself  quite  uneasy  whilst 
Cousin  Will  was  telling  some  of  his  choice  stories  ;  and  my  lord 
had  curtly  rebuked  his  brother,  bidding  him  keep  his  jokes  for 
the  usher's  table  at  Kensington,  and  not  give  needless  offence 
to  their  kinsman.  Hence  the  exclamation  of  "  Reverentia 
pueris,"  which  the  Chaplain  had  addressed  to  his  neighbor  at 
the  ordinary  on  Harry's  first  appearance  there.  ]\Ir.  Sampson, 
if  he  had  not  strength  sufficient  to  do  right  himself,  at  least  had 
grace  enough  not  to  offend  innocent  young  gentlemen  by  his 
cynicism. 

The  Chaplain  was  touched  by  Harry's  gift  of  the  horse  ;  and 
felt  a  genuine  friendliness  towards  the  lad.  "  You  see,  sir," 
says  he,  "  I  am  of  the  world,  and  must  do  as  the  rest  of  the 
world  does.  I  have  led  a  rough  life,  Mr.  Warrington,  and  can't 
afford  to  be  more  particular  than  my  neighbors.  Video  meliora, 
deteriora  sequor,  as  we  said  at  college.  I  have  got  a  little 
sister,  who  is  at  boarding-school,  not  very  far  from  here,  and, 
as  I  keep  a  decent  tongue  in  my  head  when  I  am  talking  with 
my  little  Patty,  and  expect  others  to  do  as  much,  sure  I  may 
tr}'  and  do  as  much  by  you." 

The  Chaplain  was  loud  in  his  praises  of  Harry  to  his  aunt, 
the  old  Baroness.  She  liked  to  hear  him  praised.  She  was  as 
fond  of  him  as  she  could  be  of  anything ;  was  pleased  in  his 
company,  with  his  good  looks,  his  manly  courageous  bearing, 
his  blushes,  which  came  so  readily,  his  bright  eyes,  his  deep 
youthful  voice.  His  shrewdness  and  simplicity  constantly 
amused  her ;  she  would  have  wearied  of  him  long  before,  had 
he  been  cle-ver,  or  learned,  or  witty,  or  other  than  he  was.  "  We 
must  find  a  good  wife  for  him,  chaplain,"  she  said  to  Mr.  Samp- 
son. "  I  have  one  or  two  in  my  eye,  who,  I  think,  will  suit  him. 
We  must  set  him  up  here  ;  he  never  will  bear  going  back  to 
his  savages  again,  or  to  live  with  his  little  Methodist  of  a 
mother." 

Now  about  this  point  Mr.    Sampson,  too,  was  personally 


256  THE   VIRGIiYIANS. 

anxious,  and  had  also  a  wife  in  his  eye  for  Harry.  I  suppose 
he  must  have  had  some  conversations  with  his  lord  at  Castle- 
wood,  whom  we  have  heard  expressing  some  intention  of  com- 
plimenting his  chaplain  with  a  good  living  or  other  provision, 
in  event  of  his  being  able  to  carry  out  his  lordship's  wishes 
regarding  a  marriage  for  Lady  Maria.  If  his  good  offices  could 
help  that  anxious  lady  to  a  husband,  Sampson  was  ready  to 
employ  them  :  and  he  now  waited  to  see  in  what  most  effectual 
manner  he  could  bring  his  influence  to  bear. 

Sampson's  society  w^as  most  agreeable,  and  he  and  his  young 
friend  were  intimate  in  the  course  of  a  few  hours.  The  parson 
rejoiced  in  high  spirits,  good  appetite,  good  humor  ;  pretended 
to  no  sort  of  squeamishness,  and  indulged  in  no  sanctified 
h3'pocritical  conversation  ;  nevertheless,  he  took  care  not  to 
shock  his  young  friend  by  any  needless  outbreaks  of  levity  or 
immorality  of  talk,  initiating  his  pupil,  perhaps  from  policy, 
perhaps  from  compunction,  only  into  the  minor  mysteries,  as  it 
were  ;  and  not  telling  him  the  secrets  with  which  the  unlucky 
adept  himself  was  only  too  familiar.  With  Harry,  Sampson 
was  only  a  brisk,  lively,  jolly  companion,  ready  for  any  drink- 
ing bout,  or  any  sport,  a  cock-fight,  a  shooting-match,  a  game 
at  cards,  or  a  gallop  across  the  common  ;  but  his  conversation 
was  decent,  and  he  tried  much  more  to  amuse  the  young  man, 
than  to  lead  him  astray.  The  Chaplain  was  quite  successful : 
he  had  immense  animal  spirits  as  well  as  natural  wit,  and  apti- 
tude as  well  as  experience  in  that  business  of  toad-eater  which 
had  been  his  calling  and  livelihood  from  his  very  earliest  years, — 
ever  since  he  first  entered  college  as  a  servitor,  and  cast  about 
to  see  by  whose  means  he  could  make  his  fortune  in  life.  That 
was  but  satire  just  now,  when  we  said  there  were  no  toad-eaters 
left  in  the  world.  There  are  many  men  of  Sampson's  profession 
now,  doubtless ;  nay,  little  boys  at  our  public  schools  are  sent 
thither  at  the  earliest  age,  instructed  by  their  parents,  and  put 
out  apprentices  to  toad-eating.  But  the  flattery  is  not  so  mani- 
fest as  it  used  to  be  a  hundred  years  since.  Young  men  and 
old  have  hangers-on,  and  led-captains,  but  they  assume  an 
appearance  of  equality,  borrow^  money,  or  swallow  their  toads 
in  private,  and  walk  abroad  arm-in-arm  with  the  great  man,  and 
call  him  by  his  name  without  his  title.  In  those  good  old 
times,  when  Harr}'  Warrington  first  came  to  Europe,  a  gentle- 
man's toad-eater  pretended  to  no  airs  of  equality  at  all ;  openly 
paid  court  to  his  patron,  called  him  by  that  name  to  other  folks, 
went  on  his  errands  for  him, — any  sort  of  errands  which  the 
patron  might  devise, — called  him  Sir  in  speaking  to  him,  stood 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


257 


up  in  his  presence  until  bidden  to  sit  down,  and  flattered  him 
ex  officio.  Mr.  Sampson  did  not  take  the  least  shame  in  speak- 
ing of  Harry  as  his  young  patron, — as  a  young  Virginian  noble- 
man recommended  to  him  by  his  other  noble  patron,  the  Earl 
of  Castlewood.  He  was  proud  of  appearing  at  Harry's  side, 
and  as  his  humble  retainer,  in  public  talked  about  him  to  the 
company,  gave  orders  to  Harry's  tradesmen,  from  w^hom,  let  us 
hope,  he  received  a  percentage  in  return  for  his  recommenda- 
tions,  performed  all  the  functions  of  aide-de-camp — others,  if 
our  young  gentleman  demanded  them  from  the  obsequious 
divine,  who  had  gaply  discharged  the  duties  of  ami  du  prince  to 
ever  so  many  young  men  of  fashion,  since  his  ovv'n  entrance 
into  the  world.  It  must  be  confessed  that,  since  his  arrival  in 
Europe,  Mr.  Warrington  had  not  been  uniformly  lucky  in  the 
friendships  which  he  had  made. 

"  What  a  reputation,  sir,  they  have  made  for  you  in  this 
place  !  "  cries  Mr.  Sampson,  coming  back  from  the  coffee- 
house to  his  patron.  "  Monsieur  de  Richelieu  was  nothing  to 
you  !  " 

"  How  do  you  mean.  Monsieur  de  Richelieu  1 — Never  was 
at  Minorca  in  my  life,"  says  downright  Harry,  who  had  not 
heard  of  those  victories  at  home  which  made  the  French  Duke 
famous. 

Mr.  Sampson  explained.  The  pretty  widow  Patcham  who 
had  just  arrived  was  certainly  desperate  about  Mr.  Warrington  : 
her  way  of  going  on  at  the  rooms,  the  night  before,  proved  that. 
As  for  Mrs.  Hooper,  that  was  a  known  case,  and  the  Alderman 
had  fetched  his  wife  back  to  London  for  no  other  reason.  It 
was  the  talk  of  the  whole  Wells. 

'■'  Who  says  so  ?  "  cries  out  Harry,  indignantly.  "  I  should 
like  to  meet  the  man  who  dares  say  so,  and  confound  the 
villain  !  " 

"  I  should  not  like  to  show  him  to  you,"  says  Mr.  Sampson, 
laughing.     "  It  might  be  the  worse  for  him." 

"  It's  a  shame  to  speak  with  such  levity  about  the  character 
of  ladies  or  of  gentlemen,  either,"  continues  Mr.  Warrington, 
pacing  up  and  down  the  room  in  a  fume. 

"  So  I  told  them,"  says  the  Chaplain,  wagging  his  head 
and  looking  very  much  moved  and  very  grave,  though,  if  the 
truth  were  known,  it  had  never  come  into  his  mind  at  all  to  be 
angry  at  hearing  charges  of  this  nature  against  Harry. 

"  It's  a  shame,  I  say,  to  talk  away  the  reputation  of  any 
man  or  woman  as  people  do  here.  Do  you  know,  in  our  coun- 
try, a  fellow's  ears  would  not  be  safe  ;  and  a  little  before  I  left 

17 


258  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

home,  three  brothers  shot  down  a  man,  for  having  spoken  ill 
of  their  sister." 

"  Serve  the  villain  right  !  "  cries  Sampson. 

"  Already  they  have  had  that  calumny  about  me  set  a-going 
here,  Sampson, — about  me  and  the  poor  little  French  dancing- 
girl." 

"I  have  heard,"  says  Mr.  Sampson,  shaking  powder  out  of 
his  wig. 

"Wicked;  wasn't  it?  " 

"  Abominable." 

"  They  said  the  very  same  thing  about  my  Lord  March. 
Isn't  it  shameful  ?  " 

"  Indeed  it  is,"  says  Mr.  Sampson,  preserving  a  face  of 
wonderful  gravity. 

"  I  don't  know  vv'hat  I  should  do  if  these  stories  were  to 
come  to  my  mother's  ears.  It  would  break  her  heart,  I  do  be- 
lieve it  would.  Why,  only  a  few  days  before  you  came,  a 
military  friend  of  mine,  Mr.  Wolfe,  told  me  how  the  most 
horrible  lies  were  circulated  about  me.  Good  heavens  !  What 
do  they  think  a  gentleman  of  my  name  and  country  can  be 
capable  of — I  a  seducer  of  women  'i  They  might  as  well  say  I 
was  a  horse-stealer  or  a  housebreaker.  I  vow  if  I  hear  any 
man  say  so,  I'll  have  his  ears  !  " 

"  I  have  read,  sir,  that  the  Grand  Seignior  of  Turkey  has 
bushels  of  ears  sometimes  sent  in  to  him,"  says  Mr.  Sampson, 
laughing.  "  If  you  took  all  those  that  had  heard  scandal 
against  you  or  others,  what  baskets  you  would  fill !  " 

"  And  so  I  would,  Sampson,  as  soon  as  look  at  'em  : — any 
fellow's  who  said  a  word  against  a  lady  or  a  gentleman  of 
honor  !  "  cries  the  A'^irginian. 

"  If  you'll  go  down  to  the  Well,  you'll  find  a  harvest  of  "em. 
I  just  came  from  there.  It  was  the  high  tide  of  Scandal.  De- 
traction was  at  its  height.  And  you  may  see  the  nymphas  dis- 
centes  and  the  aures  satyronmi  acutas,''  cries  the  Chaplain,  with 
a  shrug  of  his  shoulders. 

"  That  may  be  as  you  sa}-,  Sampson,"  Mr.  Warrington  re- 
plies ;  "  but  if  ever  I  hear  any  man  speak  against  my  character 
I'll  punish  him.     Mark  that." 

"  I  shall  be  very  sorry  for  his  sake,  that  I  should ;  for 
you'll  mark  him  in  a  way  he  won't  like,  sir  ;  and  I  know  you 
are  a  man  of  your  word." 

"You  may  be  sure  of  that,  Sampson.  And  now  shall 
we  go  to  dinner,  and  afterwards  to  my  Lady  Trumpington's 
tea?" 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  259 

"  You  know,  sir,  I  can't  resist  a  card  or  a  bottle,'"'  says  Mr. 
Sampson.  "  Let  us  have  the  last  first  and  then  the  first  shall 
come  last."  And  with  this  the  two  gentlemen  went  off  to 
their  accustomed  place  of  refection. 

That  was  an  age  in  which  wine-bibbing  was  more  common 
than  in  our  politer  time  ;  and,  especially  since  the  arrival  of 
General  Braddock's  army  in  his  native  country,  our  young  Vir- 
ginian had  acquired  rather  a  liking  for  the  filling  of  bumpers 
and  the  calling  of  toasts  ;  having  heard  that  it  was  a  point  of 
honor  anx)ng  the  officers  never  to  decline  a  toast  or  a  chal- 
lenge. So  Harry  and  his  Chaplain  drank  their  claret  in  peace 
and  plenty,  naming,  as  the  simple  custom  was,  some  favorite 
lady  with  each  glass. 

The  Chaplain  had  reasons  of  his  own  for  desiring  to  know 
how  far  the  affair  between  Harry  and  my  Lady  Maria  had 
gone  ;  whether  it  was  advancing,  or  whether  it  was  ended  ;  and 
he  and  his  young  friend  were  just  warm  enough  with  the  claret 
to  be  able  to  talk  with  that  great  eloquence,  that  candor,  that 
admirable  friendliness,  which  good  wine  taken  in  a  rather  in- 
judicious quantity  inspires.  O  kindly  harvests  of  the  Acqui- 
tanian  grape  !  O  sunny  banks  of  Garonne  !  O  friendly  caves 
of  Gledstane,  where  the  dusky  flasks  lie  recondite  !  May  we 
not  say  a  word  of  thanks  for  all  the  pleasure  we  owe  you  .^  Are 
the  Temperance  men  to  be  allowed  to  shout  in  the  public 
places  ?  are  the  Vegetarians  to  bellow  "  Cabbage  for  ever  ?  " 
and  may  we  modest  Qinophilists  not  sing  the  praises  of  our 
favorite  plant  t  After  the  drinking  of  good  Bordeaux  wine, 
there  is  a  point  (I  do  not  say  a  pint)  at  which  men  arrive,  when 
all  the  generous  faculties  of  the  soul  are  awakened  and  in  full 
vigor  ;  when  the  wit  brightens  and  breaks  out  in  sudden  flashes  ; 
when  the  intellects  are  keenest ;  when  the  pent-up  words  and 
confined  thoughts  get  a  night-rule,  and  rush  abroad  and  disport 
themselves  ;  when  the  kindest  affections  come  out  and  shake 
hands  with  mankind,  and  the  timid  Truth  jumps  up  naked  out 
of  his  well  and  proclaims  himself  to  all  the  world.  How,  by 
the  kind  influence  of  the  wine-cup,  we  succor  the  poor  and 
humble  !  How  bravely  we  rush  to  the  rescue  of  the  oppressed  ! 
I  say,  in  the  face  of  all  the  pumps  which  ever  spouted,  that 
there  is  a  moment  in  a  bout  of  good  wine  at  which,  if  a  man 
could  but  remain,  wit,  wisdom,  courage,  generosity,  eloquence, 
happiness,  were  his  ;  but  the  moment  passes,  and  that  other 
glass  somehow  spoils  the  state  of  beatitude.  There  is  a  head- 
ache in  the  morning  ;  we  are  not  going  into  Parliament  for 
our  native   town  ;  we   are   not  ^oing  to   shoot  those    French 


26o  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

officers  who  have  been  speaking  disrespecfully  of  our  country  \ 
and  poor  Jeremy  Diddler  calls  about  eleven  o'clock  for  another 
half-sovereign,  and  we  are  unwell  in  bed,  and  can't  see  him, 
and  send  him  empty  away. 

Well,  then,  as  they  sat  over  their  generous  cups,  the  com- 
pany having  departed,  and  the  — th  bottle  of  claret  being 
lorought  in  by  Monsieur  Barbeau,  the  Chaplain  found  himself 
in  an  eloquent  state,  with  a  strong  desire  for  inculcating  sub- 
lime moral  precepts,  whilst  Harry  was  moved  by  an  extreme 
longing  to  explain  his  whole  private  histor}^,  and  impart  all  his 
present  feelings  to  his  new  friend.  Mark  that  fact.  Why  7nHst 
a  man  say  everything  that  comes  uppermost  in  his  noble  mind 
because,  forsooth,  he  has  swallowed  a  half-pint  more  of  wine 
than  he  ordinarily  drinks  ?  Suppose  I  had  committed  a  murder 
(of  course  I  allow  the  sherry  and  champagne  at  dinner),  should 
I  announce  that  homicide  somewhere  about  the  third  bottle  (in 
a  small  party  of  men)  of  claret  at  dessert  ?  Of  course  :  and 
hence  the  fidelity  of  water-gruel  announced  a  few  pages  back. 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  what  your  conduct  has  really  been  with 
regard  to  the  Cattarina,  Mr.  Warringtori  ;  I  am  glad  from  my 
soul,"  says  the  impetuous  Chaplain.  "  The  wine  is  with  you. 
You  have  shown  that  you  can  bear  down  calumny,  and  resist 
temptation.  Ah  !  my  dear  sir,  men  are  not  all  so  fortunate. 
What  famous  good  wine  this  is  !  "  and  he  sucks  up  a  glass  with 
"  A  toast  from  you,  my  dear  sir,  if  you  please  !  " 

"  I  give  you  '  Miss  Fanny  Mountain,  of  A^irginia,'  "  says 
Mr.  Warrington,  filling  a  bumper  as  his  thoughts  fly  straight- 
way, ever  so  many  thousand  miles,  to  home. 

"  One  of  your  American  conquests,  I  suppose  t  ''  says  the 
Chaplain. 

"  Na}^,  she  is  but  ten  years  old,  and  I  have  never  made  any 
conquests  at  all  in  Virginia,  Mr.  Sampson,"  says  the  young 
gentleman. 

"  You  are  like  a  true  gentleman,  and  don't  kiss  and  tell,  sir." 

"  I  neither  kiss  nor  tell.  It  isn't  the  custom  of  our  country, 
Sampson,  to  ruin  girls,  or  frequent  the  society  of  low  women. 
We  Virginian  gentlemen  honor  women  :  we  don't  wish  to  bring 
them  to  shame,"  cries  the  young  toper,  looking  very  proud  and 
handsome.  "  The  young  lady  whose  name  I  mentioned  hath 
lived  in  our  family  since  her  infancy,  and  I  would  shoot  the 
man  who  did  her  a  wrong; — by  heaven,  I  would  !  " 

"  Your  sentiments  do  you  honor  !  Let  me  shake  hands 
with  you !  I  will  shake  hands  with  you,  Mr.  ^^'arrington," 
cried  the  enthusiastic  Sampson.     "And  let  me  tell  you,  'tis  the 


THE  VIRGIXIANS.  261 

grasp  of  honest  friendship  offered  you,  and  not  merely  the  poor 
retainer  paying  court  to  the  wealthy  patron.  No  !  with  such 
liquor  as  this,  all  men  are  equal ; — faith,  all  men  are  rich,  wiiilst 
it  lasts  !  and  Tom  Sampson  is  as  wealthy  with  his  bottle  as 
your  honor  with  all  the  acres  of  your  principality  !  " 

"  Let  us  have  another  bottle  of  riches,"  says  Harr}^,  with  a 
laugh.  '•  Encore  du  cachet  jaune,  mon  bon  Monsieur  Barbeau  !  " 
and  exit  Monsieur  Barbeau  to  the  caves  below. 

"  Another  bottle  of  riches  !  Capital,  capital  !  How  beau- 
tifully you  speak  French,  Mr.  Harr}-." 

"  I  do  speak  it  well,"  says  Harry.  "  At  least,  when  I  speak 
Monsieur  Barbeau  understands  me  well  enough." 

'"  You  do  ever}'thing  well,  I  think.  You  succeed  in  what- 
ever you  try.  That  is  why  they  have  fancied  here  you  have 
won  the  hearts  of  so  many  women,  sir." 

"  There  you  go  again  about  the  women  !  I  tell  you  I  don't 
like  these  stories  about  women.  Confound  me,  Sampson,  why 
is  a  gentleman's  character  to  be  blackened  so  ? " 

"  Well,  at  any  rate,  there  is  one,  unless  my  eyes  deceive  me 
very  much  indeed,  sir  !  "  cries  the  Chaplain. 

"  Whom  do  you  mean?  "  asked  Harry,  flushing  very  red. 

"  Nay.  I  name  no  names.  It  isn't  for  a  poor  chaplain  to 
meddle  with  his  better's  doings,  or  to  know  their  thoughts," 
says  Mr.  Sampson. 

"  Thoughts !  what  thoughts,  Sampson  ?  " 

"  I  fancied  I  saw,  on  the  part  of  a  certain  lovely  and  re- 
spected lady  at  Castlewood,  a  preference  exhibited.  I  fancied, 
on  the  side  of  a  certain  distinguished  young  gentleman,  a 
strong  liking  manifested  itself  :  but  I  may  have  been  wrong, 
and  ask  pardon." 

"  Oh,  Sampson,  Sampson  !  "  broke  out  the  young  man.  "  I 
tell  you  I  am  miserable.  I  tell  you  I  have  been  longing  for 
some  one  to  confide  in,  or  ask  advice  of.  You  do  know,  then, 
that  there  has  been  something  going  on — something  between 
me  and — help,  Mr.  Sampson,  Monsieur  Barbeau — and — some 
one  else? " 

"  I  have  watched  it  this  month  past,"  says  the  Chaplain. 

"  Confound  me,  sir,  do  you  mean  you  have  been  a  spy  on 
me  ?  "  says  the  other  hotly. 

"  A  spy  !  You  made  little  disguise  of  the  matter,  Mr.  War- 
rington, and  her  ladyship  wasn't  a  much  better  hand  at  de- 
ceiving. You  were  always  together.  In  the  shrubberies,  in  the 
walks,  in  the  village,  in  the  galleries  of  the  house, — you  ahvays 
found  a  pretext  for  being  together,  and  plenty  of  eyes  besides 
mine  watched  you." 


262  THE   ]'TRCIXIANS. 

"  Gracious  powers  \  What  did  you  see,  Sampson  ? "  cries 
the  lad. 

"  Nay,  sir,  'tis  forbidden  to  kiss  and  tell.  I  say  so  again," 
says  the  Chaplain. 

The  young  man  turned  very  red.  "  Oh,  Sampson  !  "  he 
cried,  "  can  I — can  I  confide  in  you  ?  " 

"  Dearest  sir — dear  generous  youth — you  know  I  would 
shed  my  heart's  blood  for  you  ! "  exclaims  the  Chaplain  squeez- 
ing his  patron's  hand,  and  turning  a  brilliant  pair  of  eyes 
ceiling-wards. 

"  Oh,  Sampson  1  I  tell  you  I  am  miserable.  With  all  this 
play  and  wine,  whilst  I  have  been  here,  I  tell  you  I  have  been 
trying  to  drive  away  care.  I  own  to  you  that  when  we  were  at 
Castlewood  there  was  things  passed  between  a  certain  lady  and 
me." 

The  parson  gave  a  slight  whistle  over  his  glass  of  Bordeaux. 

"  And  they've  made  me  wretched,  those  things  have.  1 
mean,  you  see,  that  if  a  gentleman  has  given  his  word,  why,  it's 
his  word,  and  he  must  stand  by  it,  you  know.  I  mean  that  I 
thought  I  loved  her, — and  so  I  do  very  much,  and  she's  a  most 
dear,  kind,  darling,  affectionate  creature,  and  very  handsome, 
too, — quite  beautiful  ;  but  then,  you  know,  our  ages,  Sampson  ! 
Think  of  our  ages,  Sampson  !     She's  as  old  as  my  mother  1  " 

'■''  Who  would  never  forgive  you  ?  " 

"I  don't  intend  to  let  anybody  meddle  in  my  affairs,  not 
Madam  Esmond  nor  anybody  else,"  cries  Harry  :  "but  you  see, 
Sampson,  she  is  old — and,  oh,  hang  it !  Why  did  Aunt  Bern- 
stein tell  me ?  " 

"Tell  you  what.?" 

"  Something  I  can't  divulge  to  anybody,  something  that 
tortures  me  ! " 

"Not   about  the — the "the  Chaplain  paused:  he  was 

going  to  say  about  her  ladyship's  little  affair  with  the  French 
dancing-master  ;  about  other  little  anecdotes  affecting  her  char- 
acter. But  he  had  not  drunk  wine  enough  to  be  quite  candid, 
or  too  much,  and  was  past  the  real  moment  of  virtue. 

"  Yes,  yes,  every  one  of  'em  false — every  one  of  'em  1  " 
shrieks  out  Harry. 

"  Great  powers,  what  do  you  mean  ?  "  asks  his  friend. 

"  These,  sir,  these  !  "  says  Harry,  beating  a  tattoo  on  his 
own  white  teeth.  "  I  didn't  know  it  when  I  asked  her.  I 
swear  1  didn't  know  it.  Oh,  it's  horrible!  it's  horrible!  and  it 
has  caused  me  nights  of  agony,  Sampson.  ]My  dear  old  grand- 
father had  a  set,  a  Frenchman  at  Charleston   made  them  for 


THE   VIRGINIA  A' S.  263 

him,  and  we  used  to  look  at  'em  grinning  in  a  tumbler,  and  when 
they  were  out,  his  jaws  used  to  fall  in — I  never  thought  she  had 
'em." 

"  Had  what,  sir  ?  "  again  asked  the  Chaplain. 

"  Confound  it,  sir,  don't  you  see  I  mean  teeth  I  "  says  Harr}-, 
rapping  the  table. 

"  Nay,  only  two." 

"  And  how^^  the  devil  do  you  know,  sir  ? "  asks  the  young 
man,  fiercely. 

"  I — I  had  it  from  her  maid.  She  had  two  teeth  knocked 
out  by  a  stone  which  cut  her  lip  a  little,  and  they  have  been 
replaced." 

"  Oh,  Sampson,  do  you  mean  to  say  they  ain't  all  sham 
ones  ?  "  cries  the  boy. 

"  But  two,  sir,  at  least  so  Peggy  told  me,  and  she  would 
just  as  soon  have  blabbed  about  the  whole  two  and  thirty — the 
rest  are  as  sound  as  yours,  which  are  beautiful." 

"  And  her  hair,  Sampson,  is  that  all  right,  too  ?  "  asks  the 
young  gentleman. 

"  'Tis  lovely — I  have  seen  that.  I  can  take  my  oath  to  that. 
Her  ladyship  can  sit  upon  it ;  and  her  figure  is  very  fine ;  and 
her  skin  is  as  white  as  snow ;  and  her  heart  is  the  kindest  that 
ever  was ;  and  I  know,  that  is  I  feel  sure,  it  is  very  tender 
about  3'ou,  Mr.  Warrington," 

'*  Oh,  Sampson  !  heaven — heaven  bless  you  !  What  a 
weight  you've  taken  off  my  mind  with  those — those — never 
mind  them  !  Oh,  Sam  !  How  happy — that  is,  no,  no — oh, 
how  miserable  I  am  !  She's  as  old  as  Madam  Esmond — by 
George  she  is — she's  as  old  as  my  mother.  You  wouldn't  have 
a  fellow  marry  a  woman  as  old  as  his  mother  1  It's  too  bad  : 
by  George  it  is.  It's  too  bad."  And  here,  I  am  sorry  to  say, 
Harry  Esmond  Warrington,  Esquire,  of  Castlewood,  in  Virginia, 
began  to  cry.  The  delectable  point,  you  see,  must  have  been 
passed  several  glasses  ago. 

"You  don't  want  to  marry  her,  then  ? "  asks  the  Chaplain. 

"What's  that  to  you,  sir?  I've  promised  her,  and  an 
Esmond — a  Virginia  Esmond,  mind  that — Mr.  What's  your 
name — Sampson — has  but  his  word  !  "  The  sentiment  was 
noble,  but  delivered  by  Harry  with  rather  a  doubtful  articula- 
tion. 

"  Mind  you,  I  said  a  Virginia  Esmond,"  continued  poor 
Harry,  lifting  up  his  finger,  "  I  don't  mean  the  younger  branch 
here.  I  don't  mean  Will,  who  robbed  me  about  the  horse,  and 
whose  bones  I'll  break.     I  give  you  Lady  Maria — heaven  bless 


264  'THE  VIRGINIANS. 

her,  and  heaven  bless  _>'<?w,  Sampson,  and  you  deserve  to  be  a 
bishop,  old  boy  !  " 

"  There  are  letters  between  you,  I  suppose  ?  "  says  Samp- 
son. 

"  Letters  !  Dammy,  she's  always  writing  me  letters  ! — never 
gets  me  into  a  v/indow  but  she  sticks  one  in  my  cuff.  Letters, 
that  is  a  good  idea.  Look  here  !  Here's  letters  !  "  And  he 
threw  down  a  pocket-book  containing  a  heap  of  papers  of  the 
poor  lady's  composition. 

"  Those  are  letters,  indeed.  What  a  post-bag  !  "  says  the 
Chaplain. 

"  But  any  man  who  touches  them — dies — dies  on  the  spot !  " 
shrieks  tiarry,  starting  from  his  seat,  and  reeling  towards  his 
sword ;  which  he  draws,  and  then  stamps  with  his  foot,  and 
says,  "  Ha !  ha ! "  and  then  lunges  at  M.  Barbeau,  who  skips 
away  from  the  lunge  behind  the  Chaplain,  who  looks  rather 
alarmed.  And  in  my  mind  I  behold  an  exciting  picture  of  the 
lad,  with  his  hair  dishevelled,  raging  about  the  room  flamhei-ge 
ail  vent,  and  pinking  the  affrig-hted  innkeeper  and  chaplain. 
But  oh,  to  think  of  him  stumbling  over  a  stool,  and  prostrated 
by  an  enemy  who  has  stole  away  his  brains  !  Come,  Gumbo  ! 
and  help  your  master  to  bed  ! 


CHAPTER  XXXIL 

IN    WHICH    A    FAMILY    COACH    IS    ORDERED. 

Our  pleasing  duty  now  is  to  divulge  the  secret  which  Mr. 
Lambert  whispered  in  his  wife's  ear  at  the  close  of  the  antepe- 
nultimate chapter,  and  the  publication  of  which  caused  such 
great  pleasure  to  the  whole  of  the  Oakhurst  family.  As  the 
hay  was  in,  the  corn  not  ready  for  cutting,  and  by  consequence 
the  farm  horses  disengaged,  wh}^,  asked  Colonel  Lambert, 
should  they  not  be  put  into  the  coach,  and  should  we  not  all 
pay  a  visit  to  Tunbridge  Wells,  taking  friend  Wolfe  at  Wester- 
ham  on  our  way  ? 

Mamma  embraced  this  proposal,  and  I  dare  say  the  gentle- 
man who  made  it.  All  the  children  jumped  for  joy.  The  girls 
went  off  straightway  to  get  their  best  calamancoes,  paduasoys, 
falbalas,  furbelows,  capes,  cardinals,  sacks,  neglige'es,  solitaires. 


THE   VIRGINIANS,  265 

caps,  ribbons,  mantuas,  clocked  stockings,  and  high-heeled 
shoes,  and  I  know  not  what  articles  of  toilette.  Mamma's  best 
robes  were  taken  from  the  presses,  whence  they  only  issued  on 
rare  solemn  occasions,  retiring  immediately  afterwards  to  laven- 
der and  seclusion  ;  the  brave  Colonel  produced  his  laced  hat 
and  waistcoat  and  silver-hilted  hanger :  Charley  rejoiced  in  a 
rasee  holiday  suit  of  his  father's,  in  which  the  Colonel  had  been 
married,  and  which  Mrs.  Lambert  cut  up,  not  without  a  pang. 
Ball  and  Dumpling  had  their  tails  and  manes  tied  with  ribbon, 
and  Chump,  the  old  white  cart-horse,  went  as  unicorn  leader, 
to  help  the  carriage-horses  up  the  first  hilly  five  miles  of  the 
road  from  Oakhurst  to  Westerham.  The  carriage  was  an 
ancient  vehicle,  and  was  believed  to  have  served  in  the  pro- 
cession which  had  brought  George  I.  from  Greenwich  to  London, 
on  his  first  arrival  to  assume  the  sovereignty  of  these  realms. 
It  had  belonged  to  Mr.  Lambert's  father,  and  the  family  had 
been  in  the  habit  of  regarding  it,  ever  since  they  could  remem- 
ber anything,  as  one  of  the  most  splendid  coaches  in  the  three 
kingdoms.  Brian,  coachman,  and — must  it  also  be  owned  ? — 
ploughman,  of  the  Oakhurst  family,  had  a  place  on  the  box, 
with  Mr.  Charley  by  his  side.  The  precious  clothes  were 
packed  in  imperials  on  the  roof.  The  Colonel's  pistols  were 
put  in  the  pockets  of  the  carriage,  and  the  blunderbuss  hung 
behind  the  box,  in  reach  of  Brian,  who  was  an  old  soldier.  No 
highwayman,  however,  molested  the  convoy ;  not  even  an  inn- 
keeper levied  contributions  on  Colonel  Lambert,  who,  with  a 
slender  purse  and  a  large  family,  was  not  to  be  plundered  by 
those  or  any  other  depredators  on  the  king's  highway  ;  and  a 
reasonable  cheap  modest  lodging  had  been  engaged  for  them 
by  young  Colonel  Wolfe,  at  the  house  where  he  was  in  the  habit 
of  putting  up,  and  whither  he  himself  accompanied  them  on 
horseback. 

It  happened  that  these  lodgings  were  opposite  Madame 
Bernstein's  ;  and  as  the  Oakhurst  family  reached  their  quarters 
on  a  Saturday  evening,  they  could  see  chair  after  chair  dis- 
charging powdered  beaux  and  patched  and  brocaded  beauties 
at  the  Baroness's  door,  who  was  holding  one  of  her  many  card- 
parties.  The  sun  was  not  yet  down,  (for  our  ancestors  began 
their  dissipations  at  early  hours,  and  were  at  meat,  drink,  or 
cards,  any  time  after  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  until  any 
time  in  the  night  or  morning,)  and  the  young  country  ladies 
and  their  mother  from  their  window  could  see  the  various 
personages  as  they  passed  into  the  Bernstein  rout.  Colonel 
Wolfe  told  the  ladies  who  most  of  the  characters  were.     'Twas 


266  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

almost  as  delightful  as  going  to  the  party  themselves,  Hetty 
and  Thoe  thought,  for  they  not  only  could  see"  the  guests 
arriving,  but  look  into  the  Baroness's  open  casements  and 
watch  many  of  them  there.  Of  a  few  of  tlie  personages  we 
have  before  had  a  glimpse.  When  the  Duchess  of  Queensberry 
passed,  and  Mr.  Wolfe  explained  who  she  was,  Martin  Lambert 
was  ready  with  a  score  of  lines  about  '"  Kitty,  beautiful  and 
young,"  from  his  favorite  Mat  Prior. 

"Think  that  that  old  lady  was  once  like  you,  girls  !  "  cries 
the  Colonel. 

"  Like  us,  papa  ?  Well,  certainly  we  never  set  up  for  being 
beauties !  "  says  Miss  Hetty,  tossing  up  her  little  head. 

"  Yes,  like  you,  you  little  baggage  ;  like  you  at  this  moment, 
who  want  to  go  to  that  drum  yonder : — 

'  Inflamed  with  rage  at  sad  restraint 
Which  wise  mamma  ordained, 
And  sorley  vexed  to  pla\-  tlie  saint 
Whilst  wit  and  beauty  reigned.'  " 

*'  We  were  never  invited,  papa  ;  and  I  am  sure  if  there's  no 
beauty  more  worth  seeing  than  that,  the  wit  can't  be  much 
worth  the  hearing,"  again  says  the  satirist  of  the  family. 

"  Oh,  but  he's  a  rare  poet,  Mat  Prior  !  "  continues  the 
Colonel ;  "  though,  mind  you,  girls,  you'll  skip  over  all  the 
poems  I  have  marked  with  a  cross.  A  rare  poet !  and  to  think 
you  should  see  'one  of  his  heroines  !  '  Fondness  prevailed, 
mamma  gave  way '  (she  always  will,  Mrs.  Lambert !) — 

'  Fondness  prevailed,  mamma  gave  way, — 

Kitty  at  heart's  desire 
Obtained  the  chariot  for  a  day. 

And  set  the  world  on  fire  !  '  " 

"  I  am  sure  it  must  have  been  very  inflammable,"  says 
mamma. 

"  So  it  was,  my  dear,  twenty  years  ago,  much  more  in- 
flammable than  it  is  now,"  remarks  the  Colonel. 

"  Nonsense,  Mr.  Lambert,"  is  mamma's  answer. 

"  Look,  look  !  "  cries  Hetty,  running  forward  and  pointing 
to  the  little  square,  and  the  covered  gallery,  where  was  the  door 
leading  to  Aladame  Bernstein's  apartment,  and  round  which 
stood  a  crowd  of  street  urchins,  idlers  and  yokels,  watching 
the  company. 

"  It's  Harry  Warrington  !  "  exclaims  Theo,  waving  a  hand- 
kerchief to  the  young  Virginian  :  but  Warrington  did  not  see 
Miss  Lambert.     The  Virginian  was  walkins:  arm-in-arm  with  a 


THE    VIRGINIANS.  267 

portly  clergyman  in  a  crisp  rustling  silk  gown,  and  the  two 
went  into  Madame  de  Bernstein's  door. 

"  I  heard  him  preach  a  most  admirable  sermon  here  last 
Sunday,"  says  Mr.  Wolfe ;  "  a  little  theatrical,  but  most 
striking  and  eloquent." 

"You  seem  to  be  here  most  vSundays,  James,"  says  Mrs. 
Lambert. 

"  And  Monday,  and  so  on  till  Saturday,"  adds  the  Colonel. 
"  See,  Harry  has  beautified  himself  already,  hath  his  hair  in 
buckle,  and  I  have  no  doubt  is  going  to  the  drum  too." 

"  I  had  rather  sit  quiet  generally  of  a  Saturday  evening," 
says  sober  Mr.  Wolfe  ;  "  at  any  rate  away  from  card-playing 
and  scandal  ;  but  I  own,  dear  Mrs.  Lambert,  I  am  under  orders. 
Shall  I  go  across  the  way  and  send  Mr.  Warrington  to  you  ?  " 

"  No,  let  him  have  his  sport.  We  shall  see  him  to-morrow. 
He  won't  care  to  be  disturbed  amidst  his  fine  folks  by  us  coun- 
try people,"  said  meek  Mrs.  Lambert. 

"  I  am  glad  he  is  with  a  clergyman  w'ho  preaches  so  well," 
says  Theo,  softly ;  and  her  eyes  seemed  to  say.  You  see,  good 
people,  he  is  not  so  bad  as  you  thought  him,  and  as  I,  for  my 
part,  never  believed  him  to  be.  "  The  clergyman  has  a  very 
kind,  handsome  face." 

"  Here  comes  a  greater  clergyman,"  cries  Mr.  Wolfe.  "  It 
is  my  Lord  of  Salisbury,  with  his  blue  ribbon,  and  a  chaplain 
behind  him." 

"  And  whom  a  mercy's  name  have  we  here  ?  "  breaks  in  Mrs. 
Lambert,  as  a  sedan-chair,  cov^ered  with  gilding,  topped  with 
no  less  than  five  earl's  coronets,  carried  by  bearers  in  richly 
laced  clothes,  and  preceded  by  three  footmen  in  the  same 
splendid  livery,  now  came  up  to  Madame  de  Bernstein's  door. 
The  Bishop,  who  had  been  about  to  enter,  stopped,  and  ran 
back  with  the  most  respectful  bows  and  curtseys  to  the  sedan- 
chair,  giving  his  hand  to  the  lady  who  stepped  thence. 

"Who  on  earth  is  this?"  asks  Mrs.  Lambert. 

"  Sprechen  sie  Deutsch.  Ja,  Meinherr.  Nichts  verstand," 
says  the  waggish  Colonel. 

"  Pooh,  Martin." 

"  Well,  if  you  can't  understand  High  Dutch,  my  love,  how 
can  I  help  it  ?  Your  education  was  neglected  at  school.  Can 
you  understand  heraldry — I  know  you  can  ?  " 

"  I  make,"  cries  Charley,  reciting  the  shield,  "  three  merions 
on  a  field  or^  with  an  earl's  coronet." 

"  A  countess's  coronet,  my  son.  The  Countess  of  Yar 
mouth,  my  son." 


268  THE  VIRGINIANS 

~  "  And  pray  who  is  she  ?  " 

"  It  hath  ever  been  the  custom  of  our  sovereigns  to  advance 
persons  of  distinction  to  honor,"  continues  the  Colonel,  gravely, 
"  and  this  eminent  lady  hath  been  so  promoted  by  our  gracious 
monarch  to  the  rank  of  Countess  of  this  kingdom." 

"  But  why,  papa  ?  "  asked  the  daughters  together. 

"  Never  mind,  girls  !  "  said  mamma. 

But  that  incorrigible  Colonel  would  go  on, 

"  Y,  my  children,  is  one  of  the  last  and  most  awkward 
letters  of  the  whole  alphabet.  When  I  tell  you  stories,  you  are 
always  saying  Why.  Why  should  my  Lord  Bishop  be  cringing 
to  that  lady  ?  Look  at  him  rubbing  his  fat  hands  together, 
and  smiling  into  her  face  !  It's  not  a  handsome  face  any 
longer.  It  is  all  painted  red  and  white  like  Scaramouch's  in 
the  pantomime.  See,  there  comes  another  blue-ribbon,  as  I 
live.  My  Lord  Bamborough.  The  descendant  of  the  Hotspurs. 
The  proudest  man  in  England.  He  stops,  he  bows,  he  smiles  ; 
he  is  hat  in  hand,  too.  See,  she  taps  him  with  her  fan.  Get 
away  you  crowd  of  little  blackguard  boys,  and  don't  tread  on 
the  robe  of  the  lady  v/hom  the  King  delights  to  honor." 

"  But  why  does  the  King  honor  her  ?  "  ask  the  girls  once 
more. 

"  There  goes  that  odious  last  letter  but  one  !  Did  you  ever 
hear  of  her  Grace  the  Duchess  of  Kendal  ?  No.  Of  the 
Duchess  of  Portsmouth  ?  Non  plus.  Of  the  Duchess  La 
Valliere  ?     Of  Fair  Rosamond,  then  .''  " 

"  Hush,  papa  !  There  is  no  need  to  bring  blushes  on  the 
cheeks  of  my  dear  ones,  Martin  Lambert !  "  said  the  mother, 
putting  her  finger  to  her  husband's  lip. 

"  'Tis  not  I  ;  it  is  their  sacred  Majesties  who  are  the  cause 
of  the  shame,"  cries  the  son  of  the  old  republican.  "  Think  of 
the  bishops  of  the  Church  and  the  proudest  nobility  of  the 
world  cringing  and  bowing  before  that  painted  High  Dutch 
Jezebel.     Oh,  it's  a  shame,  a  shame  !  " 

"  Confusion  !  "  here  broke  out  Colonel  Wolfe,  and,  making 
a  dash  at  his  hat,  ran  from  the  room.  He  had  seen  the  3^oung 
lady  whom  he  admired  and  her  guardian  walking  across  the 
Pantiles  on  foot  to  the  Baroness's  party,  and  they  came  up 
whilst  the  Countess  of  Yarmouth-Walmoden  was  engaged  in 
conversation  with  the  two  lords  spiritual  and  temporal,  and 
these  two  made  the  lowest  reverences  and  bows  to  the  Countess, 
and  waited  until  she  had  passed  in  at  the  door  on  the  Bishop's 
arm. 

Theo  turned  away  from  the  window  with  a  sad,  almost  awe- 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  269 

Stricken  face.  Hetty  still  remained  there,  looking  from  it  with 
indignation  in  her  eyes,  and  a  little  red  spot  on  each  cheek. 

"  A  penny  for  little  Hetty's  thoughts,"  says  mamma,  com- 
ing to  the  window  to  lead  the  child  away. 

"  I  am  thinking  what  I  should  do  if  I  saw  papa  bowing  to 
that  woman,"  says  Hetty. 

Tea  and  a  hissing  kettle  here  made  their  appearance,  and 
the  family  sat  down  to  partake  of  their  evening  meal, — leaving, 
however,  Miss  Hetty,  from  their  place,  command  of  the  win- 
dow, which  she  begged  her  brother  not  to  close.  That  young 
gentleman  had  been  down  amongst  the  crowd  to  inspect  the 
armorial  bearings  of  the  Countess's  and  other  sedans,  no 
doubt,  and  also  to  invest  sixpence  in  a  cheese-cake,  by  mam- 
ma's order  and  his  own  desire,  and  he  returned  presently  with 
this  delicacy  wrapped  up  in  a  paper. 

"  Look,  mother,"  he  comes  back  and  says,  "  do  you  see 
that  big  man  in  brown  beating  all  the  pillars  with  a  stick  ? 
That  is  the  learned  Mr.  Johnson.  He  comes  to  the  Friars 
sometimes  to*  see  our  master.  He  was  sitting  with  some 
friends  just  now  at  the  tea-table  before  Mrs.  Brown's  tart-shop. 
They  have  tea  there,  twopence  a  cup  ;  I  heard  Mr.  Johnson 
say  he  had  had  seventeen  cups — that  makes  two-and-tenpence 
— what  a  sight  of  money  for  tea  !  " 

"What  would  you  have,  Charley?  "  asks  Theo. 

"  I  think  I  would  have  cheese-cakes,"  says  Charley,  sigh- 
ing, as  his  teeth  closed  on  a  large  slice,  "  and  the  gentleman 
whom  Mr.  Johnson  was  with,"  continues  Charle}^,  with  his 
mouth  quite  full,  "  was  Mr.  Richardson  who  wrote " 

"  Clarissa !  "  cry  all  the  women  in  a  breath,  and  run  to  the 
window  to  see  their  favorite  writer.  By  this  time  the  sun  was 
sunk,  the  stars  were  twinkling  overhead,  and  the  footman  came 
and  lighted  the  candles  in  the  Baroness's  room  opposite  our 
spies. 

Theo  and  her  mother  were  standing  together  looking  from 
their  place  of  observation,  lliere  was  a  small  illumination  at 
Mrs.  Brown's  tart  and  tea-shop,  by  which  our  friends  could  see 
one  lady  getting  Mr.  Richardson's  hat  and  stick,  and  another 
tying  a  shawl  round  his  neck,  after  which  he  walked  home. 

"  Oh  dear  me !  he  does  not  look  like  Grandison  !  "  cries 
Theo. 

"  I  rather  think  I  wish  we  had  not  seen  him,  my  dear,"  says 
mamma,  who  has  been  described  as  a  most  sentimental  woman 
and  eager  novel-reader  ;  and  here  again  they  were  interrupted 
by  Miss  Hetty,  who  cried  : 


270  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

"  Never  mind  that  little  fat  man,  but  look  yonder,  mamma." 

And  they  looked  yonder  And  they  saw  in  the  first  place, 
Mr.  Warrington  undergoing  the  honor  of  a  presentation  to  the 
Countess  of  Yarmouth,  who  was  still  followed  by  the  obsequious 
peer  and  prelate  with  the  blue  ribbons.  And  now  the  Countess 
graciously  sat  down  to  a  card-table,  the  Bishop  and  the  Earl 
and  a  fourth  person  being  her  partners.  And  now  Mr.  War- 
rington came  into  the  embrasure  of  the  window  with  a  lady 
whom  they  recognized  as  the  lady  whom  they  had  seen  for  a 
few  minutes  at  Oakhurst. 

*'  How  much  finer  he  is,"  remarks  mamma. 

"  How  he  is  improved  in  his  looks.  What  has  he  done  to 
himself  ?  "  asks  Theo. 

"  Look  at  his  grand  lace  frills  and  ruffles  !  My  dear,  he 
has  not  got  on  our  skirts  any  more,"  cries  the  matron. 

"  What  are  you  talking  about,  girls  ?  "  asks  papa,  reclining 
on  his  sofa,  where,  perhaps,  he  was  dozing  after  the  fashion  of 
honest  house-fathers. 

The  girls  said  how  Harry  Warrington  was  in  the  window, 
talking  with  his  cousin  Lady  Maria  Esmond. 

"  Come  away  ! "  cries  papa.  '*  You  have  no  right  to  be 
spying  the  young  fellow.     Down  with  the  curtains,  I  say !" 

And  down  the  curtains  went,  so  that  the  girls  saw  no  more 
of  Madame  Bernstein's  guests  or  doings  for  that  night. 

I  pray  you  not  be  angry  at  my  remarking,  if  only  by  way  of 
contrast  between  these  two  opposite  houses,  that  while  Madame 
Bernstein  and  her  guests — bishop,  dignitaries,  noblemen,  and 
what  not — were  gambling  or  talking  scandal,  or  devouring  cham- 
pagne and  chickens  (which  I  hold  to  be  venial  sin),  or  doing 
honor  to  her  ladyship  the  king's  favorite,  the  Countess  of  Yar- 
mouth-Walmoden,  our  country  friends  in  their  lodgings  knelt 
round  their  table,  whither  Mr.  Brian  the  coachman  came  as 
silently  as  his  creaking  shoes  would  let  him,  whilst  Mr.  Lam- 
bert, standing  up,  read  in  a  low  voice,  a  prayer  that  heaven 
would  lighten  their  darkness  and.  defend  them  from  the  perils 
of  that  night,  and  a  supplication  that  it  would  grant  the  request 
of  those  two  or  three  gathered  together. 

Our  young  folks  were  up  betimes  on  Sunday  morning,  and 
arrayed  themselves  in  those  smart  new  dresses  which  were  to 
fascinate  the  Tunbridge  folks,  and,  with  the  escort  of  brother 
Charley,  paced  the  little  town,  and  the  quaint  Pantiles,  and  the 
pretty  common,  long  ere  the  company  was  at  breakfast,  or  the 
bells  had  rung  to  church.     It  was  Hester  who  found  out  where 


THE   VIRGIXIANS.  271 

Harry  ^^'arrington's  lodging  must  be,  by  remarking  Mr.  Gumbo 
in  an  undress,  with  his  lovely  hair  in  curl-papers,  drawing  a 
pair  of  red  curtains  aside,  and  opening  a  window-sash,  whence 
he  thrust  his  head  and  inhaled  the  sweet  morning  breeze.  Mr. 
Gumbo  did  not  happen  to  see  the  young  people  from  Oakhurst, 
though  they  beheld  him  clearly  enough.  He  leaned  gracefully 
from  the  window  ;  he  waved  a  large  feather-brush  with  which 
he  condescended  to  dust  the  furniture  of  the  apartment  within  ; 
he  affably  engaged  in  conversation  with  a  cherr)--cheeked  milk- 
maid, who  was  lingering  under  the  casement,  and  kissed  his 
lily  hand  to  her.  Gumbo's  hand  sparkled  with  rings,  and 
his  person  was  decorated  with  a  profusion  of  jewelry  — 
gifts  no  doubt,  of  the  fair  who  appreciated  the  young  African. 
Once  or  twice  more  before  breakfast-time  the  girls  passed  near 
that  window.  It  remained  open,  but  the  room  behind  it  was 
blank.  No  face  of  Harry  Warrington  appeared  there.  Neither 
spoke  to  the  other  of  the  subject  on  which  both  were  brooding. 
Hetty  was  a  little  provoked  with  Charley,  who  was  clamorous 
about  breakfast,  and  told  him  he  was  always  thinking  of  eat- 
ing. In  reply  to  her  sarcastic  inquiry,  he  artlessly  owned  he 
should  like  another  cheese-cake,  and  good-natured  Theo,  laugh- 
ing, said  she  had  a  sixpence,  and  if  the  cake-shop  were  open 
of  a  Sunday  morning  Charley  should  have  one.  The  cake- 
shop  was  open  :  and  Theo  took  out  her  little  purse,  netted  by 
her  dearest  friend  at  school,  and  containing  her  pocket-piece, 
her  grandmother's  guinea,  her  slender  little  store  of  shillings — 
nay,  some  copper  money  at  one  end  ;  and  she  treated  Charley 
to  the  meal  which  he  loved. 

A  great  deal  of  fine  company  was  at  church.  There  was 
that  funny  old  Duchess,  and  old  Madame  Bernstein,  with  Lady 
Maria  at  her  side  ;  and  Mr.  Wolfe,  of  course,  by  the  side  of 
Miss  Lowther,  and  singing  with  her  out  of  the  same  psalm- 
book  ;  and  Mr.  Richardson  with  a  bevy  of  ladies.  One  of  them 
is  Miss  Fielding,  papa  tells  them  after  church,  Harry  Fielding's 
sister.  "  Oh,  girls,  what  good  company  he  was  !  And  his  books 
are  worth  a  dozen  of  your  milksop  '  Pamelas  '  and  '  Clarissas,' 
Mrs.  Lambert  :  but  what  woman  ever  loved  true  humor  ?  " 
And  there  was  Mr.  Johnson  sitting  among  the  charity  children. 
Did  you  see  how  he  turned  round  to  the  altar  at  the  Belief,  and 
upset  two  or  three  of  the  scared  little  urchins  in  leather-breeches  ? 
And  what  a  famous  sermon  Harry's  parson  gave,  didn't  he  ? 
A  sermon  about  scandal.  How  he  touched  up  some  of  the  old 
harridans  who  were  seated  round  !  Why  wasn't  Mr.  \A'arring- 
ton  at  church  ?     It  was  a  shame  he  wasn't  at  church. 


2  72  TH^   VIRGIAUANS,       . 

"  I  really  did  not  remark  whether  he  was  there  or  not,"  says 
Miss  Hetty,  tossing  her  head  up. 

But  Theo,  w^ho  was  all  truth,  said,  "  Yes,  I  thought  of  him 
and  was  sorry  he  was  not  there  ;  and  so  did  you  think  of  him, 
Hetty." 

"I  did  no  such  thing.  Miss,"  persists  Hetty. 

"  Then  why  did  you  whisper  to  me  it  was  Harry's  clergyman 
who  preached  ? " 

"  To  think  of  Mr.  Warrington's  clergyman  is  not  to  think 
of  Mr.  Warrington.  It  was  a  most  excellent  sermon,  certainly, 
and  the  children  sang  most  dreadfully  out  of  tune.  And  there 
is  Lady  Maria  at  the  window  opposite,  smelling  at  the  roses ; 
and  that  is  Mr.  Wolfe's  step,  I  know  his  great  military  tramp. 
Right  left— right  left !     How  dp  you  do,  Colonel  Wolfe  ? " 

"  Why  do  you  look  so  glum,  James  ? "  csks  Colonel  Lam- 
bert, good-naturedly.  "  Has  the  charmer  been  scolding  thee, 
or  is  thy  conscience  pricked  by  the  sermon.  Mr.  Sampson, 
isn't  the  parson's  name  ?     A  famous  jDreacher,  on  my  word  !  " 

"  A  pretty  preacher,  and  a  pretty  practitioner  !  "  says  Mr. 
Wolfe,  with  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders. 

"  Why,  I  thought  the  discourse  did  not  last  ten  minutes,  and 
madam  did  not  sleep  one  single  wink  during  the  sermon,  didst 
thou,  Molly  .? " 

"  Did  you  see  when  the  fellow  came  into  the  church  ?  " 
asked  the  indignant  Colonel  Wolfe.  "  He  came  in  at  the  open 
door  of  the  common,  just  in  time,  and  as  the  psalm  was  over." 

"  Well,  he  had  been  reading  the  service  probably  to  some 
sick  person  ;  there  are  many  here,"  remarks  Mrs.  Lambert. 

"  Reading  the  service  !  Oh,  my  good  Mrs.  Lambert !  Do 
you  know  where  I  found  him  .'*  I  went  to  look  for  your  young 
scapegrace  of  a  Virginian." 

"  His  own  name  is  a  very  pretty  name,  I'm  sure,"  cries  out 
Hetty.  "  It  isn't  Scapegrace  !  It  is  Henry  Esmond  Warring- 
ton, Esquire." 

"  Miss  Hester,  I  found  the  parson  in  his  cassock,  and  Henry 
Esmond  Warrington,  Esquire,  in  his  bed-^own,  at  a  quarter 
before  eleven  o'clock  in  the  morning,  when  all  the  Sunday  bells 
were  ringing,  and  they  were  playing  over  a  game  of  picquet 
they  had  had  the  night  before  !  " 

"  Well,  numbers  of  good  people  play  at  cards  of  a  Sunday. 
The  King  plays  at  cards  of  a  Sunday." 

"  Hush,  my  dear  !  " 

"  I  know  he  does,"  says  Hetty,  "  with  that  painted  person 
we  saw  yesterday,  that  Countess  what  d'you  call  her.?  " 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  273 

"  I  think,  my  dear  Miss  Hester,  a  clergyman  had  best  take 
to  God's  books  instead  of  the  Devil's  books  on  that  day — and 
so  I  took  the  liberty  of  telling  your  parson."  Hetty  looked  as 
if  she  thought  it  was  a  liberty  which  Mr.  Wolfe  had  taken 
"  And  I  told  our  young  friend  that  I  thought  he  had  bettei 
have  been  on  his  way  to  church  than  there  in  his  bed-gown." 

"  You  wouldn't  have  Harry  go  to  church  in  a  dressing-gown 
and  night-cap,  Colonel  Wolfe  1  That  would  be  a  pretty  sight, 
indeed  ! "  again  says  Hetty  fiercely. 

"  I  would  have  my  little  girl's  tongue  not  wag  quite  so  fast," 
remarks  papa,  patting  the  girl's  flushed  little  cheek. 

"  Not  speak  when  a  friend  is  attacked,  and  nobody  says  a 
word  in  his  favor  ?     No  ;  nobody  !  " 

Here  the  two  lips  of  the  little  mouth  closed  on  each  other  ; 
the  whole  little  frame  shook  :  the  child  flung  a  parting  look  of 
defiance  at  Mr.  Wolfe,  and  went  out  of  the  room,  just  in  time 
to  close  the  door,  and  burst  out  crying  on  the  stair. 

Mr.  Wolfe  looked  very  much  discomforted.  "  I  am  sure, 
Aunt  Lambert,  I  did  not  intend  to  hurt  Hester's  feelings." 

"  No,  James,"  she  said,  very  kindly — the  young  officer  used 
to  call  her  Aunt  Lambert  in  quite  early  days — and  she  gave  lum 
her  hand. 

Mr.  Lambert  whistled  his  favorite  tune  of  "  Over  the  hills 
and  far  away,"  with  a  drum  accompaniment  performed  by  his 
fingers  on  the  window.  "  I  say,  you  musn't  whistle  on  Sunday, 
papa !  "  cried  the  artless  young  gown-boy  from  Grey  Friars ; 
and  then  suggested  that  it  was  three  hours  from  breakfast,  and 
he  should  like  to  finish  Theo's  cheese-cake. 

"  Oh,  you  greedy  child  !  "  cries  Theo.  But  here,  hearing  a 
little  exclamatory  noise  outside,  she  ran  out  of  the  room,  clos- 
ing the  door  behind  her.  And  we  will  not  pursue  her.  The 
noise  was  that  sob  which  broke  from  Hester's  panting,  over- 
loaded heart ;  and,  though  we  cannot  see,  I  am  sure  the  little 
maid  flung  herself  on  her  sister's  neck,  and  wept  upon  Theo's 
kind  bosom. 

Hetty  did  not  walk  out  in  the  afternoon  when  the  family 
took  the  air  on  the  common,  but  had  a  headache  and  lay  on 
her  bed,  where  her  mother  watched  her.  Charley  had  discovered 
a  comrade  from  Grey  Friars  :  Mr.  Wolfe  of  course  paired  off 
with  Miss  Lowther  :  and  Theo  and  her  father,  taking  their 
sober  walk  in  the  Sabbath  sunshine,  found  Madame  Bernstein 
basking  on  a  bench  under  a  tree,  her  niece  and  nephew  in  at- 
tendance. Harry  ran  up  to  greet  his  dear  friends  :  he  was 
radiant  with  pleasure  at  beholding  them — the  elder  ladies  were 

18 


274 


THE  VIRGINIANS. 


most  gracious  to  the  Colonel  and  his  wife,  who  had  so  kindly 
welcomed  their  Harry. 

How  noble  and  handsome  he  looked,  Theo  thought  :  she 
called  him  by  his  Christian  name,  as  if  he  were  really  her 
brother.  "  Why  did  we  not  see  you  sooner  to-day,  Harr)'  ?  " 
she  asked. 

"  I  never  thought  you  were  here,  Theo." 

"  But  you  might  have  seen  us  if  you  wished." 

"  Where  ?  "  asked  Harry. 

"  There,  sir,"  she  said,  pointing  to  the  church.  And  she 
held  her  hand  up  as  if  in  reproof ;  but  a  sweet  kindness  beamed 
in  her  face.  Ah,  friendly  young  reader,  wandering  on  the  world 
and  struggling  with  temptation,  may  you  also  have  one  or  two 
pure  hearts  to  love  and  pray  for  you  ! 


CHAPTER  XXXHI. 

CONTAINS    A    SOLILOQUY    BY    HESTER. 

Martin  Lambert's  first  feeling,  upon  learning  the  little 
secret  which  his  younger  daughter's  emotion  had  revealed,  was 
to  be  angry  with  the  lad  who  had  robbed  his  child's  heart  away 
from  him  and  her  family.  "  A  plague  upon  all  scapegraces, 
English  or  Indian  !  ''  cried  the  Colonel  to  his  wife.  "I  wish 
this  one  had  broke  his  nose  against  any  door-post  but  ours." 

"  Perhaps  we  are  to  cure  him  of  being  a  scapegrace,  my 
dear,"  says  Mrs.  Lambert,  mildly  interposing,  "  and  the  fall  at 
our  door  hath  something  providential  in  it.  You  laughed  at  me, 
Mr.  Lambert,  when  I  said  so  before  ;  but  if  heaven  did  not  send 
the  young  gentleman  to  us,  who  did  ?  And  it  may  be  for  the 
blessing  and  happiness  of  us  all  that  he  came,  too." 

"It's  hard,  Molly !"  groaned  -the  Colonel.  "We  cherish 
and  fondle  and  rear  'em  :  we  tend  them  through  sickness  and 
health  :  we  toil  and  we  scheme  :  we  hoard  away  money  in  the 
stocking,  and  patch  our  own  old  coats  :  if  they've  a  headache, 
we  can't  sleep  for  thinking  of  their  ailment ;  if  they  have  a  wish 
or  fancy,  we  work  day  and  night  to  compass  it,  and  'tis  darling 
daddy  and  dearest  pappy,  and  whose  father  is  like  ours?  and  so 
forth.  On  Tuesday  morning  I  am  Idng  of  my  house  and  family. 
On  Tuesday  evening  Prince  Whippersnapper  makes  his  appear- 
ance, and  my  reign  is  over.     A  whole  life  is  forgotten  and  for- 


THE   VIRGINIA  .VS.  275 

sworn  for  a  pair  of  blue  eyes,  a  pair  of  lean  shanks,  and  a  head 
of  yellow  hair." 

""  "Tis  written  that  we  women  should  leave  all  to  follow  our 
husband.  I  think  our  courtship  was  not  very  long,  dear 
Martin  !  "  said  the  matron,  laying  her  hand  on  her  husband's 
arm. 

"  'Tis  human  nature,  and  what  can  you  expect  of  the  jade  ?  " 
sighed  th€  Colonel. 

*'  And  I  think  I  did  my  duty  to  my  husband,  though  I  own 
I  left  my  papa  for  him,"  added  Mrs.  Lambert,  softly. 

"  Excellent  wench  !  Perdition  catch  my  soul !  but  I  do  love 
thee,  Molly  !  "  says  the  good  Colonel  ;  "  but,  then,  mind  you. 
your  father  never  did  me ;  and  if  ever  I  am  to  have  sons-in- 
law " 

"  Ever,  indeed  !  Of  course,  my  girls  are  to  have  husbands, 
Mr.  Lambert?"  cries  mamma. 

"  Well,  when  they  come,  I'll  hate  them,  Madam,  as  your 
father  did  me  :  and  quite  right  too,  for  taking  his  treasure  away 
from  him." 

"  Don't  be  irreligious  and  unnatural,  Martin  Lambert  !  I 
say  you  are  unnatural,  sir !  "  continues  the  matron. 

"  Nay,  my  dear,  I  have  an  old  tooth  in  my  left  jaw,  here  ; 
and  'tis  natural  that  the  tooth  should  come  out.  But  when  the 
tooth-drawer  pulls  it,  'tis  natural  that  I  should  feel  pain.  Do 
you  suppose,  Madam,  that  I  don't  love  Hetty  better  than  any 
tooth  in  my  head  ? "  asks  Mr.  Lambert.  But  no  woman  was 
ever  averse  to  the  idea  of  her  daughter  getting  a  husband,  how- 
ever fathers  revolt  against  the  invasion  of  the  son-in-law.  As 
for  mothers  and  grandmothers,  those  good  folks  are  married 
over  again  in  the  marrage  of  their  young  ones;  and  their  souls 
attire  themselves  in  the  laces  and  muslins  of  twenty — forty  years 
ago  ;  the  postilion's  white  ribbons  bloom  again,  and  they  flutter 
into  the  post-chaise,  and  drive  away.  What  woman,  however 
old,  has  not  the  bridal-fa\'ors  and  raiment  stowed  away,  and 
packed  in  lavender,  in  the  inmost  cupboards  of  her  heart  ? 

"  It  will  be  a  sad  thing  parting  with  her,"  continued  Mrs. 
Lambert,  with  a  sigh. 

"You  have  settled  that  point  alread}',  Molly,"  laughs  the 
Colonel.  "  Had  I  not  best  go  out  and  order  raisins  and  corinths 
for  the  wedding-cake  ?  " 

"And  then  I  shall  have  to  leave  the  house  in  their  charge 
when  I  go  to  her,  you  know,  in  Virginia.  How  many  miles  is 
it  to  Virginia,  Martin  ?  I  should  think  it  must  be  thousands  of 
miles." 


276 


THE   VIRGI1XIA.VS. 


*'  A  hundred  and  seventy-three  thousand  three  hundred  and 
ninety-one  and  three-quarters,  my  dear,  by  the  near  way,'" 
answers  Lambert,  gravely  \  ''  that  through  Prester  John's 
country.     By  the  other  route,  through  Persia " 

"  Oh,  give  me  the  one  where  there  is  the  least  of  the  sea, 
and  your  horrid  ships,  which  I  can't  bear  ? "  cries  the  Colonel's 
spouse.  "  I  hope  Rachel  Esmond  and  I  shall  be  better  friends. 
She  had  a  very  high  spirit  when  we  were  girls  at  school." 

"  Had  we  not  best  go  about  the  baby-linen,  Mrs.  Martin 
Lambert  ? "  here  interposed  her  wondering  husband.  Now, 
Mrs.  Lambert,  I  dare  say,  thought  there  was  no  matter  for 
wonderment  at  all,  and  had  remarked  some  very  pretty  lace  caps 
and  bibs  in  Mrs.  Bobbinit's  toy-shop.  And  on  that  Sunday  after- 
noon, when  the  discovery  was  made,  and  while  little  Hetty  was 
lying  upon  her  pillow  with  feverish  cheeks,  closed  eyes,  and  a 
piteous  face,  her  mother  looked  at  the  child  with  the  most  per- 
fect ease  of  mind,  and  seemed  to  be  rather  pleased  than  other- 
wise at  Hetty's  woe. 

The  girl  was  not  only  unhappy,  but  enraged  with  herself  for 
having  published  her  secret.  Perhaps  she  had  not  known  it 
until  the  sudden  emotion  acquainted  her  with  her  own  state  of 
mind  ;  and  now  the  little  maid  chose  to  be  as  much  ashamed  as 
if  she  had  done  a  wrong,  and  been  discovered  in  it.  She  was 
indignant  with  her  own  weakness,  and  broke  into  transports  of 
wrath  against  herself.  She  vowed  she  never  would  forgive  her- 
self for  submitting  to  such  a  humiliation.  So  the  young  pard, 
wounded  by  the  hunter's  dart,  chafes  w'ith  rage  in  the  forest,  is 
angry  with  the  surprise  of  the  rankling  steel  in  her  side,  and 
snarls  and  bites  at  her  sister-cubs,  and  the  leopardess,  her 
spotted  mother. 

Little  Hetty  tore  and  gnawed,  and  growled,  so  that  I  should 
not  like  to  have  been  her  fraternal  cub,  or  her  spotted  dam  or 
sire.  "  What  business  has  any  young  woman,"  she  cried  out, 
"to  indulge  into  any  such  nonsense?  Mamma,  I  ought  to  be 
whipped,  and  sent  to  bed.  I  know  perfectly  well  that  Mr. 
Warrington  does  not  care  a  fig  about  me.  I  dare  say  he  likes 
French  actresses  and  the  commonest  little  milliner-girl  in  the 
toy-shop  better  than  me.  And  so  he  ought,  and  so  they  are 
better  than  me.  Why,  what  a  fool  I  am  to  burst  out  crying  like 
a  ninny  about  nothing,  and  because  Mr.  Wolfe  said  Harrys 
played  cards  of  a  Sunday  !  I  know  he  is  not  clever,  like  papa. 
I  believe  he  is  stupid — I  am  certain  he  is  stupid  :  but  he  is  not 
so  stupid  as  I  am.  Why,  of  course,  I  can't  marry  him.  How 
am  I  to  go  to  America,  and  leave  you  and  Theo  ?     Of  course, 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


277 


he  likes  somebody  else,  at  America,  or  at  Tunbridge,  or  at 
Jericho,  or  somewhere.  He  is  a  prince  in  his  own  country,  and 
can't  think  of  marrying  a  poor  half-pay  officer's  daughter,  with 
twopence  to  her  fortune.  Used  not  you  to  tell  me  how,  when 
I  was  a  baby,  I  cried  and  wanted  the  moon  ?  I  am  a  baby  now, 
a  most  absurd,  silly,  little  baby — don't  talk  to  me,  Mrs.  Lam- 
bert, I  am.  Only  there  is  this  to  be  said,  he  don't  know  any- 
thing about  it,  and  I  would  rather  cut  my  tongue  out  than  tell 
him." 

Dire  were  the  threats  with  which  Hetty  menaced  Theo,  iu 
case  her  sister  should  betray  her.  As  for  the  mfantile  Charley, 
his  mind  being  altogether  set  on  cheese-cakes,  he  had  not  re- 
marked or  been  moved  by  Miss  Hester's  emotion;  and  the 
parents  and  the  kind  sister  of  course  all  promised  not  to  reveal 
the  little  maid's  secret. 

"  I  begin  to  think  it  had  been  best  for  us  to  stay  at  home," 
sighed  Mrs.  Lambert  to  her  husband. 

"Nay,  my  dear,"  replied  the  other.  "Human  nature  will 
be  human  nature  ;  surely  Hetty's  mother  told  me  herself  that 
she  had  the  beginning  of  a  liking  for  a  certain  young  curate  be- 
fore she  fell  over  head  and  heels  in  love  with  a  certain  young 
officer  of  Kingsley's.  And  as  for  me,  my  heart  was  wounded 
in  a  dozen  places  ere  Miss  Molly  Benson  took  entire  possession 
of  it.  Our  sons  and  daughters  must  follow  in  the  way  of  their 
parents  before  them,  I  suppose.  \^'hy,  but  yesterday,  you  were 
scolding  me  for  grumbling  at  Miss  Het's  precocious  fancies. 
To  do  the  child  justice  she  disguises  her  feelings  entirely,  and 
I  defy  Mr.  Warrington  to  know  from  her  behavior  how  she  is 
disposed  towards  him." 

"  A  daughter  of  mine  and  yours,  Martin,"  cries  the  mother 
with  great  dignity,  "  is  not  going  to  fling  herself  at  a  gentle- 
man's head  !  " 

"  Neither  herself  nor  the  teacup,  my  dear,"  answers  the 
Colonel.  "  Little  Miss  Het  treats  Mr.  Warrington  like  a  vixen. 
He  never  comes  to  us,  but  she  boxes  his  ears  in  one  fashion  or 
t'other.  I  protest  she  is  barely  civil  to  him  ;  but,  knowing  what 
is  going  on  in  the  young  hypocrite's  mind,  I  am  not  going  to  be 
angry  at  her  rudeness." 

"  She  hath  no  need  to  be  rude  at  all,  Martin  ;  and  our  girl 
is  good  enough  for  any  gentleman  in  England  or  America. 
Why,  if  their  ages  suit,  shouldn't  they  marry  after  all,  sir  ?  " 

"  Why,  if  he  w^ants  her,  shouldn't  he  ask  her,  my  dear  ? 
I  am  sorry  we  came.  I  am  for  putting  the  horses  into  the  car- 
riage, and  turning  their  heads  home  again." 


278  .  THE   I'IRGJX/AXS. 

But  mamma  fondly  said,  '*  Depend  on  it,  my  dear,  that  these 
matters  are  wisely  ordained  for  us.  Depend  upon  it,  Martin,  it 
was  not  for  nothing  that  Harry  Warrington  was  brought  to  our 
gate  in  that  way  ;  and  that  he  and  our  children  are  thus  brought 
together  again.  If  that  marriage  has  been  decreed  in  heaven, 
a  marriage  it  will  be." 

"  At  what  age,  Molly,  I  wonder,  do  women  begin  and  leave 
off  match-making  ?  If  our  little  chit  falls  in  love  and  falls  out 
again,  she  will  not  be  the  first  of  her  sex,  Mrs.  Lambert.  I 
wish  we  W'Cre  on  our  way  home  again,  and,  if  I  had  my  will, 
would  trot  off  this  very  night." 

He  has  promised  to  drink  his  tea  here  to-night.  You  would 
not  take  away  our  child's  pleasure,  ]\Iartin  ?  "  asked  the  mother, 
softly. 

In  his  fashion,  the  father  was  not  less  good-natured.  "You 
know,  my  dear,"  says  Lambert,  that  if  either  of  'em  had  a 
fancy  to  our  ears,  we  would  cut  them  off  and  serve  them  in  a 
fricasse'e." 

Mary  Lambert  laughed  at  the  idea  of  her  pretty  little  delicate 
ears  being  so  served.  When  her  husband  w^as  most  tender- 
hearted, his  habit  was  to  be  most  grotesque.  When  he  pulled 
the  pretty  little  delicate  ear,  behind  which  the  matron's  fine  hair 
was  combed  back,  w'herein  twinkled  a  shining  line  or  two  of  silver, 
I  daresay  he  did  not  hurt  her  much.  I  dare  say  she  was  think- 
ing of  the  soft,  well-remembered  times  of  her  own  modest  youth 
and  sweet  courtship.  Hallowed  remembrances  of  sacred  times  ! 
If  the  sight  of  youthful  love  is  pleasant  to  behold,  how  much 
more  charming  the  aspect  of  the  affection  that  has  survived 
years,  sorrows,  faded  beauty  perhaps,  and  life's  doubts,  differ- 
ences, trouble ! 

In  regard  of  her  promise  to  disguise  her  feelings  for  Mr. 
Warrington  in  that  gentleman's  presence.  Miss  Hester  was 
better,  or  worse,  if  you  will,  than  her  w^ord.  Harry  not  only 
came  to  take  tea  with  his  friends,  but  invited  them  for  the  next 
day  to  an  entertainment  at  the  Rooms,  to  be  given  in  their 
special  honor. 

"  A  dance,  and  given  for  us !  "  cries  Theo.  "  Oh,  Harry,  how 
delightful;  I  wish  we  could  begin  this  very  minute  !  " 

''  Why,  for  a  savage  Virginian,  I  declare,  Hariy  Warrington, 
thou  art  the  most  civilized  young  man  possible  !  "  says  the 
Colonel.     My  dear,  shall  we  dance  a  minuet  together  1 " 

"  We  have  done  such  a  thing  before,  Martin  Lambert !  " 
says  the  soldier's  fond  wife.  Her  husband  hums  a  minuet  tune  ; 
whips  a  plate  from  the  tea-table,  and  makes  a  preparator}^  bow 


THE  VIRGINIANS. 


279 


and  flourish  with  it  as  if  it  were  a  hat,  whilst  madam  performs 
her  best  curtsey. 

Only  Hetty,  of  the  party,  persists  in  looking  glum  and  dis- 
pleased. "  Why,  child,  have  you  not  a  word  of  thanks  to  throw 
to  Mr,  Warrington  ?  "  asks  Theo  of  her  sister. 

"  I  never  did  care  for  dancing  much,"  says  Hetty,  ''  What 
use  of  standing  up  opposite  a  stupid  man,  and  dancing  down  a 
room  with  him  ?  " 

"  Merci  du  co7nplhnent  I "  says  Mr.  Warrington. 

•'  I  don't  say  that  you  are  stupid — that  is — that  is,  I — I 
only  meant  country  dances,"  says  Hetty,  biting  her  lips,  as 
she  caught  her  sister's  eye.  She  remembered  she  had  said 
Harry  was  stupid,  and  Theo's  droll  humorous  glance  was  her 
only  reminder. 

But  with  this  Miss  Hetty  chose  to  be  as  angry  as  if  it  had 
been  quite  a  cruel  rebuke.  "  I  hate  dancing — there — I  own 
it,"  she  says  with  a  toss  of  her  head. 

"  Nay,  you  used  to  like  it  well  enough,  child,"  interposes  her 
mother. 

"  That  was  when  she  was  a  child :  don't  you  see  she  is 
grown  up  to  be  an  old  woman  ?  remarks  Hetty's  father.  Or 
perhaps  Miss  Hester  has  got  the  gout  ?  " 

"Fiddle!"  says  Hester,  snappishly  drubbing  with  her 
little  feet. 

"  What's  a  dance  without  a  fiddle  ?  "  says  imperturbed  papa 

Darkness  has  come  over  Harry  Warrington's  face.  "  I 
come  to  trj  my  best,  and  give  them  pleasure  and  a  dance,"  he 
thinks,  '*  and  the  little  thing  tells  me  she  hates  dancing.  We 
don't  practise  kindness,  or  acknowledge  hospitality  so  in  our 
country.  No — nor  speak  to  our  parents  so,  neither."  I  am 
afraid,  iin  ths  particular,  usages  have  changed  in  the  United 
States  during  the  last  hundred  years,  and  that  the  young  folks 
there  are  considerably  Hettified. 

Not  content  with  this.  Miss  Hester  must  proceed  to  make 
such  fun  of  all  the  company  at  the  Wells,  and  especially  of 
Harr}^'s  own  immediate  pursuits  and  companions  that  the 
honest  lad  was  still  further  pained  at  her  behavior  ;  and,  when 
he  saw  Mrs.  Lambert  alone,  asked  how  err  in  what  he  had 
again  offended,  that  Hester  was  angry  with  him  ?  The  kind 
matron  felt  more  than  ever  well  disposed  towards  the  boy,  after 
her  daughter's  conduct  to  him.  She  would  have  liked  to  tell 
the  secret  which  Hester  hid  so  fiercely.  Theo,  too,  remon- 
strated with  her  sister  in  private  ;  but  Hester  would  not  listen 
to  the  subject,  and  was  as  angry  in  her  bedroom,  when  the  girls 


28o  THE   VTRGINIANS. 

were  alone,  as  she  had  been  in  the  parlor  before  her  mother's 
company.  "  Suppose  he  hates  me  ?  "  says  she.  "  1  expect  he 
will.  I  hate  myself,  I  do,  and  scorn  myself  for  being  such  an 
idiot.  How  ought  he  to  do  otherwise  than  hate  me  .''  Didn't 
I  abuse  him,  call  him  goose,  all  sorts  of  names  ?  And  I  know 
he  is  not  clever  all  the  time.  I  know  I  have  better  wits  than 
he  has.  It  is  only  because  he  is  tall,  and  has  blue  eyes,  and 
a  pretty  nose  that  I  like  him.  What  an  absurd  fool  a  girl  must 
be  to  like  a  man  merely  because  he  has  a  blue  nose  and  hooked 
eyes  !  So  I  am  a  fool,  and  I  won't  have  you  say  a  word  to  the 
contrary,  Theo  ! " 

Now  Theo  thought  that  her  little  sister,  far  from  being  a 
fool,  was  a  wonder  of  wonders,  and  that  if  any  girl  was  worthy 
of  any  prince  in  Christendom,  Hetty  w^as  that  spinster.  "  You 
are  silly  sometimes,  Hetty,"  says  Theo,  "  that  is  when  you 
speak  unkindly  to  people  who  mean  you  well,  as  you  did  to 
Mr.  Warrington  at  tea  to-night.  When  he  proposed  to  us  his 
party  at  the  'Assembly  Rooms,'  and  nothing  could  be  more 
gallant  ©f  him,  why  did  you  say  you  didn't  care  for  music,  or 
dancing,  or  tea .''     You  know  you  love  them  all  !  " 

"  I  said  it  merely  to  vex  myself,  Theo,  and  annoy  myself, 
and  whip  myself,  as  I  deserve,  child.  And,  besides,  how  can 
you  expect  such  an  idiot  as  I  am  to  say  anything  but  idiotic 
things  .''  Do  you  know  it  quite  pleased  me  to  see  him  angry. 
I  thought,  Ah !  now  I  have  hurt  his  feelings  !  Now  he  will  say, 
Hetty  Lambert  is  an  odious  little  set-up,  sour-tempered  vixen. 
And  that  will  teach  him,  and  you,  and  mamma,  and  papa,  at  any 
rate,  that  I  am  not  going  to  set  my  cap  at  Mr.  Harry.  No  ; 
our  papa  is  ten  times  as  good  as  he  is.  I  will  stay  by  our  papa, 
and  if  he  asked  me  to  go  to  Virginia  with  him  to-morrow  I 
wouldn't,  Theo.  My  sister  is  worth  all  the  Virginians  that  ever 
were  made  since  the  world  began." 

And  here,  I  suppose,  follow  osculations  between  the  sisters, 
and  mother's  knock  comes  to  the  door,  who  has  overheard 
their  talk  through  the  wainscot,  and  calls  out,  "  Children  'tis 
time  to  go  to  sleep."  Theo's  e3'es  close  speedily,  and  she  is  at 
rest ;  but  oh,  poor  little  Hetty  !  Think  of  the  hours  tolling 
one  after  another, •and  the  child's  eyes  wide  open,  as  she  lies 
tossing  and  wakeful  with  the  anguish  of  the  new  wound  ! 

"  It  is  a  judgment  upon  me,"  she  says,  "  for  having  thought 
and  spoke  scornfully  of  him.  Only,  why  should  there  be  a  judg- 
ment upon  me  ?  I  was  only  in  fun.  I  knew  I  liked  him  very 
much  all  the  time  :  but  I  thought  Theo  liked  him  too,  and  I 
would  give  up  anything  for  my  darling  Theo.     If  she  had,  no 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  281 

tortures  should  ever  have  drawn  a  word  from  me — I  would  have 
got  a  rope-ladder  to  help  her  to  run  away  with  Harry,  that  I 
would,  or  fetched  the  clergyman  to  marry  them.  And  then  I 
would  have  retired  alone,  and  alone,  and  alone,  and  taken  care 
of  papa  and  mamma,  and  of  the  poor  in  the  village,  and  have 
read  sermons,  though  I  hate  'em,  and  have  died  without  telling 
a  word — not  a  word — and  I  shall  die  soon,  I  know  I  shall." 
But  when  the  dawn  rises,  the  little  maid  is  asleep,  nestling  by 
her  sister,  the  stain  of  a  tear  or  two  upon  her  flushed  downy 
cheek. 

Most  of  us  play  with  edged  tools  at  some  period  of  our 
lives,  and  cut  ourselves  accordingly.  At  first  the  cut  hurts  and 
stings,  and  down  drops  the  knife,  and  we  cry  out  like  wounded 
little  babies  as  we  are.  Some  very  very  few  and  unlucky  folks 
at  the  game  cut  their  heads  sheer  off,  or  stab  themselves  mor- 
tally, and  perish  outright,  and  there  is  an  end  of  them.  But, — 
heaven  help  us  ! — many  j^eople  have  fingered  those  ardentes 
sagittas  which  Love  sharpens  on  his  whetstone,  and  are  stabbed, 
scarred,  pricked,  perforated,  tattooed  all  over  with  the  wounds, 
who  recover,  and  live  to  be  quite  lively,  Wir  audi  have  tasted 
das  h'dische  Glilck ;  we  also  have  gelebt  und — und  so  tveiter. 
Warble  your  death  song,  sweet  Thekla  !  Perish  off  the  face  of 
the  earth,  poor  pulmonary  victim,  if  so  minded  !  Had  you  sur- 
vived to  a  later  period  of  life,  my  dear,  you  would  have  thought 
of  a  sentimental  disappointment  without  any  reference  to  the 
undertaker.  Let  us  trust  there  is  no  present  need  of  a  sexton 
for  Miss  Hett}^  But  meanwhile,  the  very  instant  she  wakes, 
there,  tearing  at  her  little  hearty  will  that  Care  be,  which  has 
given  her  a  few  hours'  respite,  melted,  no  doubt,  by  her  youth 
and  her  tears. 


CHAPTER    XXXIV. 


IN    WHICH    MR.    WARRINGTON    TREATS    THE    COMPANY    WITH    TEA 
AND    A    BALL. 

Generous  with  his  very  easily  gotten  money,  hospitable  and 
cordial  to  all,  our  young  Virginian,  in  his  capacity  of  man  of 
fashion,  could  not  do  less  than  treat  his  country  friends  to  an 
entertainment  at  the  Assembly  Rooms,  whither,  according  to 
the  custom  of  the  day,  he  invited  almost  all  the  remaining  com- 


282  THE  VIRGINIANS. 

pany  at  the  Wells.  Card-tables  were  set  in  one  apartment,  foi 
all  those  who  could  not  spend  an  evening  without  the  pastime 
then  common  to  all  European  society :  a  supper  with  cham- 
pagne in  some  profusion  and  bowls  of  negus  was  prepared  in 
another  chamber :  the  large  assembly  room  was  set  apart  for 
the  dance,  of  which  enjoyment  Harry  Warrington's  guests  par- 
took in  our  ancestors'  homely  fashion.  I  cannot  fancy  that  the 
amusement  was  especially  lively.  First,  minuets  were  called  ; 
two  or  three  of  which  were  performed  by  as  many  couple.  The 
spinsters  of  the  highest  rank  in  the  assembly  went  out  for  the 
minuet,  and  my  Lady  Maria  Esmond  being  an  earl's  daughter, 
and  the  person  of  the  highest  rank  present  (with  the  exception 
of  Lady  Augusta  Crutchley,  who  was  lame),  Mr.  Warrington 
danced  the  first  minuet  with  his  cousin,  acquitting  himself 
to  the  satisfaction  of  the  whole  room,  and  performing  much 
more  elegantly  than  Mr.  Wolfe,  who  stood  up  with  Miss 
Lowther.  Having  completed  the  dance  with  Lady  Maria, 
]Mr.  Warrington  begged  Miss  Hetty  to  do  him  the  honor 
of  walking  the  next  minuet,  and  accordingly  Miss  Hetty, 
blushing  and  looking  very  happy,  went  through  her  exer- 
cise to  the  great  delight  of  her  parents  and  the  rage  of 
Miss  Humpleby,  Sir  John  Humpleby's  daughter,  of  Liphook, 
who  expected,  at  least,  to  have  stood  up  next  after  my 
Lady  Maria.  Then,  after  the  minuets,  came  country  dances, 
the  music  being  performed  by  a  harp,  fiddle  and  flageolet ; 
perched  in  a  little  balcony,  and  thrumming  through  the  evening 
rather  feeble  and  melancholy  tunes.  Take  up  an  old  book  of 
music,  and  play  a  few  of  those  tunes  now,  and  one  wonders  how 
people  at  any  time  could  have  found  the  airs  otherwise  than 
melancholy.  And  yet  they  loved  and  frisked  and  laughed  and 
courted  to  that  sad  accompaniment.  There  is  scarce  one  of  the 
airs  that  has  not  an  amari  a/iquid,  a  tang  of  sadness.  Perhaps 
it  is  because  they  are  old  and  defunct,  and  their  plaintive  echoes 
call  out  to  us  from  the  limbo  of  the  past,  whither  they  have 
been  consigned  for  this  century.  Perhaps  they  7vere  gay  when 
they  were  alive ,  and  our  descendants  when  they  hear — well, 
never  mind  names — when  they  hear  the  works  of  certain 
maestri  now  popular,  will  say  :  Bon  Dieu,  is  this  the  music 
which  amused  our  forefathers  ? 

Mr.  Warrington  had  the  honor  of  a  duchess's  company  at 
his  tea  drinking — Colonel  Lambert's  and  Mr.  Prior's  heroine, 
the  Duchess  of  Queensberry.  And  though  the  duchess  care- 
fully turned  her  back  upon  a  countess  who  was  present,  laughed 
loudly,  glanced  at  the  latter  over  her  shoulder,  and  pointed  at 


THE  VIRGINIANS. 


=>83 


her  with  her  fan,  yet  almost  all  the  compai.y  pushed,  and 
bowed,  and  cringed,  and  smiled,  and  backed  before  this  count- 
ess, scarcely  taking  any  notice  of  her  Grace  of  Queensberry 
and  her  jokes,  and  her  fan,  and  her  airs.  Now  this  countess 
was  no  other  than  the  Countess  of  Yarmouth-Walmoden,  the 
lady  whom  His  Majesty  George  the  Second,  of  Great  Britain, 
France,  and  Ireland,  King,  Defender  of  the  Faith,  delighted  to 
honor.  She  had  met  Harry  Warrington  in  the  walks  that 
morning,  and  had  been  mighty  gracious  to  the  young  Virginian. 
She  had  told  him  they  would  have  a  game  at  cards  that  night  ; 
and  purblind  old  Colonel  Blinkinsop,  who  fancied  the  invitation 
had  been  addressed  to  him,  had  made  the  profoundest  of  bows. 
"Pooh!  pooh!"  said  the  Countess  of  England  and  Hanover, 
"  I  don't  mean  you.  I  mean  the  young  Firshinian  !  "  And 
everybody  congratulated  the  youth  on  his  good  fortune.  At 
night,  all  the  world,  in  order  to  show  their  loyalty  doubtless, 
thronged  round  my  Lady  Yarmouth  ;  my  Lord  Bamborough 
was  eager  to  make  her  partie  at  quadrille ;  my  Lady  Blanche 
Pendragon,  that  model  of  virtue ;  Sir  Lancelot  Quintain,  that 
pattern  of  knighthood  and  valor  ;  Mr.  Dean  of  Ealing,  that  ex- 
emplary divine  and  preacher ;  numerous  gentlemen,  noblemen, 
generals,  colonels,  matrons,  and  spinsters  of  the  highest  rank, 
were  on  the  watch  for  a  smile  from  her,  or  eager  to  jump  up 
and  join  her  card-table.  Lady  IVlaria  wailed  upon  her  with 
meek  respect,  and  Madame  de  Bernstein  treated  the  Hano- 
verian lady  with  profound  gravity  and  courtesy. 

Harry's  bow  had  been  no  lower  than  hospitality  required  ; 
but  such  as  it  was.  Miss  Hester  chose  to  be  indignant  with  it. 
She  scarce  spoke  a  word  to  her  partner  during  their  dance 
together ;  and  when  he  took  her  to  the  supper-room  for  refresh- 
ment she  was  little  more  communicative.  To  enter  that  room 
they  had  to  pass  by  Madame  Walmoden's  card-table,  who 
good-naturedly  called  out  to  her  host  as  he  was  passing,  and 
asked  him  if  his  "  breddy  liddle  bardner  liked  tanzing." 

"  I  thank  your  ladyship,  I  don't  like  tanzing,  and  I  don't 
like  cards,"  says  Miss  Hester,  tossing  up  her  head  ;  and, 
dropping  a  curtsey  like  a  "  cheese,"  she  strutted  away  from 
the  countess's  table. 

Mr.  Warrington  was  very  much  offended.  Sarcasm  from 
the  young  to  the  old  pained  him  :  flippant  behavior  towards 
himself  hurt  him.  Courteous  in  his  simple  way  to  all  persons 
whom  he  met,  he  expected  a  like  politeness  from  them.  Hetty 
perfectly  well  knew  what  offence  she  was  giving ;  could  mark 
the  displeasure  reddening  on  her  partner's  honest  face,  with  a 


284  ^-^-^   VIRGINIANS. 

sidelong  glance  of  her  eye  ;  nevertheless  she  tried  to  wear  hei 
most  ingenuous  smile  ;  and,  as  she  came  up  to  the  sideboard 
where  the  refreshments  were  set,  artlessly  said  : — 

"  What  a  horrid,  vulgar  old  woman  that  is  ;  don't  you 
think  so  ?  " 

"  What  woman  ?  "  asked  the  young  man. 

"  That  German  woman — my  lady  Yarmouth — to  whom  all 
the  men  are  bowing  and  cringing." 

"  Her  ladyship  has  been  very  kind  to  me,"  says  Harry, 
grimly.     "  Won't  you  have  some  of  this  custard  ?  " 

"  And  you  have  been  bowing  to  her,  too  !  You  look  as  if 
your  negus  was  not  nice,"  harmlessly  continues  Miss  Hetty. 

"  It  is  not  very  good  negus,"  says  Harr}'  with  a  gulp. 

"  And  the  custard  is  bad  too  !  I  declare  'tis  made  with 
bad  eggs  !  "  cries  Miss  Lambert. 

"  I  wish,  Hester,  that  the  entertainment  and  the  company 
had  been  better  to  your  liking,"  says  poor  Harry. 

"  'Tis  very  unfortunate ;  but  I  dare  say  you  could  not  help 
it,"  cries  the  young  woman,  tossing  her  little  curly  head. 

Mr.  Warrington  groaned  in  spirit,  perhaps  in  body,  and 
clenched  his  fists  and  his  teeth.  The  little  torturer  artlessly 
continued,  "  You  seem  disturbed;  shall  we  go  to  my  mamma? ' 

"Yes,  let  us  go  to  your  mamma,"  cries  Mr.  Warrington, 
with  glaring  eyes  and  a  "  Curse  you,  why  are  you  always 
standing  in  the  way  ? "  to  an  unlucky  waiter. 

"  La  !  Is  that  the  way  you  speak  in  Virginia  ?  "  asks  Miss 
Pertness. 

"  We  are  rough  there  sometimes,  madam,  and  can't  help 
being  disturbed,"  he  says  slowd}',  and  with  a  quiver  in  his 
whole  frame,  looking  down  upon  her  with  fire  flashing  out  of 
his  eyes.  Hetty  saw  nothing  distinctly  afterwards,  and  until 
she  came  to  her  mother.  Never  had  she  seen  Harry  look  so 
handsome  or  so  noble. 

"  You  look  pale,  child  !  "  cries  mamma,  anxious,  like  all 
pavidce  maires. 

"  'Tis  the  cold — no,  I  mean  the  heat.  Thank  you  Mr. 
Warrington."  And  she  makes  him  a  faint  curtsey,  as  Harry 
bows  a  tremendous  bow  and  walks  elsewhere  amongst  his 
guests.  He  hardly  knows  what  is  happening  at  first,  so  angry 
is  he. 

He  is  aroused  by  another  altercation  between  his  aunt  and 
the  Duchess  of  Queensberry.  When  the  royal  favorite  passed 
the  Duchess^  her  grace  gave  her  lad3'ship  an  awful  stare  Oiit  of 
eyes  that  wore  not  so  bright  now  as  they  had  been  in  the  young 


TFIE   VIRGINIANS.  285 

days  when  they  "  set  the  world  on  fire  ;  "  turned  round  with  an 
affected  laugh  to  her  neighbor,  and  shot  at  the  jolly  Hanove- 
rian lady  a  ceaseless  fire  of  giggles  and  sneers.  The  Countess 
pursued  her  game  at  cards,  not  knowing,  or  not  choosing, 
perhaps,  to  know  how  her  enemy  was  jibing  at  her.  There 
had  been  a  fued  of  many  years'  date  between  their  Graces  of 
Queensberry  and  the  family  on  the  throne. 

"  How  you  all  bow  down  to  the  idol  !  Don't  tell  me  !  You 
are  as  bad  as  the  rest,  my  good  Madame  Bernstein  ! "  the 
Duchess  says.  "  Ah,  what  a  true  Christian  country  this  is  ! 
and  how  your  dear  first  husband,  the  Bishop,  would  have  liked 
to  see  such  a  sight  !  " 

"  Forgive  me,  if  I  fail  quite  to  understand  your  Grace." 

"  We  are  both  of  us  growing  old,  my  good  Bernstein,  or,  per- 
haps, we  won't  understand  when  we  don't  choose  to  understand. 
That  is  the  way  with  us  women,  my  good  young  Iroquois." 

"  Your  Grace  remarked,  that  it  was  a  Christian  country," 
said  Madame  de  Bernstein,  ''  and  I  failed  to  perceive  the  point 
of  the  remark." 

"  Indeed,  my  good  creature,  there  is  very  little  point  in  it ! 
I  meant  we  were  such  good  Christians,  because  we  were  so 
forgiving.  Don't  you  remember  reading,  when  you  were  young, 
or  your  husband  the  Bishop  reading,  when  he  was  in  the  pul- 
pit, how,  when  a  woman  amongst  the  Jews  was  caught  doing 
wrong,  the  Pharisees  were  for  stoning  her  out  of  hand  ?  Far 
from  stoning  such  a  woman  now,  look,  how  fond  we  are  of  her  ! 
Any  man  in  this  room  would  go  round  it  on  his  knees  if  3''onder 
woman  bade  him.  Yes,  Madame  \\'almoden,  you  may  look  up 
from  your  cards  Math  your  great  painted  face,  and  frown  with 
your  great  painted  eyebrows  at  me.  You  know  I  am  talking 
about  you  ;  and  I  intend  to  go  on  talking  about  you,  too.  I 
say  any  man  here  would  go  round  the  room  on  his  knees,  if  you 
bade  him  !  " 

"  I  think.  Madam,  I  know  two  or  three  who  wouldn't !  " 
says  Mr.  Warrington,  with  some  spirit. 

"  Quick,  let  me  hug  them  to  my  heart  of  hearts  !  "  cries  the 
old  Duchess.  "  Which  are  they  .^  Bring  'em  to  me,  my  dear 
Iroquois !  Let  us  have  a  game  of  four — of  honest  men  and 
women  ;  that  is  to  say,  if  we  can  find  a  couple  more  partners, 
Mr.  Warrington  !  " 

"  Here  are  we  three,"  says  the  Baroness  Bernstein,  with  a 
forced  laugh  ;  "  let  us  play  a  dummy." 

"  Pray,  Madam,  where  is  the  third  1  "  asks  the  old  Duchess, 
looking  round. 


286  THE   VFRGINTANS. 

"  Madam  ! "  cries  out  the  other  elderly  lady,  "'  I  leave  your 
Grace  to  boast  of  your  honesty,  which  I  have  no  doubt  is  spot- 
less :  but  I  will  thank  you  not  to  doubt  mine  before  my  own 
relatives  and  children  ! " 

"  See  how  she  fires  up  at  a  word  !  I  am  sure,  my  dear 
creature,  you  are  quite  as  honest  as  most  of  the  company,"  says 
the  Duchess. 

"  Which  may  not  be  good  enough  for  her  Grace  the  Duchess 
of  Queensberry  and  Dover,  who,  to  be  sure,  might  have  stayed 
away  in  such  a  case,  but  it  is  the  best  my  nephew  could  get. 
Madam,  and  his  best  he  has  given  you.  You  look  astonished, 
Harry,  my  dear — and  well  you  may.  He  is  not  used  to  our 
ways.  Madam." 

"  Madam,  he  has  found  an  aunt  who  can  teach  him  our  ways, 
and  a  great  deal  more  !  "  cries  the  Duchess,  rapping  her  fan. 

"  She  will  teach  him  to  \xy  and  make  all  his  guests  welcome, 
old  or  young,  rich  or  poor.  That  is  the  Virginian  way,  isn't  it, 
Harr}^  ?  She  will  tell  him,  when  Catherine  Hyde  is  angr}'  with 
his  old  aunt,  that  they  v/ere  friends  as  girls,  and  ought  not  to 
quarrel  now  they  are  old  women.  And  she  will  not  be  wrong, 
will  she,  Duchess  ? ''  And  herewith  the  one  dowager  made  a 
superb  curtsey  to  the  other,  and  the  battle  just  impending  be- 
tween them  passed  awa}-. 

"  Egad,  it  was  like  Byng  and  Galissoniere  !  "  cried  Chaplain 
Sampson,  as  Harry  talked  over  the  night's  transactions  with  his 
tutor  next  morning.  '•  Xo  power  on  earth,  I  thought,  could 
have  prevented  those  two  from  going  into  action  ! '' 

"  Seventy-fours  at  least— both  of  'em  I  "  laughs  Harry. 

"  But  the  Baroness  declined  the  battle,  and  sailed  out  of 
fire  with  inimitable  skill." 

"  Why  should  she  be  afraid  ?  I  have  heard  you  say  my 
aunt  is  as  witty  as  any  woman  alive,  and  need  fear  the  tongue 
of  no  dowager  in  England." 

'•  Hem  !  Perhaps  she  had  good  reasons  for  being  peace- 
able !  "  Sampson  knew  very  well  what  they  were,  and  that 
poor  Bernstein's  reputation  was  so  hopelessly  flawed  and 
cracked,  that  any  sarcasms  levelled  at  Madame  Walmoden 
were  equally  applicable  to  her. 

"  Sir,"  cried  Harry,  in  great  amazement,  "  you  don't  mean 
to  say  there  is  anything  against  the  character  of  my  aunt,  the 
Baroness  de  Bernstein  !  " 

The  Chaplain  looked  at  the  young  Virginian  with  such  an 
air  of  utter  wonderment,  that  the  latter  saw  there  must  be  some 
history  again  his  aunt,  and  some  charge  which  Sampson  did 


THE    rlRGIjYIANS. 


287 


not  choose  to  reveal.      "  Great  heavens  !  "    Harry  groaned  out, 
"  are  there  two  then  in  the  family,  who  are " 

"  Which  two  ?  "  asked  the  Chaplain. 
.     But  here  Harry  stopped,  blushing  very  red.     He  remem- 
bered, and  we  shall  presently  have  to  state,  whence  he  had  got 
his  information   regarding  the  other  family  culprit,  and  bit  his 
lip,  and  was  silent. 

"  Bygones  are  always  unpleasant  things,  Mr.  Warrington," 
said  the  Chaplain  ;  "  and  we  had  best  hold  our  peace  regarding 
them.  No  man  or  woman  can  live  long  in  this  wicked  world  of 
ours  without  some  scandal  attaching  to  them,  and  I  fear  our 
excellent  Baroness  has  been  no  more  fortunate  than  her  neigh- 
bors. We  cannot  escape  calumny,  my  dear  young  friend  !  You 
have  had  sad  proof  enough  of  that  in  your  brief  stay  amongst 
us.  But  we  can  have  clear  consciences,  and  that  is  the  main 
point !  "  And  herewith  the  Chaplain  threw  his  handsome  eyes 
upward,  and  tried  to  look  as  if  his  conscience  was  as  white  as 
the  ceiling. 

"  Has  there  been  anything  %>e?'y  wrong,  then,  about  my  Aunt 
Bernstein  ?  "  continued  Harry,  remembering  how  at  home  his 
mother  had  never  spoken  of  the  Baroness. 

'•  O  sancta  swiplicitas  !  "  the  Chaplain  muttered  to  himself. 
"  Stories,  my  dear  sir,  much  older  than  your  time  or  mine. 
Stories  such  as  were  told  about  ever}'body,  de  me,  de  te ;  you 
know  with  what  degree  of  truth  in  your  own  case." 

"  Confound  the  villain !  I  should  like  to  hear  any  scoundrel 
say  a  word  against  the  dear  old  lady,"  cries  the  young  gentle- 
man.    "Why,  this  world,  parson,  is  full  of  lies  and  scandal !  " 

"  And  you  are  just  beginning  to  find  it  out,  my  dear  sir," 
cries  the  clergyman,  with  his  most  beatified  air.  "Whose 
character  has  not  been  attacked  ?  My  lord's,  yours,  mine, — 
ever3'one's.  We  must  bear  as  well  as  we  can,  and  pardon  to  the 
utmost  of  our  power." 

"  You  may.  It's  your  cloth,  you  know  ;  but,  by  George,  1 
won't  !  "  cries  Mr.  Warrington,  and  again  goes  down  the  fist 
with  a  thump  on  the  table.  "  Let  any  fellow  say  a  word  in  my 
hearing  against  that  dear  old  creature,  and  I'll  pull  his  nose,  as 
sure  as  my  name  is  Henry  Esmond.  How  do  you  do.  Colonel 
Lambert.  You  find  us  late  again,  sir.  Me  and  his  Reverence 
kept  it  up  pretty  late  with  some  of  the  young  fellows,  after  the 
ladies  went  away.  I  hope  the  dear  ladies  are  well,  sir  ?  "  and 
here  Harry  rose,  greeting  his  friend  the  Colonel  very  kindly, 
who  had  come  to  pay  him  a  morning  visit,  and  had  entered  the 
room  followed  by  Mr.  Gumbo  (the  latter  preferred  walking  very 


288  THE   VIRGLYIANS. 

leisurely  about  all  the  affairs  of  life),  just  as  Harry — suiting  the 
action  to  the  word — was  tweaking  the  nose  of  Calumny. 

"  The  ladies  are  purely.  Whose  nose  were  you  pulling  when 
I  came  in,  Mr.  Warrington  ?  ''  says  the  Colonel,  laughing. 

"  Isn"t  it  a  shame,  sir?  The  parson,  here,  was  telling  me, 
that  there  are  villains  here  who  attack  the  character  of  my  aunt, 
the  Baroness  of  Bernstein  !  " 

''  You  don't  mean  to  say  so  !  "  cries  Mr.  Lambert. 

"  I  tell  Mr.  Harry  that  everybody  is  calumniated  ! ''  says  the 
Chaplain,  wdth  a  clerical  intonation  ;  but,  at  the  same  time,  he 
looks  at  Colonel  Lambert  and  winks,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  He 
knows  nothing — keep  him  in  the  dark." 

The  Colonel  took  the  hint.  '"Yes,"  says  he,  "the  jaws  of 
slander  are  for  ever  wagging.  Witness  that  story  about  the 
dancin2:-girl,  that  we  all  believed  against  you,  Harrv  Warring- 
ton." 

"What  all,  sir.?" 

"  No,  not  all.  One  didn't — Hetty  didn't.  You  should  have 
heard  her  standing  up  for  you,  Harry,  t'other  day,  when  some- 
body— a  little  bird — brought  us  anothe}-  story  about  you  ;  about 
a  game  of  cards  on  Sunday  morning,  when  you  and  a  friend  of 
yours  might  have  been  better  employed."  And  here  there  was 
a  look  of  mingled  humor  and  reproof  at  the  clergyman. 

"  Faith,  I  own  it,  sir  1  "  says  the  Chaplain.  "  It  was  mea 
culpa,  mea  7naxhna — no,  mea  minima  culpa,  only  the  rehearsal  of 
an  old  game  at  picquet.  which  we  had  been  talking  over." 

"  And  did  Miss  Hester  stand  up  for  me  ?  "  says  Harry. 

'•  Miss  Hester  did.  But  why  that  wondering  look  ?  "  asks 
the  Colonel. 

"  She  scolded  me  last  night  like — like  anything,"  says  down- 
right Harry.  "  I  never  heard  a  young  girl  go  on  so.  She  made 
fun  of  everybody — hit  about  at  young  and  old — so  that  I 
couldn't  help  telling  her,  sir,  that  in  our  country,  leastways  in 
Virginia  (they  say  the  Yankees  are  very  pert),  young  people 
don't  speak  of  their  elders  so.  And,  do  you  know,  sir,  we  had 
a  sort  of  a  quarrel,  and  I'm  very  glad  you've  told  me  she  spoke 
kindly  of  me  ?  "  says  Harry,  shaking  his  friend's  hand,  a  ready 
boyish  emotion  glowing  in  his  cheeks  and  in  his  eyes. 

"  You  won't  come  to  much  hurt  if  you  find  no  worse  enemy 
than  Hester,  Mr.  Warrington,"  said  the  girl's  father,  gravely, 
looking  not  without  a  deep  thrill  of  interest  at  the  flushed  face 
and  moist  eyes  of  his  young  friend.  "  Is  he  fond  of  her  ? " 
thought  the  Colonel.  "And  how  fond  ?  *Tis  evident  he  knows 
nothing,  and  Miss  Het  has  been  performing  some  of  her  tricks. 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


289 


He  is  a  fine  honest  lad,  and  God  bless  him."  And  Colonel 
Lambert  looked  towards  Harry  with  that  manly,  friendly  kind- 
ness which  our  lucky  young  Virginian  was  not  unaccustomed 
to  inspire,  for  he  was  comely  to  look  at,  prone  to  blush,  to 
kindle,  nay,  to  melt,  at  a  kind  stor}^  His  laughter  was  cheery 
to  hear :    his  eyes  shone  confidently :    his  voice  spoke  truth. 

"  And  the  young  lady  of  the  minuet  ?  She  distinguished 
herself  to  perfection  :  the  whole  room  admired,"  asked  the 
courtly  Chaplain.     "I  trust  Miss — Miss " 

'■  Miss  Theodosia  is  perfectly  well,  and  ready  to  dance  at 
this  minute  with  your  Reverence,"  says  her  father,  "  Or  stay, 
Chaplain,  perhaps  you  only  dance  on  Sunday  ?  "  The  Colonel 
then  turned  to  Harry  again.  "  You  paid  your  court  very  neatly 
to  the  great  lady,  Mr.  Flatterer.  My  Lady  Yarmouth  has  been 
trum.peting  your  praises  at  the  Pump  Room.  She  says  she  has 
got  a  leedle  boy  in  Hanover  dat  is  wery  like  you,  and  you  are 
a  sharming  young  mans." 

"  If  her  ladyship  were  a  queen,  people  could  scarcely  be 
more  respectful  to  her,"  says  the  Chaplain. 

"  Let  us  call  her  a  vice-queen,  parson,"  says  the  Colonel, 
with  a  twinkle  of  his  eye. 

"  Her  ]\Iajesty  pocketed  forty  of  my  guineas  at  quadrille," 
cries  Mr.  Warrington,  wdth  a  laugh. 

"  She  will  play  you  on  the  same  terms  another  day.  The 
Countess  is  fond  of  play,  and  she  w'ins  from  most  people,"  said 
the  Colonel,  dryly.  "  Why  don't  you  bet  her  ladyship  five 
thousand  on  a  bishopric,  parson  ?  I  have  heard  of  a  clergy- 
man who  made  such  a  bet,  and  who  lost  it,  and  who  paid  it, 
and  who  got  the  bishopric." 

"  Ah  !  who  will  lend  me  the  five  thousand  ?  Will  you,  sir  ?  " 
asked  the  Chaplain. 

"  No,  sir.  I  won't  give  her  five  thousand  to  be  made  Com- 
mander-in-Chief or  Pope  of  Rome,"  says  the  Colonel,  stoutly. 
"  I  shall  fling  no  stones  at  the  woman  ;  but  I  shall  bow  no 
knee  to  her,  as  I  see  a  pack  of  rascals  do.  No  offence — I  don't 
mean  you.  And  I  don't  mean  Harry  Warrington,  who  was 
quite  right  to  be  civil  to  her,  and  to  lose  his  money  with  good 
humor.  Harry,  I  am  come  to  bid  thee  farewell,  my  boy.  We 
have  had  our  pleasuring — my  money  is  run  out,  and  we  must 
jog  back  to  Oakhurst.  Will  you  ever  come  and  see  the  old 
place  again  ? " 

"  Now,  sir,  now  !  I'll  ride  back  with  you  !  "  cries  Harr\% 
eagerly. 

"Why — no — not  now,"  says  the  Colonel,  in  a  huiried  mail' 

19 


290 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


ner.  "We  haven't  got  room — that  is,  we're — we're  expecting 
some  friends."  ["  The  Lord  forgive  me  for  the  lie  !  "  he  mut- 
ters.] "  But — but  you'll  come  to  us  when — when  Tom's  at 
home — yes,  when  Tom's  at  home.  That  will  be  famous  fun 
— and  I'd  have  you  to  know,  sir,  that  my  wife  and  I  love  you 
sincerely,  sir — and  so  do  the  girls,  however  much  they  scold 
you.  And  if  you  ever  are  in  a  scrape — and  such  things  have 
happened,  Mr.  Chaplain!  you  wdll  please  to  count  upon  me. 
Mind  that,  sir  !  " 

And  the  Colonel  was  for  taking  leave  of  Harry  then  and 
there,  on  the  spot,  but  the  young  man  followed  him  down  the 
stairs,  and  insisted  upon  saying  good-by  to  his  dear  ladies. 

Instead,  however,  of  proceeding  immediately  to  Mr.  Lam- 
bert's lodging,  the  two  gentlemen  took  the  direction  of  the  com- 
mon, where,  looking  from  Harry's  windows,  Mr,  Sampson  saw 
the  pair  in  earnest  conversation.  First,  Lambert  smiled  and 
looked  roguish.  Then,  presently,  at  a  farther  stage  of  the  talk, 
he  flung  up  both  his  hands  and  performed  other  gestures  indi- 
cating surprise  and  agitation. 

"  The  boy  is  telling  him,"  thought  the  Chaplain.  When 
Mr.  Warrington  came  back  in  an  hour,  he  found  his  Reverence 
deep  in  the  composition  of  a  sermon.  Harry's  face  was  grave 
and  melancholy  ;  he  flung  down  his  hat,  buried  himself  in  a 
great  chair,  and  then  came  from  his  lips  something  like  an 
execration. 

"The  young  ladies  are  going,  and  our  heart  is  affected  t  " 
said  the  Chaplain,  looking  up  from  his  manuscript. 

"  Heart !  "  sneered  Harry. 

"Which  of  the  young  ladies  is  the  conqueror,  sir?  I 
thought  the  youngest's  eyes  followed  you  about  at  your  ball." 

"  Confound  the  little  termagant !  "  broke  out  Harry.  "  What 
does  she  mean  by  being  so  pert  to  me  ?  She  treats  me  as  if  I 
was  a  fool  !  " 

"And  no  man  is,  sir,  with  a  woman  !  "  said  the  scribe  of 
the  sermon. 

"Ain't  they,  Chaplain?"  And  Harry  growled  out  more 
naughty  words  expressive  of  inward  disquiet. 

"  By  the  way,  have  you  heard  anything  of  your  lost  prop- 
erty ? "  asked  the  Chaplain,  presently  looking  up  from  his 
pages. 

Harry  said,  "  No  !  "  wdth  another  word  which  I  would  not 
print  for  the  world. 

"  I  begin  to  suspect,  sir,  that  there  was  more  money  than 
you  like  to  own  in  that  book.     I  wish  I  could  find  some." 


J 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


291 


"There  were  notes  in  it,"  said  Harry,  very  gloomily,  "and 
— and  papers  that  I  am  very  sorry  to  lose.  What  the  deuce 
has  come  of  it  ?     I  had  it  when  we  dined  together." 

"  I  saw  you  put  it  in  your  pocket,"  cried  the  Chaplain.  "  1 
saw  you  take  it  out  and  pay  at  the  toy-shop  a  bill  for  a  gold 
thimble  and  work-box  for  one  of  your  young  ladies.,  Of  course 
you  have  asked  there,  sir  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  have,"  says  Mr.  Warrmgton,  plunged  in 
melancholy. 

"  Gumbo  put  you  to  bed,  at  least,  if  I  remember  right.  I 
was  so  cut  myself  that  I  scarce  remember  anything.  Can  you 
trust  those  black  fellows,  sir  ? " 

"  I  can  trust  him  with  my  head.  With  my  head  }  "  groaned 
out  Mr.  Warrington,  bitterly.     "  I  can't  trust  myself  with  it." 

"  'Oh  that  a  man  should  put  an  enemy  into  his  mouth  to 
steal  away  his  brains  ! '  " 

"  You  may  well  call  it  an  enemy,  Chaplain.  Hang  it,  I 
have  a  great  mind  to  make  a  vow  never  to  drink  another  drop ! 
A  fellow  says  anything  when  he  is  in  drink." 

The  Chaplain  laughed.  "  You,  sir,"  he  said,  "  are  close 
enough  !  "  And  the  truth  was,  that,  for  the  last  few  days,  no 
amount  of  wine  would  unseal  Mr.  Warrington's  lips,  when  the 
artless  Sampson  by  chance  touched  on  the  subject  of  his 
patron's  loss. 

"  And  so  the  little  country  nymphs  are  gone,  or  going, 
sir } "  asked  the  Chaplain.  "  They  were  nice,  fresh  little 
things ;  but  I  think  the  mother  was  the  finest  woman  of  the 
three.  I  declare,  a  woman  at  five-and-thirty  or  so  is  at  her 
prime      What  do  you  say,  sir?  " 

Mr.  Warrington  looked,  for  a  moment,  askance  at  the 
clergyman.  "Confound  all  women,  I  say '  '  muttered  the 
young  misogynist.  For  which  sentiment  every  well-condi- 
tioned person  will  surely  rebuke  him. 


CHAPTER    XXXV. 

ENTANGLEMENTS. 


Our  good  Colonel  had,  no  doubt,  taken 'counsel  with  his 
good  wife,  and  they  had  determined  to  remove  their  little  Hetty 
as  speedily  as  possible  out  of  the  reach  of  the  charmer.     In 


292 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


complaints  such  as  that  under  which  the  poor  Httle  maiden  was 
supposed  to  be  suffering,  the  remed}'  of  absence  and  distance 
often  acts  effectually  with  men  ;  but  I  believe  women  are  not  so 
easily  cured  by  the  alibi  treatment.  Some  of  them  will  go 
away  ever  so  far,  and  for  ever  so  long,  and  the  obstinate 
disease  hangs  by  them,  spite  of  distance  or  climate.  You  may 
whip,  abuse,  torture,  insult  them,  and  still  the  little  deluded 
creatures  will  persist  in  their  fidelity.  Nay,  if  I  may  speak, 
after  profound  and  extensive  study  and  observation,  there  are 
few  better  ways  of  securing  the  faithfulness  and  admiration  of 
the  beautiful  partners  of  our  existence  than  a  little  judicious 
ill-treatment,  a  brisk  dose  of  occasional  violence  as  an  altera- 
tive, and,  for  general  and  wholesome  diet,  a  cooling  but  pretty 
constant  neglect.  At  sparing  intervals,  administer  small  quan- 
tities of  love  and  kmdness  ;  but  not  every  day,  or  too  often,  as 
this  medicme,  much  taken,  loses  its  effect.  Those  dear  crea- 
tures who  are  the  most  indifferent  to  their  husbands,  are  those 
who  are  cloyed  by  too  much  surfeiting  of  the  sugarplums  and 
lollipops  of  Love.  I  have  known  a  3'Oung  being,  with  every 
wish  gratified,  yawn  in  her  adoring  husband's  face,  and  prefer 
tiie  conversation  Tiwd  petits  soi?is  of  the  merest  booby  and  idiot ; 
whilst,  on  the  other  hand,  I  ha\e  seen  Chloe,  —  at  whom 
Strephon  has  flung  his  bootjack  in  the  morning,  or  whom  he 
has  cursed  before  the  servants  at  dinner, — come  creeping  and 
fondling  to  his  knee  at  tea-time,  when  he  is  comfortable  after 
his  little  nap  and  his  good  wine  ,  and  pat  his  head  and  play  his 
favorite  tunes  ;  and,  when  old  John  the  butler,  or  old  Mary  the 
maid,  comes  in  with  the  bed  candles,  look  round  proudly,  as 
much  as  to  say,  Noiv,  John,  look  how  good  my  dearest  Henry 
is  !  Make  your  game,  gentlemen,  then  !  There  is  the  coax- 
ing, fondling,  adoring  line,  when  you  are  hen-pecked,  and 
Louisa  is  indifferent,  and  bored  out  of  her  existence.  There  is 
the  manly,  selfish,  effectual  system,  where  she  answers  to  the 
whistle;  and  comes  in  at  "Down  Charge/'  and  knows  her 
master  ;  and  frisks  and  fawns  about  him  ;  and  nuzzles  at  his 
knees  .  and  "licks  the  hand  that's  raised  " — that's  raised  to  do 
her  good,  as  (I  quote  from  memory)  Mr.  Pope  finely  observes. 
What  used  the  late  lamented  O'Connell  to  say,  over  whom  a 
grateful  country  has  raised  such  a  magnificent  testimonial  .^ 
"  Hereditary  bondsmen,"  he  used  to  remark,  "  know  ye  not, 
who  would  be  free,  themselves  must  strike  the  blow  ? "  Of 
course  3-ou  must.  In  political  as  in  domestic  circles.  So  up 
with  your  cudgels,  my  enslaved,  injured  boys  ! 

Women  will  be  pleased  with  these   remarks,  because   they 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


293 


have  such  a  taste  for  humor  and  understand  irony  :  and  I  should 
not  be  surprised  if  young  Grubstreet,  who  corresponds  with 
three  penny  joapers  and  describes  the  persons  and  conversation 
of  gentlemen  whom  he  meets  at  his  "clubs,"  will  say,  "  I  told 
you  so  !  He  advocates  the  thrashing  of  women  !  He  has  no 
nobility  of  soul !  He  has  no  heart  !  "  Nor  have  I,  my  eminent 
young-  Grubstreet !  any  more  than  you  have  ears.  Dear  ladies  ! 
I  assure  you  I  am  only  joking  in  the  above  remarks, — I  do  not 
advocate  the  thrashing  of  your  sex  at  all, — and,  as  you  can't 
understand  the  commonest  bit  of  fun,  beg  leave  flatly  to  tell 
you,  that  I  consider  your  sex  a  hundred  times  more  loving  and 
faithful  than  ours. 

So,  what  is  the  use  of  Hetty's  parents  taking  her  home,  if 
the  little  maid  intends  to  be  just  as  fond  of  Harry  absent  as  of 
Harry  present  ?  Why  not  let  her  see  him  before  Ball  and 
Dobbin  are  put  to,  and  say  "  Good-by,  Harry  !  I  was  very 
wilful  and  fractious  last  night,  and  you  were  very  kind  :  but 
good-by,  Harry  !  "  She  will  show  no  special  emotion  :  she  is 
so  ashamed  of  her  secret,  that  she  will  not  betray  it.  Harry  is 
too  much  preoccupied  to  discover  it  for  himself.  He  does  not 
know  what  grief  is  lying  behind  Hetty's  glances,  under  the  arti- 
fice of  her  innocent  3^oung  smiles.  He  has,  perhaps,  a  care  of 
his  own.  He  will  part  from  her  calml}',  and  fancy  she  is  happy 
to  get  back  to  her  music  and  her  poultry  and  flower-garden. 

He  did  not  even  ride  part  of  the  way  homewards  by  the  side 
of  his  friend's  carriage.  He  had  some  other  party  arranged 
for  that  afternoon,  and  when  he  returned  thence,  the  good 
Lamberts  were  gone  from  Tunbridge  Wells.  There  were  their 
windows  open,  and  the  card  in  one  of  them  signifying  that  the 
apartments  were  once  more  to  let.  A  little  passing  sorrow  at 
the  blank  aspect  of  the  rooms  lately  enlivened  by  countenances 
so  frank  and  friendly,  may  have  crossed  the  young  gentleman's 
mind  ;  but  he  dines  at  the  "  White  Horse  "  at  four  o'clock,  and 
eats  his  dinner  and  calls  fiercely  for  his  bottle.  Poor  little 
Hester  will  choke  over  her  tea  about  the  same  hour,  when  the 
Lamberts  arrive  to  sleep  at  the  house  of  their  friends  at  Wes- 
terham.  The  young  roses  will  be  wan  in  her  cheeks  in  the 
morning,  and  there  will  be  black  circles  round  her  eyes.  It 
was  the  thunder  :  the  night  was  hot :  she  could  not  sleep  :  she 
will  be  better  when  she  gets  home  again  the  next  day.  And 
home  they  come.  There  is  the  gate  where  he  fell.  There  is 
the  bed  he  lay  in,  the  chair  in  which  he  used  to  sit — what  ages 
seem  to  have  passed  !  What  a  gulf  between  to-day  and  yester- 
day I     Who  is  that  little  child  calling  her  chickens,  or  watering 


294  ^-^^-^   VIRGINIANS. 

her  roses  yonder  ?  Are  she  and  that  girl  the  same  Hester 
Lambert  ?  Why,  she  is  ever  so  much  older  than  Theo  now — 
Theo,  who  has  always  been  so  composed,  and  so  clever,  and  so 
old  for  her  age.  But  in  a  night  or  two  Hester  has  lived — oh, 
long,  long  years  !  So  have  many  besides  :  and  poppy  and 
mandragora  will  never  medicine  them  to  the  sweet  sleep  they 
tasted  yesterday. 

Maria  Esmond  saw  the  Lambert  cavalcade  drive  away,  and 
felt  a  grim  relief.  She  looks  with  hot  eyes  at  Harry  when  he 
comes  in  to  his  aunt's  card-tables,  flushed  with  Barbeau's  good 
wine.  He  laughs,  rattles  in  reply  to  his  aunt,  who  asks  him 
which  of  the  girls  is  his  sweetheart  ?  He  gayly  says  he  loves 
them  both  like  sisters.  He  has  never  seen  a  better  gentleman, 
nor  better  people,  than  the  Lamberts.  Why  is  Lambert  not  a 
general  ?  He  has  been  a  most  distinguished  officer:  his  Royal 
Highness  the  Duke  is  very  fond  of  him.  Madame  Bernstein 
says  that  Harry  must  make  interest  with  Lady  Yarmouth  for 
his  protege. 

"  Elle  ravvole  fous,  cherbedid  anche  !  "  says  Madame  Bern- 
stein, mimicking  the  Countess's  German  accent.  The  Baroness 
is  delighted  with  her  boy's  success.  "  You  carry  off  the  hearts 
of  all  the  old  women,  doesn't  he,  Maria  ?  "  she  says,  with  a 
sneer  at  her  niece,  w^ho  quivers  under  the  stab. 

"  You  were  quite  right,  my  dear,  not  to  perceive  that  she 
cheated  at  cards,  and  you  play  like  a  grand  seigneur,"  con- 
tinues Madame  de  Bernstein. 

"  Did  she  cheat .'  "  cries  Harry,  astonished.  "  I  am  sure. 
Ma'am,  I  saw  no  unfair  play. 

"  No  more  did  I,  my  dear,  but  I  am  sure  she  cheated.  Bah  ! 
every  woman  cheats,  I  and  Maria  included,  when  v»e  can  get  a 
chance.  But  when  you  play  w'ith  the  Walmoden,  you  don't  do 
wrong  to  lose  in  moderation  :  and  many  men  cheat  in  that  way. 
Cultivate  her.  She  has  taken  a  fancy  to  your  beaux  yeux. 
Why  should  your  Excellency  not  be  Governor  of  Virginia,  sir  ? 
You  must  go  and  pay  3^our  respects  to  the  Duke  and  his  Ma- 
jesty at  Kensington.  The  Countess  of  Yarmouth  will  be  your 
best  friend  at  Court." 

"  Why  should  you  not  introduce  me,  aunt  ?  "  asked  Harry. 

The  old  lady's  rouged  cheek  grew  a  little  redder.  "  I  am 
not  in  favor  at  Kensington,"  she  said.  "  I  may  have  been 
once  ;  and  there  are  no  faces  so  unwelcome  to  kings  as  those 
they  wish  to  forget.  All  of  us  want  to  forget  something  or 
somebody.  I  dare  say  our  inge'nu  here  would  like  to  wipe  a 
sum  or  two  off  the  slate.     Wouldst  thou  not,  Harry  ?  " 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  295 

Harry  turned  red,  too,  and  so  did  Maria,  and  his  aunt 
laughed  one  of  those  wicked  laughs  which  are  not  altogether 
pleasant  to  hear.  What  meant  those  guilty  signals  on  the 
cheeks  of  her  nephew  and  niece?  What  account  was  scored 
upon  the  memory  of  either,  which  they  were  desirous  to  efface  ? 
I  fear  Madame  Bernstein  was  right,  and  that  most  folks  have 
some  ugly  reckonings  written  up  on  their  consciences,  which 
we  were  glad  to  be  quit  of. 

Had  Maria  known  one  of  the  causes  of  Harry's  disquiet, 
that  middle-aged  spinster  would  have  been  more  unquiet  still 
For  some  days  he  had  missed  a  pocket-book.  He  had  remem- 
bered it  in  his  possession  on  that  day  wdien  he  drank  so  much 
claret  at  the  ''  White  Horse,"  and  Gumbo  carried  him  to  bed. 
He  sought  for  it  in  the  morning,  but  none  of  his  servants  had 
seen  it.  He  had  inquired  for  it  at  the  "  White  Horse,"  but 
there  were  no  traces  of  it.  He  could  not  cry  the  book,  and 
could  only  make  very  cautious  inquiries  respecting  it.  He 
must  not  have  it  known  that  the  book  was  lost.  A  pretty  con- 
dition of  mind  Lady  Maria  Esmond  would  be  in,  if  she  knew 
that  the  outpourings  of  her  heart  were  in  the  hands  of  the  pub- 
lic !  The  letters  contained  all  sorts  of  disclosures  :  a  hundred 
family  secrets  were  narrated  by  the  artless  correspondent  : 
there  was  ever  so  much  satire  and  abuse  of  persons  with  whom 
she  and  Mr.  Warrmgton  came  in  contact.  There  were  expos- 
tulations about  his  attentions  to  other  ladies.  There  was  scorn, 
scandal,  jokes,  appeals,  protests  of  eternal  fidelity  ;  the  usual 
farrago,  dear  Madam,  which  you  may  remember  you  wrote  to 
your  Edward,  when  you  were  engaged  to  him,  and  before  you 
became  Mrs.  Jones.  Would  you  like  those  letters  to  be  read 
by  any  one  else  1  Do  you  recollect  what  you  said  about  the 
Miss  Browns  in  two  or  three  of  those  letters,  and  the  unfavor- 
able opinion  you  expressed  of  Mrs.  Thompson's  character  ? 
Do  you  happen  to  recall  the  words  which  you  used  regarding 
Jones  himself,  whom  you  subsequently  married  (for  in  conse- 
quence of  disputes  about  the  settlements  your  engagement 
with  Edward  was  broken  off)?  and  would  you  like  Mr.  J.  to  see 
those  remarks  ?  You  know  you  wouldn't.  Then  be  pleased 
to  withdraw  that  imputation  which  you  have  already  cast  in 
your  mind  upon  Lady  Maria  Esmond.  No  doubt  her  letters 
were  very  foolish,  as  most  love-letters  are,  but  it  does  not  follow 
that  there  was  anything  wrong  in  them.  They  are  foolish  when 
written  by  young  folks  to  one  another,  and  how  much  more 
foolish  when  written  by  an  old  man  to  a  young  lass,  or  by  an 
old  lass  to  a  young  lad  !     No  wonder  Lady  Maria  should  not 


2^6  ^-^-^   VIRGINIANS. 

like  her  letters  to  be  read.  Why,  the  very  spelling — but  that 
didn't  matter  so  much  in  her  ladyship's  days,  and  people  are 
just  as  foolish  now,  though  they  spell  better.  No,  it  is  not  the 
spelling  which  matters  so  much  ;  it  is  the  writing  at  all.  I  foi 
one,  and  for  the  future,  am  determined  never  to  speak  or  write 
my  mind  out  regarding  anything  or  anybody.  I  intend  to  say 
of' every  woman  that  she  is  chaste  and  handsome ;  of  every  man 
that  he  is  handsome,  clever,  and  rich  ;  of  ever}^  book  that  it  is 
delightfully  interesting  ;  of  Snobmore's  manners  that  they  are 
gentlemanlike  ;  of  Screwby's  dinners  that  they  are  luxurious  ; 
of  Jawkins's  conversation  that  it  is  lively  and  amusing :  of 
Xantippe,  that  she  has  a  sweet  temper  !  of  Jezebel  that  her 
color  is  natural  ;  of  Bluebeard  that  he  really  was  most  indul- 
gent to  his  wives,  and  that  very  likely  they  died  of  bronchitis. 
What?  a  word  against  the  spotless  Messalina?  What  an  un- 
favorable view  of  human  nature  ?  What  ?  King  Cheops  was 
not  a  perfect  monarch  ?  O  you  railer  at  royalty  and  slanderer 
of  all  that  is  noble  and  good  !  When  this  book  is  concluded, 
I  shall  change  the  jaundiced  livery  which  my  books  have  worn 
since  I  began  to  lisp  in  numbers,  have  rose-colored  coats  for 
them  with  cherubs  on  the  cover,  and  all  the  characters  within 
shall  be  perfect  angels. 

Meanwhile  we  "are  in  a  society  of  men  and  women,  from 
whose  shoulders  no  sort  of  wings  have  sprouted  as  yet,  and 
who,  without  any  manner  of  doubt,  have  their  little  failings. 
There  is  Madame  Bernstein  :  she  has  fallen  asleep  after  dinner, 
and  eating  and  drinking  too  much, — those  are  her  ladyship's 
little  failings.  Mr.  Harry  Warrington  has  gone  to  play  a  match 
at  billiards  with  Count  Caramboli :  I  suspect  idleness  is  Jiis 
failing.  That  is  what  Mr.  Chaplain  Sampson  remarks  to  Lady 
Maria,  as  they  are  talking  together  in  a  low  tone,  so  as  not  to 
interrupt  Aunt  Bernstein's  doze  in  the  neighboring  room. 

"A  gentleman  of  Mr.  Warrington's  means  can  afford  to  be 
idle,"  says  Lady  Maria.  "  Why,  sure  you  love  cards  and 
billiards  yourself,  my  good  Mr.  Sampson  ?  " 

"  I  don't  say.  Madam,  my  practice  is  good,  only  my  doctrine 
is  sound,"  says^Mr.  Chaplain  with  a  sigh.  "  This  young  gentle- 
man should  have  some  employment.  He  should  appear  at 
Court,  and  enter  the  service  of  his  country,  as  befits  a  man  of 
his  station.  He  should  settle  down,  and  choose  a  woman  of  a 
suitable  rank  as  his  wife."  Sampson  looks  in  her  ladyship's 
face  as  he  speaks. 

"  Indeed,  my  cousin  is  wasting  his  time,"  says  Lady  Maria, 
blushing  slightly. 


THE    VIRGINIANS.  297 

"  Mr.  Warrington  might  see  his  relatives  of  his  father's 
family,"  suggests  Mr.  Chaplain. 

"  Suffolk  country  boobies  drinking  beer  and  hallooing  after 
foxes  !  I  don't  see  anything  to  be  gained  by  his  frequenting 
them,  Mr.  Sampson  ! '" 

"  They  are  of  an  ancient  family,  of  which  the  chief  has  been 
knight  of  the  shire  these  hundred  years,"  says  the  Chaplain. 
"  I  have  heard  Sir  Miles  hath  a  daughter  of  Mr.  Harr3.''s  age — 
and  a  beauty,  too." 

"  I  know  nothing,  sir,  about  Sir  Miles  Warrington,  and  his 
daughters,  and  his  beauties  !  "  cries  Maria,  in  a  fluster. 

"The  Baroness  stirred — no — her  ladyship  is  in  a  sweet 
sleep,"  says  the  Chaplain,  in  a  very  soft  voice,  "  I  fear, 
Madam,  for  your  ladyship's  cousin,  Mr.  Warrington.  I  fear 
for  his  youth  ;  for  designing  persons  who  may  get  about  him  ; 
for  extravagances,  follies,  intrigues  even  into  which  he  will  be 
led,  and  into  which  everybody  will  try  to  tempt  him.  His  lord- 
ship, my  kind  patron,  bade  me  to  come  and  watch  over  him, 
and  I  am  here  accordingly,  as  your  ladyship  knoweth.  I  know 
the  follies  of  young  men.  Perhaps  I  have  practised  them  my- 
self. I  own  it  with  a  blush,"  adds  Mr.  Sampson  with  much 
unction — not,  however,  bringing  the  promised  blush  forward  to 
corroborate  the  asserted  repentance. 

"  Between  ourselves,  I  fear  Mr.  Warrington  is  in  some 
trouble  now.  Madam,"  continues  the  Chaplain,  steadily  looking 
at  Lady  Maria. 

"  What,  again  t  "  shrieks  the  lady. 

"  Hush !  Your  ladyship's  dear  invalid ! "  whispers  the 
Chaplain,  again  pointing  towards  Madame  Bernstein.  "  Do 
you  think  your  cousin  has  any  partiality  for  any — any  member 
of  Mr.  Lambert's  family  .?  for  example.  Miss  Lambert  ?  " 

"There  is  nothing  between  him  and  Miss  Lambert,"  says 
Lady  Maria. 

"  Your  ladyship  is  certain  t  " 

"  Women  are  said  to  have  good  eyes  in  such  matters,  my 
good  Sampson,"  says  my  lady,  with  an  easy  air.  "  I  thought 
the  little  girl  seemed  to  be  following  him." 

"  Then  I  am  at  fault  once  more,"  the  frank  Chaplain  said. 
"  Mr.  Warrington  said  of  the  young  lady,  that  she  ought  to  go 
back  to  her  doll,  and  called  her  a  pert,  stuck-up  little  hussy." 

"  Ah  !  "  sighed  Lady  Maria,  as  if  relieved  by  the  news. 

"  Then,  Madam,  there  must  be  somebody  else,"  said  the 
Chaplain.     "  Has  he  confided  nothing  to  your  ladyship  ?  " 

"To  me,  Mr.  Sampson?  What?  Where?  How?"  ex- 
claims Maria. 


2g8  THE  VIRGINIANS. 

"  Some   six   days    ago,    after  we    had   been   dining    at  the 
'White  Horse,'  and  drinking  too  freely,  Air.  ^^'arrington  lost  a 
pocket-book  containing  letters." 
"  Letters  ?  "  gasped  Lady  Maria. 

"  And  probably  more  money  than  he  likes  to  own,"  con- 
tinues Mr.  Sampson,  with  a  grave  nod  of  the  head.  "  He  is 
very  much  disturbed  about  the  book.     We  have  both  made 

cautious  inquiries  about  it.     We  have Gracious  powers, 

is  your  ladyship  ill  ?  " 

Here  my  Lady  Maria  gave  three  remarkably  shrill  screams, 
and  tumbled  off  her  chair. 

"  I  will  see  the  Prince.  I  have  a  right  to  see  him.  What's 
this? — Where  ami? — What's  the  matter?"  cries  Madame 
Bernstein,  waking  up  from  her  sleep.  She  had  been  dreaming 
of  old  days,  no  doubt.  The  old  lady  shook  in  all  her  limbs — 
her  face  was  very  much  flushed.  She  stared  about  wildly  a 
moment,  and  then  tottered  forward  on  her  tortoiseshell  cane. 
"What — what's  the  matter?"  she  asked  again.  "Have  you 
killed  her,  sir  ?  " 

"  Some  sudden  qualm  must  have  come  over  her  ladyship. 
Shall  I  cut  her  laces.  Madam?  or  send  for  a  doctor?"  cries 
the  Chaplain  with  every  look  of  innocence  and  alarm. 

"  What  has  passed  between  you,  sir  ?  "  asked  the  old  lady 
fiercely. 

"I  give  you  my  honor.  Madam,  I  have  done  I  don't  know 
what.  I  but  mentioned  that  Mr.  Warrington  had  lost  a  pocket- 
book  containing  letters,  and  my  lady  swooned  as  you  see." 

Madame  Bernstein  dashed  water  on  her  niece's  face.  A 
feeble  moan  told  presently  that  the  lady  was  coming  to  herself. 
The  Baroness  looked  sternly  after  Mr.  Sampson,  as  she 
sent  him  away  on  his  errand  for  the  doctor.  Her  aunt's  grim 
countenance  was  of  little  comfort  to  poor  Maria  when  she  saw 
it  on  waking  up  from  her  swoon. 

What  has  happened  ?  "  asked  the  younger  lady,  bewildered 
and  gasping. 

"  Hm  !  You  know  best  what  has  happened.  Madam,  I 
suppose.  What  hath  happened  before  in  our  family  ? "  cried 
the  old  Baroness,  glaring  at  her  niece  with  savage  eyes. 

"  Ah,  yes  !  the  letters  have  been  lost — ach  lieber  Himmel !  " 
And  Maria,  as  she  would  sometimes  do,  when  much  moved, 
began  to  speak  in  the  language  of  her  mother. 

"  Yes  !  the  seal  has  been  broken,  and  the  letters  have  been 
lost.  'Tis  the  old  story  of  the  Esmonds,"  cried  the  elder, 
bitterly. 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  299 

"  Seal  broken,  letters  lost  ?  What  do  you  mean,  aunt  ?  " 
asked  Maria,  faintly. 

"I  mean  that  my  mother  was  the  only  honest  woman  that 
ever  entered  the  family !  "  cried  the  Baroness,  stamping  her 
foot.  "  And  she  was  a  parson's  daughter  of  no  family  in  par- 
ticular, or  she  would  have  gone  wrong,  too.  Good  heavens  ! 
is  it  decreed  that  we  are  all  to  be     *     *     *  ?  " 

"  To  be  what,  Madam  1 "  cried  Maria. 

"To  be  what  my  Lady  Queensberry  said  we  were  last  night. 
To  be  what  we  are!  You  know  the  word  for  it !  "  cried  the 
indignant  old  woman.  "  I  say,  what  has  come  to  the  whole 
race  ?  Your  father's  mother  was  an  honest  woman,  Maria. 
Why  did  I  leave  her  ?     Why  couldn't  you  remain  so  ?  " 

"  Madam  !  "  exclaims  Maria,  "  I  declare,  before  heaven,  I 
am  as " 

"  Bah  !  Don't  madam  me  !  Don't  call  heaven  to  witness 
— there's  nobody  by  !  And  if  you  swore  to  your  innocence  till 
the  rest  of  your  teeth  dropped  out  of  your  mouth,  my  Lady 
Maria  Esmond,  I  would  not  believe  you  !  " 

"  Ah  !  it  was  you  told  him  !  "  gasped  Maria.  She  recog- 
nized an  arrow  out  of  her  aunt's  quiver. 

"  I  saw  some  folly  going  on  between  you  and  the  boy,  and 
I  told  hini  that  3'OU  were  as  old  as  his  mother.  Yes,  I  did  ! 
Do  you  suppose  I  am  going  to  let  Henry  Esmond's  boy  fling 
himself  and  his  wealth  away  upon  such  a  battered  old  rock  as 
you  .''  The  iDoy  sha'n't  be  robbed  and  cheated  in  our  family. 
Not  a  shilling  of  mine  shall  any  of  you  have  if  he  comes  to  any 
harm  amongst  you." 

"  Ah  !  you  told  him  !  "  cried  Maria,  with  a  sudden  burst  of 
rebellion.  "Well,  then!  I'd  have  you  to  know  that  I  don't 
care  a  penny,  Madam,  for  your  paltry  money !  I  have  Mr. 
Harry  Warrington's  word — yes,  and  his  letters — and  I  know 
he  will  die  rather  than  break  it." 

"  He  will  die  if  he  keeps  it !  "  (Maria  shrugged  her 
shoulders.)  "  But  you  don't  care  for  that — you've  no  more 
heart " 

"  Than  my  father's  sister,  Madam  !  "  cries  Maria  again. 
The  younger  woman,  ordinarily  submissive,  had  turned  upon 
her  persecutor. 

"  Ah  !  Why  did  I  not  marry  an  honest  man  ?  "  said  the  old 
lady,  shaking  her  head  sadly.  "  Henry  Esmond  was  noble  and 
good,  and  perhaps  might  have  made  me  so.  But  no,  no — we 
have  all  got  the  taint  in  us — all !  You  don't  mean  to  sacrifice 
this  boy,  Maria  't  " 


300  THE  VIRGINIANS. 

"  Madame  ma  tante,  do  you  take  me  for  a  fool  at  my  age  ?  " 
asks  Maria. 

"  Set  him  free  !  Til  give  you  five  thousand  pounds — in  my 
— in  my  will,  Maria,     I  will,  on  my  honor  !  " 

"  When  you  were  young,  and  you  liked  Colonel  Esmond, 
you  threw  him  aside  for  an  earl,  and  the  earl  for  a  duke  ? " 

"Yes." 

*'  Eh  !  Bon  sang  ne  peut  mentir  !  I  have  no  money,  I  have 
no  friends.  My  father  was  a  spendthrift,  my  brother  is  a 
beggar.  •!  have  Mr.  Warrington's  word,  and  I  know.  Madam, 
he  will  keep  it.  And  that's  what  I  tell  your  ladyship !  "  cries 
Lady  Maria  with  a  wave  of  her,  hand.  "  Suppose  my  letters 
are  published  to  all  the  world  to-morrow  ?  Apres  ?  I  know 
they  contain  things  I  would  as  lieve  not  tell.  Things  not 
about  me  alone.  Co?nmej!c  !  Do  you  suppose  there  are  no 
stories  but  mine  in  the  family  .'*  It  is  not  my  letters  that  I  am 
afraid  of,  so  long  as  I  have  his,  Madam.  Yes,  his  and  his 
word,  and  I  trust  them  both." 

"  I  will  send  to  my  merchant,  and  give  you  the  money  now, 
Maria,"  pleaded  the  old  lady. 

"  No,  I  shall  have  my  pretty  Harry,  and  ten  times  five 
thousand  pounds  !  "  cries  Maria. 

"Not  till  his  mother's  death,  Madam,  who  is  just  your  age  !  " 

"  We  can  afford  to  wait,  aunt.  At  my  age,  as  you  say,  I  am 
not  so  eager  as  young  chits  for  a  husband." 

"  But  to  wait  my  sister's  death,  at  least  is  a  drawback  ? " 

"  Offer  me  ten  thousand  pounds,  Madame  Tusher,  and  then 
we  will  see  !  "    ' 

"  I  have  not  so  much  money  in  the  world,  Maria,"  said  the 
old  lady. 

.  "Then,  Madam,  let  me  make  what  I  can  for  myself !  "  says 
Maria. 

"  Ah,  if  he  heard  you  ?  " 

"Apres.''  I  have  his  word.  I  know  he  will  keep  it.  I 
can  afford  to  wait,  Madam,"  and  she  flung  out  of  the  room, 
just  as  the  Chaplain  returned.  It  was  Madame  Bernstein  who 
wanted  cordials  now.  She  was  immensejy  moved  and  shocked 
by  the  news  which  had  been  thus  suddenly  brought  to  her. 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  301 

CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

WHICH    SEEMS     TO     MEAN    MISCHIEF. 

Though  she  had  clearly  had  the  worst  of  the  battle 
described  in  the  last  chapter,  the  Baroness  Bernstein,  when 
she  next  met  her  niece,  showed  no  rancor  or  anger.  "  Of 
course  my  Lady  Maria,"  she  said,  "  you  can't  suppose  that  I, 
as  Harry  Warrington's  near  relative,  can  be  pleased  at  the  idea 
of  his  marrying  a  woman  who  is  as  old  as  his  mother,  and  has 
not  a  penny  to  her  fortune  ;  but  if  he  chooses  to  do  so  silly  a 
thing,  the  affair  is  none  of  mine ;  and  I  doubt  whether  I 
should  have  been  much  inclined  to  be  taken  au  serieux  with 
regard  to  that  offer  of  five  thousand  pounds  which  I  made  in 
the  heat  of  our  talk.  So  it  was  already  at  Castlewood  that 
this  pretty  affair  was  arranged.''  Had  I  known  how  far  it  had 
gone,  my  dear,  I  should  have  spared  some  needless  opposition. 
When  a  pitcher  is  broken,  what  railing  can  mend  it  ?  "' 
'•  Madam  1  "  here  interposed  Maria. 

"  Pardon    me  —  I   jnean    nothing    against  your   ladyship's 
honor  or  character,  which,  no  doubt,  are   quite   safe.     Harry 
says  so,  and  you  say  so — what  more  can  one  ask  ?  " 
"  You  have  talked  to  Mr.  Warrington,  Madam  1  " 
"  And  he  has  owned  that  he  made  you  a  promise  at  Castle- 
wood :  that  you  have  it  in  his  writing." 

"  Certainly  I  have,  Madam  !  "  says  Lady  Maria. 
"  Ah  !  "  (the  elder  lady  did  not  wince  at  this.)    "  And  I  own, 
too,  that  at  first  I  put  a  wrong  construction  upon  the  tenor  of 
your  letters  to  him.     They  implicate   other  members  of    the 
family — " 

"  Who  have  spoken  most  wickedly  of  me,  and  endeavored 
to  prejudice  me  in  every  way  in  my  dear  Mr.  Warrington's  eyes. 
Yes,  Madam,  I  own  I  have  written  against  them,  to  justify  my- 
self." 

"  But,  of  course,  are  pained  to  think  that  any  wretch  should 
get  possession  of  stories  to  the  disadvantage  of  our  family,  and 
make  them  public  scandal.     Hence  your  disquiet  just  now." 

"  Exactly  so,"  said  Lady  Maria.  "  From  Mr.  Warrington  I 
could  have  nothing  concealed  henceforth,  and  spoke  freely  to 
him.  But  that  is  a  very  different  thing  from  wishing  all  the 
world  to  know  the  disputes  of  a  noble  family." 


302 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


•'  Upon  my  word,  Maria,  I  admire  3-ou,  and  have  done  you 
injustice  these — these  twenty  years,  let  us  say," 

"  I  am  very  glad,  Madam,  that  you  end  by  doing  me  justice 
at  all,"  said  the  niece. 

"  When  I  saw  you  last  night,  opening  the  ball  with  my 
nephew,  can  you  guess  what  I  thought  of,  my  dear  ?  " 

"  I  really  have  no  idea  what  the  Baroness  de  Bernstein 
thought  of,"  said  Lady  Maria,  haughtily. 

'•  I  remembered  that  you  had  performed  to  that  very  tune 
with  the  dancing-master  at  Kensington,  my  dear  !  " 

"  ]\Iadam,  it  was  an  infamous  calumny." 

"  By  which  the  poor  dancing-master  got  a  cudgelling  for 
nothing  !  " 

"  It  is  cruel  and  unkind,  Madam,  to  recall  that  calumny — 
and  I  shall  beg  to  decline  living  any  longer  with  any  one  who 
utters  it,"  continued  Maria,  with  great  spirit. 

"  You  wish  to  go  home  ?  I  can  fancy  you  won't  like  Tun- 
bridge.     It  will  be  very  hot  for  you  if  those  letters  are  found." 

"  There  was  not  a  word  against  you  in  them.  Madam  :  about 
that  I  can  make  your  mind  easy." 

"  So  Harry  said,  and  did  your  ladyship  justice.  Well,  my 
dear,  we  are  tired  of  one  another,  and  shall  Idc  better  apart  for 
a  while." 

"  That  is  precisely  my  own  opinion,"  said  Lady  ]\Iaria, 
dropping  a  curtsey. 

"  Mr.  Sampson  can  escort  you  to  Castlewood.  You  and 
your  maid  can  take  a  post-chaise." 

"  We  can  take  a  post-chaise,  and  Mr.  Sampson  can  escort 
me,"  echoed  the  younger  lady.  ''  You  see.  Madam,  I  act  like 
a  dutiful  niece." 

"  Do  you  know,  my  dear,  I  have  a  notion  that  Sampson  has 
got  the  letters  ? "  said  the  Baroness,  frankly. 

"  I  confess  that  such  a  notion  has  passed  through  my  own 
mind." 

"  And  you  want  to  go  home  in  the  chaise,  and  coax  the  let- 
ters from  him  ?  Delilah  !  Well,  they  can  be  no  good  to  me, 
and  I  trust  you  may  get  them.  When  will  you  go  ?  The  sooner 
the  better,  you  say  ?  We  are  women  of  the  world,  Maria.  We 
only  call  names  when  we  are  in  a  passion.  We  don't  want 
each  other's  company  ;  and  we  part  on  good  terms.  Shall  we 
go  to  my  Lady  Yarmouth's  ?  'Tis  her  night.  There  is  nothing 
like"  a  change  of  scene  after  one  of  those  little  ner\-ous  attacks 
you  have  had,  and  cards  drive  away  unpleasant  thoughts  better 
than  any  doctor." 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


Z^Z 


Lady  Maria  agreed  to  go  to  Lady  Yarmouth's  cards,  and 
was  dressed  and  ready  first,  awaiting  her  aunt  in  the  drawing- 
room.  Madame  Bernstein,  as  she  came  down,  remarked  Maria's 
door  was  left  open.  "  She  has  the  letters  upon  her,"  thought 
the  old  lady.  And  the  pair  went  off  to  their  entertainment  in 
their  respective  chairs,  and  exhibited  towards  each  other  that 
charming  cordiality  and  respect  which  women  can  show  after, 
and  even  during  the  bitterest  quarrels. 

That  night,  on  their  return  from  the  Countess's  drum,  Mrs. 
Brett,  Madame  Bernstein's  maid,  presented  herself  to  my  Lady 
Maria's  call,  when  that  lady  rang  her  hand-bell  upon  retiring 
to  her  room.  Betty,  Mrs.  Brett  was  ashamed  to  say,  was  not 
in  a  fit  state  to  come  before  my  lady.  Betty  had  been  a-junket- 
ing  and  merry-making  with  Mr.  Warrington's  black  gentlemen, 
with  my  Lord  Bamborough's  valet,  and  several  more  ladies  and 
gentlemen  of  that  station,  and  the  liquor — Mrs.  Brett  was 
shocked  to  own  it — had  proved  too  much  for  Mrs.  Betty. 
Should  Mrs.  Brett  undress  my  lady  t  My  lady  said  she  would 
undress  without  a  maid,  and  gave  Mrs.  Brett  leave  to  with- 
draw. "  She  has  the  letters  in  her  stays,"  thought  Madame 
Bernstein.  They  had  bidden  each  other  an  amicable  good- 
night on  the  stairs. 

Mrs.  Betty  had  a  scolding  the  next  morning,  when  she  came 
to  wait  on  her  mistress,  from  the  closet  adjoining  Lady  Maria's 
apartment  in  which  Betty  lay.  She  owned,  with  contrition,  her 
partiality  for  rum-punch,  which  Mr.  Gumbo  had  the  knack  of 
brewing  most  delicate.  She  took  her  scolding  with  meekness, 
and,  having  performed  her  usual  duties  about  her  lady's  person, 
retired. 

Now  Betty  was  one  of  the  Castlewood  girls  who  had  been 
so  fascinated  by  Gumbo,  and  was  a  very  good-looking  blue-eyed 
lass,  upon  whom  Mr.  Case,  Madame  Bernstein's  confidential 
man,  had  also  cast  the  eyes  of  affection.  Hence,  between 
Messrs.  Gumbo  and  Case,  there  had  been  jealousies  and  even 
quarrels  ;  which  had  caused  Gumbo,  who  was  of  a  peaceful 
disposition,  to  be  rather  shy  of  the  Baroness's  gentlemen,  the 
chief  of  whom  vowed  he  would  break  the  bones,  or  have  the 
life  of  Gumbo,  if  he  persisted  in  his  attentions  to  Mrs.  Betty. 

But  on  the  night  of  the  rum-punch,  though  Mr.  Case  found 
Gumbo  and  Mrs.  Betty  whispering  in  the  doorway,  in  the  cool 
breeze,  and  Gumbo  would  have  turned  pale  with  fear  had  he 
been  able  so  to  do,  no  one  could  be  more  gracious  th^n  Mr. 
Case.  It  w^as  he  who  proposed  the  bowl  of  punch,  which  was 
brewed  and  drunk  in   Mrs.  Betty's  room,  and  which  Gum.bo 


304  ^-^^   VIRGINIANS. 

concocted  with  exquisite  skill.  He  complimented  Gumbo  on 
liis  music.  Though  a  sober  man  ordinarily,  he  insisted  upon 
more  and  more  drinking,  until  poor  Mrs.  Betty  was  reduced  to 
the  state  which  occasioned  her  lady's  just  censure. 

As  for  Mr.  Case  himself,  who  lay  out  of  the  house,  he  was 
so  ill  with  the  punch,  that  he  kept  his  bed  the  whole  of  the  next 
day,  and  did  not  get  strength  to  make  his  appearance,  and  wait 
on  his  ladies,  until  supper-time  ;  when  his  mistress  good- 
naturedly  rebuked  him,  saying  that  it  was  not  often  he  sinned 
in  that  way. 

"  Why,  Case,  I  could  have  made  oath  it  was  you  I  saw  on 
horseback  this  morning  galloping  on  the  London  road,"  said 
Mr.  Warrington,  who  was  supping  with  his  relatives. 

"  Me  !  law  bless  you,  sir  !  I  was  a-bed,  and  I  thought  my 
head  would  come  off  with  the  aching.  I  ate  a  bit  at  six 
o'clock,  and  drunk  a  deal  of  small  beer,  and  I  am  almost  my 
own  man  again  now.  But  that  Gumbo,  saving  your  honor's 
presence,  I  won't  taste  none  of  his  punch  again."  And  the 
honest  major-domo  went  on  with  his  duties  among  the  bottles 
and  glasses. 

As  they  sat  after  their  meal,  Madame  Bernstein  was  friendly 
enough.  She  prescribed  strong  fortifying  drinks  for  ]\Iaria, 
against  the  recurrence  of  her  fainting  fits.  The  lady  had  such 
attacks  not  unfrequently.  She  urged  her  to  consult  her 
London  physician,  and  to  send  up  an  account  of  her  case  by 
Harry.  By  Harry  ?  asked  the  lady.  Yes.  Harry  was  going 
for  two  days  on  an  errand  for  his  aunt  to  London.  "  I  do  not 
care  to  tell  you,  my  dear,  that  it  is  on  business  which  will  do 
him  good.  I  wish  Mr.  Draper  to  put  him  into  my  will,  and  as 
I  am  going  travelling  upon  a  round  of  visits  when  you  and  I 
part,  I  think,  for  security,  I  shall  ask  Mr.  Warrington  to  take 
my  trinket-box  in  his  post-chaise  to  London  with  him,  for  there 
have  been  robberies  of  late,  and  I  have  no  fancy  for  being 
stopped  by  highwaymen." 

Maria  looked  blank  at  the  notion  of  the  young  gentleman's 
departure,  but  hoped  that  she  might  have  his  escort  back  to 
Gastlewood,  whither  her  elder  brother  had  now  returned. 
"Nay,"  says  his  aunt,  "the  lad  hath  been  tied  to  our  apron- 
strings  long  enough.  A  day  in  London  will  do  him  no  harm. 
He  can  perform  my  errand  for  me  and  be  back  with  you  by 
Saturday." 

"  I  would  offer  to  accompany  Mr.  Warrington,  but  I  preach 
on  Friday  before  her  ladyship,"  says  Mr.  Sampson.  He  was 
anxious  that  my  Lady  Yarmouth  should  judge  cf  his  powers 


THE   VIRGIXIANS. 


305 


as  a  preacher ;  and  Madame  Bernstein  had  exerted  her  in- 
fluence with  the  king's  favorite  to  mduce  her  to  hear  the 
chaplain. 

Harry  relished  the  notion  of  a  rattling  journey  to  London 
and  a  day  or  two  of  sport  there.  He  promised  that  his  pistols 
were  good,  and  that  he  would  hand  the  diamonds  over  in  safety 
to  the  banker's  strong-room  Would  he  occupy  his  aunt's 
London  house  -^  No,  that  would  be  a  dreary  lodging  with  only 
a  housemaid  and  a  groom  in  charge  of  it.  He  would  go  to  the 
"Star  and  Garter"  in  Pall  Mall,  or  to  an  inn  in  Covent 
Garden.  "Ah!  I  have  often  talked  over  that  journey,"  said 
Harry,  his  countenance  saddening. 

"  And  with  whom,  sir?"  asked  Lady  Maria. 

"With  one  who  promised  to  make  it  with  me,"  said  the 
young  man,  thinking,  as  he  always  did,  with  an  extreme  tender- 
ness of  the  lost  brother. 

"•  He  has  more  heart,  my  good  Maria,  than  some  of  us  ! " 
says  Harry's  aunt,  witnessing  his  emotion  Uncontrollable 
gusts  of  grief  would,  not  unfrequently,  still  pass  over  our 
young  man.  The  parting  from  his  brother:  the  scenes  and 
circumstances  of  George's  fall  last  year  ;  the  recollection  of  his 
words,  or  of  some  excursion  at  home  which  they  had  planned 
together;  would  recur  to  him  and  overcome  him.  "I  doubt, 
Madam,"  whispered  the  Chaplain,  demurely,  to  Madame  Bern- 
stein, after  one  of  these  bursts  of  sorrow,  '*  whether  some  folks 
in  England  would  suffer  quite  so  much  at  the  death  of  their 
elder  brother." 

But,  of  course,  this  sorrow  was  not  to  be  perpetual ;  and  we 
can  fancy  Mr.  Warrington  setting  out  on  his  London  journey 
eagerly  enough,  and  very  gay  and  happy,  if  it  must  be  owned, 
to  be  rid  of  his  elderly  attachment.  Yes.  There  was  no  help 
for  it.  Ai"  Castlewood,  on  one  unlucky  evening,  he  had  made 
an  offer  of  his  heart  and  himself  to  his  mature  cousin,  and  she 
had  accepted  the  foolish  lad's  offer.  But  the  marriage  now 
was  out  of  the  question.  He  must  consult  his  mother.  She 
was  the  mistress  for  life  of  the  Virginian  property.  Of  course, 
she  would  refuse  her  consent  to  such  a  union.  The  thought  of 
it  was  deferred  to  a  late  period.  Meanwhile,  it  hung  like  a 
weight  round  the  young  man's  neck,  and  caused  him  no  small 
remorse  and  disquiet. 

No  wonder  that  his  spirits  rose  more  gayly  as  he  came  near 
London,  and  that  he  looked  w^ith  delight  from  his  post-chaise 
windows  upon  the  city  as  he  advanced  towards  it.  No  high- 
wayman stopped  our  traveller  on  Blackheath.     Yonder  are  the 


^o5  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

gleaming  domes  of  Greenwich,  canopied  with  woods.  There  is 
the  famous  Thames  with  its  countless  shipping  ;  there  actually 
is  the  Tower  of  London.  "  Look,  Gumbo  !  There  is  the 
Tower!"  "Yes,  master,"  says  Gumbo,  who  has  never  heard 
of  the  Tower ;  but  Harry  has,  and  remembers  how  he  has  read 
about  it  in  Howell's  "  Medulla,"  and  how  he  and  his  brother 
used  to  play  at  the  Tower,  and  he  thinks  with  delight  now,  how 
he  is  actually  going  to  see  the  armor  and  the  jewels  and  the 
lions.  They  pass  through  Southwark  and  over  that  famous 
London  Bridge  which  was  all  covered  with  houses  like  a  street 
two  years  ago.  Now  there  is  only  a  single  gate  left,  and  that 
is  coming  down.  Then  the  chaise  rolls  through  the  city  ;  and, 
"  Look,  Gumbo,  that  is  Saint  Paul's  !  "  "  Yes,  master  ;  Saint 
Paul's,"  says  Gumbo,  obsequiously,  but  little  struck  by  the 
beauties  of  the  architecture.  And  so  by  the  well-known  course 
we  reach  the  Temple,  and  Gumbo  and  his  master  look  up  with 
awe  at  the  rebel  heads  on  Temple  Bar. 

The  chaise  drives  to  Mr.  Draper's  chambers  in  Middle 
Temple  Lane,  where  Harry  handed  the  precious  box  over  to 
Mr.  Draper,  and  a  letter  from  his  aunt,  which  the  gentleman 
read  .with  some  interest  seemingly,  and  carefully  put  away. 
He  then  consigned  the  trinket-box  to  his  strong  closet,  went 
into  the  adjoining  room,  taking  his  clerk  with  him,  and  then 
was  at  Mr.  Warrington's  service  to  take  him  to  a  hotel.  A 
hotel  in  Covent  Garden  was  fixed  upon  as  the  best  place  for 
his  residence.  "  I  shall  have  to  keep  you  for  two  or  three 
days,  Mr.  Warrington,"  the  lawyer  said.  "  I  don't  think  the 
papers  which  the  Baroness  wants  can  be  ready  until  then. 
Meanwhile  I  am  at  your  service  to  see  the  town.  I  live  out  of 
it  myself,  and  have  a  little  box  at  Camberwell,  wherel  shall 
be  proud  to  have  the  honor  of  entertaining  Mr.  Warrington ; 
but  a  young  man,  I  suppose,  will  like  his  inn  and  his  liberty 
best,  sir  ?  " 

Harry  said  yes,  he  thought  the  inn  would  be  best ;  and  the 
post-chaise,  and  a  clerk  of  Air.  Draper's  inside,  was  despatched 
to  the  "  Bedford,"  whither  the  two  gentlemen  agreed  to  walk 
on  foot. 

Mr.  Draper  and  Mr.  Warrington  sat  and  talked  for  a  while. 
The  Drapers,  father  and  son,  had  been  lawyers  time  out  of 
mind  to  the  Esmond  family,  and  the  attorney  related  to  the 
young  gentleman  numerous  stories  regarding  his  ancestors  of 
Castlewood.  Of  the  present  Earl  Mr.  Draper  was  no  longer 
the  a^ent  :  his  father  and  his  lordship  had  had  differences,  and 
his  lordship's  business    had   been   taken   elsewhere  :  but  the 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  307 

Baroness  was  still  their  honored  client,  and  very  happy  indeed 
was  Mr.  Draper  to  think  that  her  ladyship  was  so  well  dis- 
posed towards  her  nephew. 

As  they  were  taking  their  hats  to  go  out,  a  young  clerk  of 
the  house  stopped  his  principal  in  the  passage,  and  said  :  "  If 
you  please,  sir,  them  papers  of  the  Baroness  was  given  to  her 
ladyship's  man,  Mr.  Case,  two  days  ago." 

"  Just  please  to  mind  your  own  business,  Mr.  Brown,"  said 
the  lawyer  rather  sharply.  "  This  way,  Mr.  Warrington.  Our 
Temple  stairs  are  rather  dark.  Allow  me  to  show  you  the 
way." 

Harry  saw  Mr.  Draper  darting  a  Parthian  look  of  anger  at 
Mr.  Brown.  "  So  it  was  Case  I  saw  on  the  London  Road  two 
days  ago,"  he  thought.  "  What  business  brought  the  old  fox 
to  London  ?  "  Wherewith,  not  choosing  to  be  inquisitive  about 
other  folks'  affairs,  he  dismissed  the  subject  from  his  mind. 

Whither  should  they  go  first  ?  First,  Harry  was  for  going 
to  see  the  place  where  his  grandfather  and  Lord  Castlewood 
had  fought  a  duel  fifty-six  years  ago,  in  Leicester  Field,  Mr. 
Draper  knew  the  place  well,  and  all  about  the  story.  They 
might  take  Covent  Garden  on  their  way  to  Leicester  Field,  and 
see  that  Mr.  Warrington  was  comfortably  lodged.  "And  order 
dinner,"  says  Mr.  Warrington.  No,  Mr.  Draper  could  not  con- 
sent to  that.  Mr.  Warrington  must  be  so  obliging  as  to  honor 
him  on  that  day.  In  fact,  he  had  made  so  bold  as  to  order  a 
collation  from  the  "  Cock."  Mr.  Warrington  could  not  decline 
an  invitation  so  pressing,  and  walked  away  ga3'ly  with  his  friend, 
passing  under  that  arch  where  the  heads  were,  and  taking  off 
his  hat  to  them,  much  to  the  lawyer's  astonishment. 

"  They  were  gentlemen  who  died  for  their  king,  sir.  My 
dear  brother  George  and  I  always  said  we  would  salute  'em 
when  we  saw  'em,"  Mr.  Warrington  said. 

"You'll  have  a  mob  at  your  heels  if  you  do,  sir,"  said  the 
alarmed  lawyer. 

"  Confound  the  mob,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Harry,  loftily,  but  the 
passers-by,  thinking  about  their  own  affairs,  did  not  take  any 
notice  of  Mr.  Warrington's  conduct  ;  and  he  w-alked  up  the 
thronging  Strand,  gazing  with  delight  upon  all  he  saw,  remem- 
bering, I  dare  say,  for  all  his  life  after,  the  sights  and  impres- 
sions there  presented  to  him,  but  maintaining  a  discreet  reserve  ; 
for  he  did  not  care  to  let  the  lawyer  know  how  much  he  was 
moved,  or  the  public  perceive  that  he  was  a  stranger.  He  did 
not  hear  much  of  his  companion's  talk,  though  the  latter  chat- 
tered ceaselessly  on  the  way.     Nor  was  Mr.  Draper  displeased 


3o8  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

by  the  young  Virginian's  silent  and  haughty  demeanor.  A 
hundred  years  ago  a  gentleman  was  a  gentleman,  and  his  attor- 
ney his  very  humble  servant. 

The  chamberlain  at  the  "  Bedford  "  showed  Mr.  Warrington 
to  his  rooms,  bowing  before  him  with  delightful  obsequiousness, 
for  Gumbo  had  already  trumpeted  his  master's  greatnisss,  and 
Mr.  Draper's  clerk  announced  that  the  new-comer  was  a  "  high 
fellar."  Then,  the  rooms  surveyed,  the  two  gentlemen  went  to 
Leicester  Field,  Mr.  Gumbo  strutting  behind  his  master :  and, 
having  looked  at  the  scene  of  his  grandsire's  wound,  and  poor 
Lord  Castiewood's  tragedy,  they  returned  to  the  Temple  to  Mr. 
Draper's  chambers. 

Who  was  that  shabby-looking  big  man  Mr.  Warrington 
bowed  to  as  they  went  out  after  dinner  for  a  walk  in  the  gar- 
dens t  That  was  Mr.  Johnson,  an  author,  whom  he  had  met  at 
Tunbridge  Wells.  "  Take  the  advice  of  a  man  of  the  world, 
sir,"  says  Mr.  Draper,  eyeing  the  shabby  man  of  letters  very 
superciliously  ;  "  the  less  you  have  to  do  with  that  kind  of  per- 
son, the  better.  The  business  we  have  into  our  office  about 
them  literary  men  is  not  very  pleasant,  I  can  tell  you."  "  In- 
deed !  "  says  Mr.  Warrington.  He  did  not  like  his  new  friend 
the  more  as  the  latter  grew  more  familiar.  The  theatres  were 
shut.  Should  ihey  go  to  Sadler's  Wells  ?  or  Marybone  Gar- 
dens ?  or  Ranelagh  ?  or  how  ?  "  Not  Ranelagh,"  says  Mr. 
Draper,  "because  there's  none  of  the  nobility  in  town ;"  but, 
seeing  in  the  newspaper  that  at  the  entertainment  at  Sadler's 
Wells,  Islington,  there  would  be  the  most  singular  kind  of  diver- 
sion on  eight  hand-bells  by  Mr.  Frankhm,  as  well  as  the  sur- 
prising performances  of  Signora  Cattarina,  Harry  wisely  deter- 
mined that  he  would  go  to  Marybone  Gardens,  where  th^y  had 
a  concert  of  music,  a  choice  of  tea,  coffee,  and  all  sorts  of  wines, 
and  the  benefit  of  ]\Ir.  Draper's  ceaseless  conversation.  The 
lawyer's  obsequiousness  only  ended  at  Harry's  bedroom  door, 
where,  with  haughty  grandeur,  the  young  gentleman  bade  his 
talkative  host  good-night. 

The  next  morning,  Mr.  Warrington,  arrayed  in  his  brocade 
bedgown,  took  his  breakfast,  read  the  newspaper,  and  enjoyed 
his  ease  in  his  inn.  He  read  in  the  paper  news  from  his  own 
country.  And  when  he  saw  the  words,  Williamsburg,  Virginia, 
June  7th,  his  eyes  grew  dim  somehow.  He  had  just  had 
letters  by  that  packet  of  June  7th,  but  his  mother  did  not  tell 
how — "  A  great  number  of  the  principal  gentry  of  the  colony 
have  associated  themselves  under  the  command  of  the  Honor- 
able Peyton  Randolph,  Esquire,  to  march  to  the  relief  of  theil 


A  RENCONTRE  IN  FLEET  STREET. 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


309 


distressed  fellow-subjects,  and  revenge  the  cruelties  of  the 
French  and  their  barbarous  allies.  They  are  in  a  uniform  : 
viz.,  a  plain  blue  frock,  nanquin  or  brown  waistcoats  and 
breeches,  and  plain  hats.  They  are  armed  each  with  a  light 
firelock,  a  brace  of  pistols,  and  a  cutting  sword." 

"  Ah,  why  ain't  we  there,  Gumbo  .''  "  cried  out  Harry. 

"  Why  ain't  we  dar  ?  "  shouted  Gumbo. 

"  Why  am  I  here,  dangling  at  women's  trains  ?  "  continued 
the  Virginian. 

"  Think  dangling  at  women's  trains  very  pleasant.  Master 
Harry  !  "  says  the  materialistic  Gumbo,  who  was  also  very  little 
affected  by  some  further  home  news  which  his  master  read  ; 
viz.,  that  "The  Lovely  Sally,"  Virginia  ship,  had  been  taken 
in  sight  of  port  by  a  French  privateer. 

And  now,  reading  that  the  finest  mare  in  England,  and  a 
pair  of  very  genteel  bay  geldings,  were  to  be  sold  at  the  "  Bull  " 
inn,  the  lower  end  of  Hatton  Garden,  Harry  determined  to  go 
and  look  at  the  animals,  and  inquired  his  w-ay  to  the  place.  He 
then  and  there  bought  the  genteel  bay  geldings,  and  paid  for 
them  with  easy  generosity.  He  never  said  what  he  did  on  that 
day,  being  shy  of  appearing  like  a  stranger  ;  but  it  is  believed 
that  he  took  a  coach  and  went  to  Westminster  Abbey,  from 
which  he  bade  the  coachman  drive  him  to  the  Tower,  then  to 
Mrs.  Salmon's  Waxwork,  then  to  Hyde  Park  and  Kensington 
Palace  ;  then  he  had  given  orders  to  go  to  the  Royal  Exchange, 
but  catching  a  glimpse  of  Covent  Garden,  on  his  way  to  the 
Exchange,  he  bade  Jehu  take  him  to  his  inn,  and  cut  short  his 
enumeration  of  places  to  which  he  had  been,  by  flinging  the 
fellow  a  guinea. 

Mr.  Draper  had  called  in  his  absence,  and  said  he  would 
come  again  ;  but  Mr.  Warrington,  having  dined  sumptuously  by 
himself,  went  off  nimbly  to  Marybone  Gardens  again,  in  the 
same  noble  company. 

As  he  issued  forth  the  next  day,  the  bells  of  St.  Paul's, 
Covent  Garden,  were  ringing  for  morning  prayers,  and  reminded 
him  that  friend  Sampson  was  going  to  preach  his  sermon. 
Harry  smiled.  He  had  begun  to  have  a  shrewd  and  just 
opinion  of  the  value  of  Mr.  Sampson's  sermons. 


2IO  THE   VIRGINIANS. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

IN    WHICH    VARIOUS    MATCHES    ARE    FOUGHT. 

Reading  in  the  London  Advertiser^  which  was  served  to  his 
worship  with  his  breakfast,  an  invitation  to  all  lovers  of  manly 
British  sport  to  come  and  witness  a  trial  of  skill  between  the 
great  champions  Sutton  and  Figg,  Mr.  Warrington  determined 
upon  attending  these  performances,  and  accordingly  proceeded 
to  the  Wooden  House,  in  Marybone  Fields,  driving  thither  the 
pair  of  horses  which  he  had  purchased  on  the  previous  day. 
The  young  charioteer  did  not  know  the  road  very  well,  and 
veered  and  tacked  very  much  more  than  was  needful  upon 
his  journey  from  Covent  Garden,  losing  himself  in  the  green 
lanes  behind  Mr.  Whitfield's  round  Jfabernacle  of  Tottenham 
Road,  and  the  fields  in  the  midst  of*  which  Middlesex  Hospital 
stood.  He  reached  his  destination  at  length,  however,  and 
found  no  small  company  assembled  to  witness  the  valorous 
achievements  of  the  two  champions. 

A  crowd  of  London  blackguards  was  gathered  round  the 
doors  of  this  temple  of  British  valor  ;  together  with  the  horses 
and  equipages  of  a  few  persons  of  fashion,  who  came,  like  Mr. 
Warrington,  to  patronize  the  sport.  A  variety  of  beggars  and 
cripples  hustled  round  the  young  gentleman,  and  whined  to 
him  for  charity.  Shoeblack  boys  tumbled  over  each  other  for 
the  privilege  of  blacking  his  honor's  boots  ;  nosegay  w^omen  and 
flying  fruiterers  plied  Mr.  Gumbo  with  their  wares  ;  pieman, 
pads,  tramps,  strollers  of  every  variety,  hung  round  the  battle- 
ground. A  flag  was  flying  upon  the  building  :  and,  on  to  the 
stage  in  front,  accompanied  by  a  drummer  and  a  horn-blower, 
a  manager  repeatedly  issued  to  announce  to  the  crowd  that  the 
noble  English  sports  were  just  about  to  begin. 

Mr.  Warrington  paid  his  money,  and  was  accommodated  with 
a  seat  in  a  gallery  commanding  a  perfect  viev/  of  the  platform 
whereon  the  sports  were  performed  ;  Mr.  Gumbo  took  his  seat 
in  the  amphitheatre  below  ;  or,  when  tired,  issued  forth  into  the 
outer  world  to  drink  a  pot  of  beer,  or  play  a  game  at  cards  with 
his  brother  lacqueys,  and  the  gentlemen's  coachmen  on  the  boxes 
of  the  carriages  waiting  without.  Lacqueys,  liveries,  footmen 
— the  old  society  was  encumbered  with  a  prodigious  quantity 
of  these.     Gentle  men  or  women  could  scarce  move  without 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  31 1 

one,  sometimes  two  or  three,  vassals  in  attendance.  Every 
theatre  had  its  footman's  gallery  :  an  army  of  the  liveried  race 
hustled  around  every  chapel-door  :  they  swarmed  in  ante-rooms  : 
they  sprawled  in  halls  and  on  landings  :  they  guzzled,  devoured, 
debauched,  cheated,  played  cards,  bullied  visitors  for  vails : — 
that  noble  old  race  of  footmen  is  wellnigh  gone.  A  few  thou- 
sand of  them  may  still  be  left  among  us.  Grand,  tall,  beautiful, 
melancholy,  we  still  behold  them  on  levee  days,  with  their  nose- 
gays and  their  buckles,  their  plush  and  their  powder.  So  have 
I  seen  in  America  specimens,  nay  camps  and  villages  of  Red 
Indians.  But -the  race  is  doomed.  The  fatal  decree  has  gone 
forth,  and  Uncas  with  his  tomahawk  and  eagle's  plume,  and 
Jeames  with  his  cocked  hat  and  long  cane,  are  passing  out  of 
the  world  where  they  once  walked  in  glory. 

Before  the  principal  combatants  made  their  appearance, 
minor  warriors  and  exercises  were  exhibited.  A  boxing-match 
came  off,  but  neither  of  the  men  were  very  game  or  severely 
punished,  so  that  Mr.  Warrington  and  the  rest  of  the  spectators 
had  but  little  pleasure  out  of  that  encounter.  Then  ensued 
some  cudgel-playing  ;  but  the  heads  broken  were  of  so  little 
note,  and  the  wounds  given  so  trifling  and  unsatisfactory,  that 
no  wonder  the  company  began  to  hiss,  grumble,  and  show  other 
signs  of  discontent.  "The  masters,  the  masters!  '*  shouted  the 
people,  whereupon  those  famous  champions  at  length  thought 
fit  to  appear. 

The  first  who  walked  up  the  steps  to  the  stage  was  the  in- 
trepid Sutton,  sword  in  hand,  who  saluted  the  company  with 
his  warlike  weapon,  making  an  especial  bow  and  salute  to  a 
private  box  or  gallery  in  which  sat  a  stout  gentleman,  who  was 
seemingly  a  person  of  importance.  Sutton  was  speedily  followed 
by  the  famous  Figg,  to  whom  the  stout  gentleman  waved  a  hand 
of  approbation.  Both  men  were  in  their  shirts,  their  heads 
were  shaven  clean,  but  bore  the  cracks  and  scars  of  many  former 
glorious  battles.  On  his  burly  sword-arm,  each  intrepid  cham- 
pion wore  an  "  armiger,"  or  ribbon  of  his  color.  And  now  the 
gladiators  shook  hands,  and,  as  a  contemporary  poet  says : 
'  The  word  it  was  bilboe."  ^ 

At  the  commencement  of  the  combat  the  great  Figg  dealt 
a  blow  so  tremendous  his  opponent,  that  had  it  encountered 
the  other's  head,  that  comely  noddle  would  have  been  shorn  off 
as  clean  as  the  carving-knife  chops  the  carrot.  But  Sutton  re- 
ceived his  adversary's  blade  on  his   own   sword,  whilst   Figg's 

*The  antiquarian  reader  knows  the  pleasant  poem  in  the   sixth  volume   of   Dodslcy's 
Collection,  in  which  the  above  combat  is  described. 


312  THE   VIRGIXIANS. 

blow  was  delivered  so  mightily  that  the  weapon  brake  in  his 
hands,  less  constant  than  the  heart  of  him  who  wielded  it. 
Other  swords  were  now  delivered  to  the  warriors.  The  first 
blood  drawn  spouted  from  the  panting  sjde  of  Figg  amidst  a  yell 
of  delight  from  Sutton's  supporters  ;  but  the  veteran  appealing 
to  his  audience,  and  especially,  as  it  seemed,  to  the  stout  indi- 
vidual in  the  private  gallery,  showed  that  his  sword  broken  in 
the  previous  encounter  had  caused  the  wound. 

Wliilst  the  parley  occasioned  by  this  incident  was  going  on, 
Mr.  Warrington  saw  a  gentleman  in  a  riding-frock  and  plain 
scratch-wig  enter  the  box  devoted  to  the  stout  personage,  and 
recognized  with  pleasure  his  Tunbridge  Wells  friend,  my  Lord 
of  March  and  Ruglen.  Lord  March,  who  was  by  no  means 
prodigal  of  politeness,  seemed  to  show  singular  deference  to 
the  stout  gentleman,  and  Harry  remarked  how  his  lordship  re- 
ceived, with  a  profound  bow,  some  bank-bills  which  the  other 
took  out  from  a  pocket-book  and  handed  to  him.  Whilst  thus 
engaged.  Lord  March  spied  out  our  Virginian,  and,  his  inter- 
view with  the  stout  personage  finished,  my  Lord  came  over  to 
Harry's  gallery  and  warmly  greeted  his  young  friend.  They  sat 
and  beheld  the  combat  waging  with  various  success,  but  with 
immense  skill  and  valor  on  both  sides.  After  the  warriors  had 
sufficiently  fought  with  swords,  they  fell  to  with  the  quarter- 
staff,  and  the  result  of  this  long  and  delightful  battle  was,  that 
victory  remained  with  her  ancient  champion  Figg. 

Whilst  the  warriors  were  at  battle,  a  thunderstorm  had 
broken  over  the  building,  and  Mr.  Warrington  gladly  enough 
accepted  a  seat  in  my  Lord  March's  chariot,  leaving  his  own 
phaeton  to  be  driven  home  by  his  groom.  Harry  was  in  great 
delectation  with  the  noble  sight  he  had  witnessed :  he  pro- 
nounced this  indeed  to  be  something  like  sport,  and  of  the  best 
he  had  seen  since  his  arrival  in  England  :  and,  as  usual,  asso- 
ciating any  pleasure  which  he  enjoyed  with  the  desire  that  the 
dear  companion  of  his  boyhood  should  share  the  amusement  in 
common  with  him,  he  began  by  sighing  out,  "  I  wish  •'  *  *  * 
then  he  stopped.     "No,  I  don't,"  says  he. 

"  What  do  you  wish  and  what  don't  you  wish  1  "  asked 
Lord  March. 

"  I  was  thinking,  my  lord,  of  my  elder  brother,  and  wished 
he  had  been  with  me.  We  had  promised  to  have  our  sport 
together,  at  home,  you  see  ;  and  many's  the  time  we  talked  of 
it.  But  he  wouldn't  have  liked  this  rough  sort  of  sport,  and 
didn't  care  for  fighting,  though  he  was  the  bravest  lad  alive." 

"  Oh  !  he  was  the  bravest  lad   alive,  was  he  ? "  asks  *my 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


Z^^Z 


lord,  lolling  on  his  cushion,  and  eyeing  his  Virginian  friend 
with  some  curiosity. 

"  You  should  have  seen  him  in  a  quarrel  with  a  very  gallant 
officer,  our  friend — an  absurd  affair,  but  it  was  hard  to  keep 
George  off  him.  I  never  saw  a  fellow  so  cool,  nor  more  savage 
and  determined,  God  help  me.  Ah  !  I  wish  for  the  honor  of 
the  country,  you  know,  that  he  could  have  come  here  instead 
of  me,  and  shown  you  a  real  Virginian  gentleman." 

"  Nay,  sir,  you'll  do  very  w^ell.  What  is  this  I  hear  of  Lady 
Yarmouth  taking  you  into  favor  ?  "   said  the   amused  nobleman. 

"  I  will  do  as  well  as  another.  I  can  ride,  and,  I  think,  I 
can  shoot  better  than  George ;  but  then  my  brother  had  the 
head,  sir,  the  head  !  "  says  Harry,  tapping  his  own  honest  skull. 
"  Why,  I  give  you  my  word,  my  lord,  that  he  had  read  almost 
every  book  that  was  ever  written  ;  could  play  both  on  the  fiddle 
and  harpsichord,  could  compose  poetry  and  sermons  most 
elegant.  What  can  I  do  ?  I  am  only  good  to  ride  and  play  at 
cards,  and  drink  Burgundy."  And  the  penitent  hung  down  his 
head.  "  But  them  I  can  do  as  well  as  most  fellows,  you  see. 
In  fact,  my  lord,  I'll  back  myself,"  he  resumed,  to  the  other's 
great  amusement. 

Lord  March  relished  the  young  man's  naivete,  as  the  jaded 
voluptuary  still  to  the  end  always  can  relish  the  juicy  whole- 
some mutton-chop.  "  By  gad,  Mr.  Warrington,"  says  he,  "you 
ought  to  be  taken  to  Exeter  Change,  and  put  in  a  show." 

"  And  for  why  ?  " 

"  A  gentleman  from  Virginia  who  has  lost  his  elder  brother 
and  absolutely  regrets  him.  The  breed  ain't  known  in  this 
country.  Upon  my  honor  and  conscience,  I  believe  that  you 
would  like  to  have  him  back  again." 

"  Believe  !  "  cries  the  Virginian,  growing  red  in  the  face. 

"  That  is,  you  believe  you  believe  you  w'ould  like  him  back 
again.  But  depend  on  it  you  wouldn't.  'Tis  not  in  human 
nature,  sir;  not  as  I  read  it,  at  least.  Here  are  some  fine 
houses  we  are  coming  to.  That  at  the  corner  is  Sir  Richard 
Littleton's,  that  great  one  was  my  Lord  Bingley's.  'Tis  a  pity 
they  do  nothing  better  with  this  great  empty  space  of  Cavendish 
Square  than  fence  it  with  these  unsightly  boards.  By  George  ! 
I  don't  kn6w  where  the  town's  running.  There's  Montagu 
House  made  into  a  confounded  Don  Saltero's  museum,  wdth 
books  and  stuffed  birds  and  rhinoceroses.  They  have  actually 
run  a  cursed  cut — New  Road  they  call  it — at  the  back  of  Bed- 
ford House  Gardens,  and  spoiled  the  Duke's  comfort,  though 
I  giiess  they  will  console  him  in  the  pocket.     I  don't  know 


314  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

where  the  town  will  stop.  Shall  we  go  down  Tyburn  Road 
and  the  Park,  or  through  Swallow  Street,  and  into  the  habitable 
quarter  of  the  town  ?  We  can  dine  at  Pall  ]\Iall,  or,  if  you  like, 
with  you  ;  and  we  can  spend  the  evening  as  you  like — with  the 
Queen  of  Spades,  or  *  *  *  " 

"  With  the  Queen  of  Spades,  if  your  lordship  pleases,"  says 
Mr.  Warrington,  blushing.  So  the  equipage  drove  to  his  hotel 
in  Covent  Garden,  where  the  landlord  came  forward  with  his 
usual  obsequiousness,  and  recognizing  my  Lord  of  jNIarch  and 
Ruglen,  bowed  his  wig  on  to  my  lord's  shoes  in  his  humble 
welcomes  to  his  lordship.  A  rich  young  English  peer  in  the 
reign  of  George  the  Second  :  a  wealthy  patrician  in  the  reign 
of  Augustus ;  which  would  you  rather  have  been  1  There 
is  a  question  for  any  young  gentlemen's  debating-clubs  of  the 
present  day. 

The  best  English  dinner  which  could  be  produced,  of  course, 
was  at  the  service  of  the  young  A'irginian  and  his  noble  friend. 
After  dinner  came  wine  in  plenty,  and  of  quality  good  enough 
even  for  the  epicurean  Earl.  Over  the  wine  there  was  talk  of 
going  to  see  the  fireworks  at  A'auxhall,  or  else  of  cards.  Harry, 
who  liad  never  seen  a  firework  beyond  an  exhibition  of  a  dozen 
squibs  at  Williamsburg  on  the  fifth  of  November  (which  he 
thought  a  sublime  display),  would  have  liked  the  Vauxhall,  but 
yielded  to  his  guest's  preference  for  picquet ;  and  they  were 
very  soon  absorbed  in  that  game. 

Harry  began  by  winning  as  usual ;  but,  in  the  course  of  a 
half-hour,  the  luck  turned  and  favored  my  Lord  March,  who 
was  at  first  very  surly,  when  Mr.  Draper,  Mr.  Warrington's 
man  of  business,  came  bowing  into  the  room,  where  he  accepted 
Harry's  invitation  to  sit  and  drink.  Mr.  Warrington  always 
asked  everybody  to  sit  and  drink,  and  partake  of  his  best. 
Had  he  a'  crust,  he  would  divide  it ;  had  he  a  haunch  he 
would  share  it ;  had  he  a  jug  of  water,  he  would  drink  about 
with  a  kindly  spirit ;  had  he  a  bottle  of  Burgundy,  it  was 
gayly  drunk  with  a  thirsty  friend.  And  don't  fancy  the  virtue 
is  common.  You  read  of  it  in  books,  my  dear  sir,  and  fancy 
that  you  have  it  yourself  because  you  give  six  dinners  of 
twenty  people  and  pay  your  acquaintance  all  round  ;  but  the 
welcome,  the  friendly  spirit,  the  kindly  heart  ?  Believe  me, 
these  are  rare  qualities  in  our  selfish  world.  We  may  bring 
them  with  us  from  the  country  when  we  are  young,  but  they 
mostly  wither  after  transplantation,  and  droop  and  perish  in 
the  stifling  London  air. 

Draper  did  not  care  for  wane  very  much,  but  it  delighted 


THE   VIRGFAUANS. 


315 


the  lawyer  to  be  in  the  company  of  a  great  man.  He  protested 
that  he'liked  nothing  better  than  to  see  picquet  played  by  two 
consummate  players  and  men  of  fashion ;  and,  taking  a  seat, 
undismayed  by  the  sidelong  scowls  of  his  lordship,  surveyed  the 
game  between  the  gentlemen.  Harr}^  was  not  near  a  match 
for  the  experienced  player  of  the  London  clubs.  To-night,  too, 
Lord  March  held  better  cards  to  aid  his  skill. 

What  their  stakes  were  was  no  business  of  Mr.  Draper's. 
The  gentlemen  said  they  would  play  for  shillings,  and  afterwards 
counted  up  their  gains  and  losses,  with  scarce  any  talking,  and 
that  in  an  undertone.  A  bow  on  both  sides,  a  perfectly  grave 
and  polite  manner  on  the  part  of  each,  and  the  game  went  on. 

But  it  was  destined  to  a  second  interruption,  which  brought 
an  execration  from  Lord  March's  lips.  First  was  heard  a  scuf- 
fling without — then  a  whispering — then  an  outcry  as  of  a  woman 
in  tears,  and  then,  finally,  a  female  rushed  into  the  room,  and 
produced  that  explosion  of  naughty  language  from  Lord  March. 

"  I  wish  your  women  would  take  some  other  time  for  coming, 
confound  'em,"  says  my  lord,  laying  his  cards  down  in  a  pet. 

"What,  Mrs.  Betty!"  cried  Harry. 

Indeed  it  was  no  other  than  Mrs.  Betty,  Lady  Maria's 
maid  ;  and  Gumbo  stood  behind  her,  his  fine  countenance 
beslobbered  with  tears. 

"What  has  happened?"  asks  Mr.  Warrington,  in  no  little 
perturbation  of  spirit.     "  The  Baroness  is  well  1 " 

"  Help  !  help  !  sir,  your  honor  !  "  ejaculates  Mrs.  Betty,  and 
proceeds  to  fall  on  her  knees. 

"  Help  whom  t  " 

A  howl  ensues  from  Gumbo. 

"  Gumbo,  you  scoundrel !  has  anything  happened  between 
Mrs.  Betty  and  you  t  "  asks  the  black's  master. 

Mr.  Gumbo  steps  back  with  great  dignity,  laying  his  hand 
on  his  heart,  and  saying,  "  No,  sir;  nothing  hab  happened  'twix' 
this  lady  and  me." 

"It's  my  mistress,  sir,"  cries  Betty.  '■  Help  !  help  !  here's 
the  letter  she  have  wrote,  sir !  They  have  gone  and  took  her, 
sir !  " 

"  Is  it  only  that  old  Molly  Esmond  ?  She's  -known  to  be 
over  head  and  heels  in  debt !  Dry  your  eyes  in  the  next  room, 
Mrs.  Betty,  and  let  me  and  Mr.  Warrington  go  on  with  our 
game,"  says  my  lord,  taking  up  his  cards. 

"  Help  !  help  her  !  "  cries  Betty  again.  "  Oh,  Mr.  Harry  ! 
you  won't  be  a-going  on  with  your  cards,  when  my  lady  calls 
out  to  you  to  come  and  help  her  !     Your  honor  used  to  come 


3i6  -  THE   VIRGIiYIANS. 

quick  enough  when  my  lady  used  to  send  me  to  fetch  you  at 
Castlewood  !  " 

"  Confound  you  !  can't  you  hold  your  tongue  ? ''  says  my 
lord,  with  more  choice  words  and  oaths. 

But  Betty  would  not  cease  weeping,  and  it  was  decreed  that 
Lord  March  was  to  cease  winning  for  that  night.  ]\Ir.  Warring- 
ton rose  from  his  seat,  and  made  for  the  bell,  saying  : 

"  ]\Iy  dear  lord,  the  game  must  be  over  for  to-night.  My 
relative  writes  to  me  in  great  distress,  and  I  am  bound  to  go 
to  her." 

"  Curse  her  !  Why  couldn't  she  wait  till  to-morrow  ?  "  cries 
my  lord  testily. 

Mr.  Warrington  ordered  a  post-chaise  instantly.  His  own 
horses  would  take  him  to  Bromley. 

"  Bet  you,  you  don't  do  it  within  the  hour  !  bet  you,  you 
don't  do  it  within  five  quarters  of  an  hour !  bet  you  four  to  one 
— or  I'll  take  your  bet,  which  you  please — that  you're  not 
robbed  on  Blackheath  !  Bet  you,  you  are  not  at  Tunbridge 
Wells  before  midnight.'*  "  cries  Lord  March. 

"  Done  !  "  says  Mr.  Warrington.  And  my  lord  carefully 
notes  down  the  terms  of  the  three  wagers  in  his  jDocket-bookt. 

Lady  Maria's  letter  ran  as  follows  : — 

"  i.Iy  dear  Cousin, — I  am  fell  into  a  trapp,  wch  I  perceive  the  machinations  of  7nl- 
lians.  I  am  a  prisner.  Betty  will  tell  you  all.  Ah,  my  Henrico  !  come  to  the  resQ  ot 
your 

"  Molly." 

In  half-an-hour  after  the  receipt  of  this  missive,  Mr.  Warring- 
ton was  in  his  post-chaise  and  galloping  over  Westminster 
Brido:e  on  the  road  to  succor  his  kinswoman. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIIL 

SAMPSON    AND    THE    PHILISTINES. 


My  happy  chance  in  early  life  led  me  to  become  intimate 
with  a  respectable  person  who  was  born  in  a  certain  island, 
which  is  pronounced  to  be  the  first  gem  of  the  ocean  by,  no 
doubt,  impartial  judges  of  maritime  jewelry.  The  stories 
which  that  person  imparted  to  me  regarding  his  relatives  who 
inhabited  the  gem  above  mentioned,  were  such  as  used  to  make 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


317 


my  young  blood  curdle  with  horror  to  think  there  should  be  so 
much  wickedness  in  the  world.  Every  crime  which  you  can 
think  of ;  the  entire  Ten  Commandments  broken  in  a  general 
smash  :  such  rogueries  and  knaveries  as  no  stor}^-teller  could 
invent ;  such  murders  and  robberies  as  Thurtell  or  Turpin 
scarce  ever  perpetrated ; — were  by  my  informant  accurately 
remembered,  and  freely  related,  respecting  his  nearest  kindred 
to  any  one  who  chose  to  hear  him.  It  was  a  wonder  how  any 
of  the  family  still  lived  out  of  the  hulks.  "  Me  brother  Tim 
had  brought  his  fawther's  gree  hairs  with  sorrow  to  the  greeve  : 
me  brother  Mick  had  robbed  the  par'sh  church  repaytedly  :  me 
sister  Annamaroia  had  jilted  the  captain  and  ran  off  with  the 
Ensign,  forged  her  grandmother's  will,  and  stole  the  spoons, 
which  Larry  the  knife-boy  was  hanged  for."  The  family  of 
Atreus  was  as  nothuig  compared  to  the  race  of  O'What-dye- 
call'em,  from  which  my  friend  sprung;  but  no  power  on  earth 
would,  of  course,  induce  me  to  name  the  country  w^hence  he 
came. 

How  great  then  used  to  be  my  w^?/' astonishment  to  find 
these  murderers,  rogues,  parricides,  habitual  forgers  of  bills  of 
exchange,  and  so  forth,  every  now  and  then  writing  to  each 
other  as  "  my  dearest  brother,"  "  my  dearest  sister,"  and  for 
months  at  a  time  living  on  the  most  amicable  terms  !  \\\\\\ 
hands  reeking  with  the  blood  of  his  murdered  parents,  Tim 
would  mix  a  screeching  tumbler,  and  give  Maria  a  glass  from 
it.  With  lips  black  with  the  perjuries  he  had  sworn  in  Court 
respecting  his  grandmother's  abstracted  testament,  or  the 
murder  of  his  poor  brother  Thady's  heljDless  orphans,  Mick 
would  kiss  his  sister  Julia's  bonny  cheek,  and  they  would  have 
a  jolly  night,  and  cry  as  they  talked  about  old  times,  and  the 
dear  old  Castle  What-d'ye-call'em,  where  they  were  born,  and 
the  fighting  Onetyoneth  being  quarthered  there,  and  the  Major 
proposing  for  Cyaroloine,  and  the  tomb  of  their  scented  mother 
(who  had  chayted  them  out  of  the  propertee),  heaven  bless  her 
soul !  They  used  to  weep  and  kiss  so  profusely  at  meeting  and 
parting,  that  it  was- touching  to  behold  them.  At  the  sight  of 
their  embraces  one  forgot  those  painful  little  stories,  and  those 
repeated  previous  assurances  that,  did  they  tell  all,  they  could 
hang  each  other  all  round. 

What  can  there  be  finer  than  forgiveness?  .What  more 
rational  than,  after  calling  a  man  by  every  bad  name  under  the 
sun,  to  apologize,  regret  hasty  expressions,  and  so  forth,  with- 
draw the  decanter  Csay)  which  you  have  flung  at  your  enemy's 
head,    and   be   friends    as  before  ?     Some  folks  possess  this 


3i8 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


admirable,  this  angel-like  gift  of  forgiveness.  It  was  beautiful 
for  instance,  to  see  our  two  ladies  at  Tunbridge  Wells  forgiving 
one  another,  smiling,  joking,  fondling  almost  in  spite  of  the  hard 
words  of  yesterday — yes,  and  forgetting  bygones,  though  they 
couldn't  help  remembering  them  perfectly  well.  I  wonder,  can 
you  and  I  do  as  much  ?  Let  us  strive,  my  friend,  to  acquire 
this  pacable.  Christian  spirit.  My  belief  is  that  you  may  learn 
to  forgive  bad  language  employed  to  you ;  but,  then,  you  must 
have  a  deal  of  practice,  and  be  accustomed  to  hear  and  use  it. 
You  embrace  after  a  quarrel  and  mutual  bad  language.  Heaven 
bless  us  !  Bad  words  are  nothing  when  one  is  accustomed  to 
them,  and  scarce  need  ruffle  the  temper  on  either  side. 

So  the  aunt  and  niece  played  cards  very  amicably  together, 
and  drank  to  each  other's  health,  and  each  took  a  wing  of  the 
chicken,  and  pulled  a  bone  of  the  merry-thought,  and  (in  con- 
versation) scratched  their  neighbors',  not  each  other's  eyes 
out.  Thus  we  have  read  how  the  Peninsular  warriors,  when 
the  bugles  sang  truce,  fraternized  and  exchanged  tobacco- 
pouches  and  wine,  ready  to  seize  their  firelocks  and  knock  each 
other's  heads  off  when  the  truce  was  over ;  and  thus  our  old 
soldiers,  skilful  in  war,  but  knowing  the  charms  of  a  quiet  life, 
laid  their  weapons  down  for  the  nonce,  and  hob-and-nobbed 
gayly  together..  Of  course,  whilst  drinking  with  Jack  French- 
man, you  have  your  piece  handy  to  blow  his  brains  out  if  he 
makes  a  hostile  move;  but,  meanwhile,  it  is  a  voire sante^  7?wn 
cama7'ade !  Here's  to  you,  Mounseer !  and  everything  is  as 
pleasant  as  possible.  Regarding  Aunt  Bernstein's  threatened 
gout  "l  The  twinges  had  gone  off.  Maria  was  so  glad  !  Maria's 
fainting  fits  1  She  had  no  return  of  them.  A  slight  recurrence 
last  night.  The  Baroness  was  so  sorry  !  Her  niece  must  see 
the  best  doctor,  take  everything  to  fortify  her,  continue  to  take 
the  steel,  even  after  she  left  Tunbridge.  How  kind  of  Aunt 
Bernstein  to  offer  to  send  some  of  the  bottled  waters  after  her  ! 
Suppose  Madame  Bernstein  says  in  confidence  to  her  own 
woman,  "  Fainting  fits  ! — pooh  ! — epilepsy  !  inherited  from  that 
horrible  scrofulous  German  mother  !  "  What  means  have  we 
of  knowing  the  private  conversation  of  the  old  lady  and  her 
attendant  ?  Suppose  Lady  Maria  orders  Mrs,  Betty,  her  lady- 
ship's maid,  to  taste  ever}\glass  of  medicinal  water,  first  declar- 
ing that  her  aunt  is  capable  of  poisoning  her.?  Very  likely 
such  conversations  take  place.  These  are  but  precautions — 
these  are  the  fire-locks  which  our  old  soldiers  have  at  their 
sides,  loaded  and  cocked,  but  at  present  lying  quiet  on   the 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  , 

Having  Harry's  bond  in  her  pocket,  the  veteran  Maria  did 
not  choose  to  press  for  payment.  She  knew  the  world  too  well 
for  that.  He  was  bound  to  her,  but  she  gave  him  plenty  of 
day-rule,  and  leave  of  absence  on  parole.  It  was  not  her  object 
needlessly  to  chafe  and  anger  her  young  slave.  She  knew  the 
difference  of  ages,  and  that  Harry  must  have  his  pleasures  and 
diversions.  "Take  your  ease  and  amusement,  cousin,"  says 
Lady  Maria.  "  Frisk  about,  prettv  little  mousekin,"  says  gray 
Grimalkin,  purring  in  the  corner,  and  keeping  watch  with  her 
green  eyes.  About  all  that  Harry  was  to  see  and  do  on  his 
first  visit  to  London,  his  female  relatives  had  of  course  talked 
and  joked.  Both  of  the  ladies  knew  perfectlv  what  were  a 
young  gentleman's  ordinary  amusements  in  tliose  days,  and 
spoke  of  them  with  the  frankness  which  characterized  'those 
easy  times. 

Our  wily  Calypso  consoled  herself,  then,  perfectlv,  in  the 
absence  of  her  young  wanderer,  and  took  anv  diversion  which 
came  to  hand.  Mr.  Jack  Morris,  the  gentleman  whom  we  have 
mentioned  as  rejoicing  m  the  company  of  Lord  March  and  Mr. 
Warrington,  was  one  of  these  diversions.  To  live  with  titled 
personages  was  the  delight  of  Jack  Morris's  life ;  and  to  lose 
money  at  cards  to  an  earl's  daughter  was  almost  a  pleasure  to 
him.  Now,  the  Lady  Maria  Esmond  was  an  earl's  daughter 
who  was  very  glad  to  win  money.  She  obtained  permission  to 
take  Mr.  Morris  to  the  Countess  of  Yarmouth's  assemblv,  and 
played  cards  with  him— and  so  everybody  was  pleased     ' 

Thus  the  first  eight-and-forty  hours  after  Mr.  Warrino-ton's 
departure  passed  pretty  cheerily  at  Tunbridge  Wells,  and  Friday 
arrived,  when  the  sermon  was  to  be  delivered  which  we  have 
seen  Mr.  Sampson  preparing.  The  company  at  the  Wells  were 
ready  enough  to  listen  to  it.  Sampson  had  a  reputation  for 
being  a  most  amusing  and  eloquenrt  preacher;  and  if  there 
were  no  breakfast,  conjuror,  dancing  bears,  concert  goin^  on 
the  good  Wells  folk  would  put  up  with  a  sermon.  He  knew 
Lady  Yarmouth  was  coming,  and  what  a  power  she  had  in 
the  giving  of  livings  and  the  dispensing  of  bishoprics,  the 
Defender  of  the  Faith  of  that  day  having  a  remarkable  confi- 
dence in  her  ladyship's  opinion  upon  these  matters ;— and  so 
we  may  be  sure  that  Mr.  Sampson  prepared  his  ven^  best 
discourse  for  her  hearing.  When  the  Great  Man  Is  at  home  at 
the  Castle,  and  walks  over  to  the  little  country  church  in  the 
park,  bringing  the  Duke,  the  Marquis,  and  a  couple  of  Cabinet 
Ministers  with  him,  has  it  ever  been  vour  lot  to  sit  amon^ 
the  congregation,  and  watch   Mr.  Trotter  the  curate  and  his 


,2o  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

sermon  ?  He  looks  anxiously  at  the  Great  Pew  ;  he  falters  as 
he  gives  out  his  text,  and  thinks,  "  Ah,  perhaps  his  lordship 
may  give  me  a  living!"  ^Irs.  Trotter  and  the  girls  look 
anx^iously  at  the  Great  Pew  too,  and  watch  the  effects  of  papa's 
discourse — the  well-known  favorite  discourse — upon  the  big- 
wigs assembled.  Papa's  first  nervousness  is  over:  his  noble 
voice  clears,  warms  to  his  sermon  :  he  kindles  :  he  takes  his 
pocket-handkerchief  out :  he  is  coming  to  that  exquisite  passage 
which  has  made  them  all  cry  at  the  parsonage  :  he  has  begun 
it !  Ah  !  What  is  that  humming  noise,  which  fills  the  edifice, 
and  causes  hob-nailed  Meliboeus  to  grin  at  smock-frocked 
Tityrus?  It  is  the  Right  Honorable  Lord  Naseby,  snoring  in 
the  pew  by  the  fire  !  And  poor  Trotter's  visionary  mitre  dis- 
appears with  the  music. 

Sampson  was  the  domestic  chaplain  of  ^ladame  Bernstein's 
nephew.  The  two  ladies  of  the  Esmond  family  patronized  the 
preacher.  On  the  day  of  the  sermon,  the  Baroness  had  a  little 
breakfast  in  his  honor,  at  which  Sampson  made  his  appearance, 
rosy  and  handsome,  with  a  fresh-flowered  wig,  and  a  smart, 
rustling  new  cassock,  which  he  had  on  credit  from  some  church- 
admiring  mercer  at  the  Wells.  By  the  side  of  his  patronesses, 
their  ladyships'  lacqueys  walking  behind  them  with  their  great 
gilt  prayer-books,  Mr.  Sampson  marched  from  breakfast  to 
church.  Every  one  remarked  how  well  the  Baroness  Bernstein 
looked ;  she  laughed,  and  was  particularly  friendly  with  her 
niece ;  she  had  a  bow  and  a  stately  smile  for  all,  as  she  moved 
on,  with  her  tortoiseshell  cane.  At  the  door  there  was  a 
dazzling  conflux  of  rank  and  fashion— all  the  fine  company  of 
the  We\ls  trooping  in;  and  her  ladyship  of  Yarmouth,  con- 
spicuous with  vermilion  cheeks,  and  a  robe  of  flame-colored 
taffeta.  There  were  shabby  people  present,  besides  the  fine 
company,  though  these  latter  were  by  far  the  most  numerous. 
What  an  odd-looking  pair,  for  instance,  were  those  in  ragged 
coats,  one  of  them  with  his  carroty  hair  appearing  under  his 
scratch-wig,  and  who  entered  the  church  just  as  the  organ 
stopped  !  Nay,  he  could  not  have  been  a  Protestant,  for  he 
mechanically  crossed  himself  as  he  entered  the  place,  saying  to 
his  comrade,  "  Bedad,  Tim,  I  forgawt !  "  by  which  I  conclude 
that  the  individual  came  from  an  island  which  has  been  men- 
tioned at  the  commencement  of  this  chapter.  Wherever  they 
go,  the  rich  fragrance  of  whiskey  spreads  itself.  A  man  may 
be  a  heretic,  but  possess  genius:  these  Catholic  gentlemen 
have  come  to  pay  homage  to  Mr.  Sampson. 

Nay,  there  are  not  only  members  of  the  old  religion  present, 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  ^21 

but  disciples  of  a  creed  still  older.  Who  are  those  two  indi- 
viduals with  hooked  noses  and  sallow  countenances  who 
worked  into  the  church,  in  spite  of  some  little  opposition  on 
the  part  of  the  beadle  ?  Seeing  the  greasy  appearance  of  these 
Hebrew  strangers,  Mr.  Beadle  was  for  denying  them  admission. 
But^  one  whispered  into  his  ear,  "We  wants  to  be  conwerted, 
gov'nor !  "  another  slips  money  into  his  hand,— Mr.  Beadle  lifts 
up  the  mace  with  which  he  was  barring  the  doorway,  and  the 
Hebrew  gentlemen  enter.  There  goes  the  organ! 'the  doors 
have  closed.  Shall  we  go  in,  and  listen  to  Mr.  Sampson's 
sermon,  or  lie  on  the  grass  without .? 

Preceded  by  that  beadle  in  gold  lace,  Sampson  walked  up 
to  the  pulpit,  as  rosy  and  jolly  a  man  as  you  could  wish  to  see. 
Presently,  when  he  surged  up  out  of  his  plump  pulpit  cushion, 
why  did  his  Reverence  turn  as  pale  as  death  ?       He  looked  to 
the  western  church-door— there,  on  each  side   of  it,  were  those 
horrible  Hebrew  Caryatides.       He  then  looked  to  the  vestr}- 
door,  which  was  hard  by  the   rector's  pew^  in  which  Sampson 
had  been  sitting  during  the  service,  alongside  of  their  ladyships 
his  patronesses.       Suddenly,  a  couple  of  perfumed  Hibernian 
gentlemen  slipped  out  of  an  adjacent  seat,  and  placed  them- 
selves on  a  bench  close  by  that  vestry-door  and  rector's  pew 
and  so  sat  till  the  conclusion  of  the  sermon,  with  eyes  meekly 
cast  down  to  the  ground.      How  can  we  describe  that  sermon, 
if  the  preacher  himself  never  knew  how  it  came  to  an  end  .? 
_      Nevertheless,  it  was  considered  an  excellent  sermon.    When 
It  was  over,  the  fine  ladies  buzzed  into  one  another's  ears  over 
their  pews,  and  uttered  their  praises  and  comments.      Madame 
Walmoden,  who  was  in  the  next  pew  to  our  friends,  said  it  was 
bewdiful,  and  made  her  dremble  all  over.       Madame  Bernstein 
said  It  was  excellent.       Lady  Maria  was  pleased   to  think  that 
the  family  chaplain  should  so  distinguish  himself.     She  looked 
up  at  him,  and  strove  to  catch  his  Reverence's  eye,  as  he  still 
sat  in   his  pulpit ;  she  greeted  him  with  a  little  wave  of  the 
hand  and  flutter  of  her  handkerchief.       He  scarcely  seemed  to 
note  the  compliment ;  his  face  was  pale,  his  eyes  were  looking 
yonder,  towards  the  font,  where  those  Hebrews  still  remainecl 
Ihe  stream  of  people  passed  by  them— in   a  rush,  when  they 
were  lostto  sight,— in  a  throng— in  a  march  of  twos  and  threes 
—ma  dribble  of  one  at  a  time.       Ever3-bodv  was  gone.      The 
two  Hebrews  were  still  there  by  the  door.     ' 

The  Baroness  de  Bernstein  and  her  niece  still  lingered  in  the 
the  rector's  pew,  where  the  old  lady  was  in  deep  conversation 
with  that  gentleman. 


21 


322 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


"  Who  are  those  horrible  men  at  the  door  ?  and  what  a 
smell  of  spirits  there  is,"  cries  Lady  Maria  to  Mrs.  Brett,  her 
aunt's  woman,  who  had  attended  the  two  ladies. 

"  Farewell  doctor  ;  you  have  a  darling  little  boy  :  is  he  to 
be  a  clergyman,  too  ?"  asks  Madame  de  Bernstein.  *'  Are 
you  ready,  my  dear  ?  "  And  the  pew  is  thrown  open,  and 
Madame  de  Bernstein,  whose  father  was  only  a  Viscount,  insists 
that  her  niece,  Lady  Maria,  who  was  an  earl's  daughter,  should 
go  first  out  of  the  pew. 

As  she  steps  forward,  those  individuals  whom  her  ladyship 
designated  as  two  horrible  men,  advance.  One  of  them  pulls 
a  long  strip  of  paper  out  of  his  pocket,  and  her  ladyship  starts 
and  turns  pale.  She  makes  for  the  vestry,  in  a  vague  hope 
that  she  can  clear  the  door  and  close  it  behind  hen  The  two 
whiskyfied  gentlemen  are  up  with  her,  however  ;  one  of  them 
actually  lays  his  hand  on  her  shoulder,  and  says  ; — 

"  At  the  shuit  of  Misthress  Pincott  of  Kinsingston,  mercer, 
I  have  the  honor  of  arresting  your  leedyship.  ]\Ie  neem  is 
Costigan,  Madam,  poor  gentleman  of  Oireland,  binding  to 
circumstances,  and  forced  to  follow  a  disagrayable  profession. 
Will  your  leedyship  w^alk,  or  shall  me  man  go  fetch  a  cheer  ? " 

"  For  a  reply  Lady  Maria  Esmond  gives  three  shrieks,  and 
falls  swooning  to  the  ground.  "  Keep  the  door,  Mick  !  "  shouts 
Mr.  Costigan.  "  Best  let  in  no  one  else.  Madam,"  he  says, 
very  politely,  to  Madame  de  Bernstein.  ''  Her  ladyship  has 
fallen  in  a  feenting  fit,  and  will  recover  here,  at  her  aise." 

"  L'nlace  her,  Brett !  "  cries  the  old  lady,  whose  e3-es  twinkle 
oddly  ;  and,  as  soon  as  that  operation  is  performed,  Madame 
Bernstein  seizes  a  little  bag  suspended  by  a  hair  chain,  which 
Lady  Maria  wears  round  her  neck,  and  snips  the  necklace  in 
twain.  "  Dash  some  cold  water  over  her  face,  it  always  re- 
covers her  !  "  says  the  Baroness.  "  You  stay  with  her,  Brett. 
How  much  is  your  suit,  gentlemen  ?  " 

Mr.  Costigan  says,  "  The  cleem  we  have  against  her  leedy- 
ship is  for  one  hundred  and  thirty-two  pounds,  in  which  she  is 
indebted  to  Misthress  Eliza  Pincott." 

Meanwhile,  wdiere  is  the  Reverend  Mr.  Sampson  ?  Like 
the  fabled  opossum  we  have  read  of,  who,  when  he  spied  the 
unerring  gunner  from  his  gum-tree,  said :  "  It's  no  use, 
major,  I  will  come  down,"  so  Sampson  gave  himself  up  to  his 
pursuers.  "At  whose  suit,  Simons  ?  "  he  sadly  asked.  Samp- 
son knew  Simons  :  they  had  met  many  a  time  before. 

"  Buckleby  Cordwainer,"  says  ]\Ir.  Simons. 

"  Forty-eight  pound  and  charges,  I  know,"  says  Mr.  Samp- 


A  FAINTING   FIT. 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  323 

son,  with  a  sigh.  "  I  haven't  got  the  mone}^  What  officer 
is  there  here  ?  "  Mr.  Simons's  companion,  Mr.  Lyons,  here 
stepped  forward,  and  said  his  house  was  most  convenient,  and 
often  used  by  gentlemen,  and  he  should  be  most  happy  and 
proud  to  accommodate  his  Reverence. 

Two  chairs  happened  to  be  in  waiting  outside  the  chapel. 
In  those  two  chairs  my  Lady  Maria  Esmond  and  Mr.  Sampson 
placed  themselves,  and  went  to  Mr.  Lyons's  residence,  escorted 
by  the  gentlemen  to  whom  we  have  just. been  introduced. 

Very  soon  after  the  capture  the  Baroness  Bernstein  sent 
Mr.  Case,  her  confidential  servant,  with  a  note  to  her  niece, 
full  of  expressions  of  the  most  ardent  affection  :  but  regretting 
that  her  heavy  losses  at  cards  rendered  the  payment  of  such  a 
sum  as  that  in  which  Lady  Maria  stood  indebted  quite  impos- 
sible. She  had  written  off  to  Mrs.  Pincott  by  that  very  post, . 
however,  to  entreat  her  to  grant  time,  and  as  soon  as  ever  she 
has  an  answer,  would  not  fail  to  acquaint  her  dearun  happy  niece. 

Mrs.  Betty  came  over  to  console  her  mistress  :  and  the  two 
poor  women  cast  about  for  money  enough  to  provide  a  horse  and 
chaise  for  Mrs.  Betty,  who  had  very  nearly  come  to  misfortune, 
too.  Both  my  Lady  Maria  and  her  maid  had  been  unlucky  at 
cards,  and  could  not  muster  more  than  eighteen  shillings 
between  them  :  so  it  was  agreed  that  Betty  should  sell  a  gold 
chain  belonging  to  "her  lady,  and  with  the  money  travel  to 
London.  Now  Betty  took  the  chain  to  the  very  toy-shop  man 
w^ho  had  sold  it  to  Mr.  Warrington,  who  had  given  it  to  his 
cousin  :  and  the  toy-shop  man,  supposing  that  she  had  stolen 
the  chain,  was  for  bringing  in  a  constable  to  Betty.  Hence, 
she  had  to  make  explanations,  and  to  say  how  her  mistress 
was  in  durance  ;  and,  ere  the  night  closed,  all  Tunbridge  Wells 
knew  that  my  Lady  Maria  Esmond  w^as  in  the  hands  of  bailiffs. 
Meanwhile,  however,  the  money  was  fount',  and  Mrs.  Betty 
whisked  up  to  London  in  search  of  the  champion  in  whom  the 
poor  prisoner  confided. 

"  Don't  say  anything  about  that  paper  being  gone  !  Oh, 
the  wretch,  the  wretch  !  She  shall  pay  it  me  !  "  I  presume 
that  Lady  Maria  meant  her  aunt  by  the  word  "  wretch."  Mr. 
Sampson  read  a  sermon  to  her  ladyship,  and  they  passed  the 
e\-ening  over  revenge  and  backgammon,  with  well-grounded 
hopes  that  Harry  Warrington  would  rush  to  their  rescue  as 
soon  as  ever  he  heard  of  their  mishap. 

Though,  ere  the  evening  was  over,  every  soul  at  the  Wells 
knew  what  had  happened  to  Lady  Maria,  and  a  great  deal 
more  ;  though  they  knew  she  was  taken  in  execution,  the  house 


224  ^-^^^   VIRGINIANS. 

where  she  lay,  the  amount — nay,  ten  times  the  amount — for 
which  she  was  captured,  and  that  she  was  obhged  to  pawn  her 
trinkets  to  get  a  Httle  money  to  keep  her  in  jail ;  though  every- 
body said  that  old  fiend  of  a  Bernstein  was  at  the  bottom  of 
the  business,  of  course  they  were  all  civil  and  bland  in  society; 
and,  at  my  Lady  Trumpington's  cards  that  night,  where 
Madame  Bernstein  appeared,  and  as  long  as  she  was  within 
hearing,  not  a  word  was  said  regarding  the  morning's  transac- 
tions. Lady  Yarmouth  asked  the  Baroness  news  of  her  breddy 
nephew,  and  heard  Mr.  Warrington  was  in  London.  My  Lady 
Maria  was  not  coming  to  Lady  Trumpington's  that  evening  ? 
My  Lady  Maria  was  indisposed,  had  fainted  at  church  that 
morning  and  was  obliged  to  keep  her  room.  The  cards  were 
dealt,  the  fiddles  sang,  the  wine  went  round,  the  gentlefolks 
talked,  laughed,  yawned,  chattered,  the  footmen  waylaid  the 
supper,  the  chairmen  drank  and  swore,  the  stars  climbed  the 
sky,  just  as  though  no  Lady  Maria  was  imprisoned,  and  no 
poor  Sampson  arrested. 

Perhaps  Madame  de  Bernstein  stayed  at  the  assembly  until 
the  very  last,  not  willing  to  allow  the  company  the  chance  of 
speaking  of  her  as  soon  as  her  back  should  be  turned.  Ah, 
what  a  comfort  it  is,  I  say  again,  that  we  have  backs,  and  that 
our  ears  don't  grow  on  them  !  He  tha^  has  ears  to  hear,  let 
him  stuff  them  with  cotton.  Madame  Bernstein  might  have 
heard  folks  say  it  was  heartless  of  her  to  come  abroad,  and  play 
at  cards,  and  make  merry  when  her  niece  was  in  trouble.  As  if 
she  could  help  Maria  by  staying  at  home,  indeed  !  At  her  age, 
it  is  dangerous  to  disturb  an  old  lady's  tranquility.  "  Don't 
tell  me  !  "  says  Lady  Yarmouth.  "  The  Bernstein  would  play 
at  carts  over  her  niece's  coffin.  Talk  about  her  heart  !  who 
ever  said  she  had  one  ?  The  old  spy  lost  it  to  the  Chevalier  a 
thousand  years  ago,  and  has  lived  ever  since  perfectly  well  with- 
out one.  For  how  much  is  the  Maria  put  in  prison  ?  If  it 
were  only  a  small  sum,  we  would  pay  it,  it  would  vex  her  aunt 
so.  Find  out,  Fuchs,  in  the  morning,  for  how  much  Lady  Maria 
Esmond  is  put  in  prison."  And  the  faithful  Fuchs  bowed,  and 
promised  to  do  her  Excellency's  will. 

Meanwhile,  about  midnight,  Madame  de  Bernstein  went 
home,  and  presently  fell  into  a  sound  sleep,  from  which  she  did 
not  wake  up  until  a  late  hour  of  the  morning,  when  she  sum- 
moned her  usual  attendant,  who  arrived  with  her  ladyship's 
morning  dish  of  tea.  If  I  told  you  she  took  a  dram  with  it,  you 
would  be  shocked.  Some  of  our  great-grandmothers  used  to 
have  cordials  in  their  "'  closets."     Have  you  not  read  of  the 


THE   VIRGINIANS, 


325 


fine  lady  in  Walpole,  who  said,  "  If  I  drink  more,  I  shall  be 
*  muckibus  !  '  ?  "  As  surely  as  Mr.  Gough  is  alive  now,  our 
ancestresses  were  accustomed  to  partake  pretty  freely  of  strong 
waters. 

So,  having  tipped  off  the  cordial,  Madame  Bernstein  rouses 
and  asks  Mrs.  Brett  the  news. 

"  He  can  give  it  you,"  says  the  waiting-woman,  sulkily. 

"  He  ?     Who  ?  " 

Mrs.  Brett  names  Harr}^,  and  says  Mr.  Warrington  arrived 
about  midnight  yesterday — and  Bett}^,  my  Lady  Maria's  maid, 
was  Mith  him.  "  And  my  Lady  Maria  sends  your  ladyship  her 
love  and  duty,  and  hopes  you  slept  well,"  says  Brett. 

"  Excellently,  poor  thing  !     Is  Betty  gone  to  her  }  " 

"  No  ;  she  is  here,"  says  Mrs.  Brett. 

"  Let  me  see  her  directly,"  cries  the  old  lady. 

"  I'll  tell  her,"  replies  the  obsequious  Brett,  and  goes  away 
upon  her  mistress's  errand,  leaving  the  old  lady  placidly  repos- 
ing on  her  pillows.  Presently,  two  pairs  of  high-heeled  shoes 
are  heard  pattering  over  the  deal  floor  of  the  bed-chamber. 
Carpets  were  luxuries  scarcely  known  in  bed-rooms  of  those 
days. 

"  So,  Mrs.  Betty,  you  were  in  London  yesterday  ?  "  calls 
Bernstein  from  her  curtains. 

"  It  is  not  Betty — it  is  I !  Good  morning,  dear  aunt !  I 
hope  you  slept  well  ?  "  cries  a  voice  which  made  old  Bernstein 
start  on  her  pillow.  It  was  the  voice  of  Lady  Maria,  who  drew 
the  curtains  aside,  and  dropped  her  aunt  a  low  curtsey.  Lady 
Maria  looked  very  pretty,  rosy,  and  happy.  And 'with  the 
little  surprise  incident  at  her  appearance  through  Madame 
Bernstein's  curtains,  I  think  we  may  bring  this  chapter  to  a 
close. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

HARRY     TO     THE     RESCUE. 


^  "  My  dear  Lord  March  "  (wrote  Mr.  Warrington  from  Tun- 
bridge  Wells,  on  Saturday  morning,  the  25th  August,  1756): 
"  This  is  to  inform  you  (with  satisfaction)  that  I  have  won  all 
our  three  beits.  I  was  at  Bromley  two  minutes  within  the 
hour  ;  my  new  horses  kept  a-going  at  a  capital  rate.  I  drove 
them  myself,  having  the  postilion  by  me  to  show  me   the   way, 


326  THE   VIRGIXIANS. 

and  my  black  man  inside  with  Mrs.  Betty.  Hope  they  found 
the  drive  very  pleasant.  We  were  not  stopped  on  Blackheath, 
tliough  two  fellows  on  horseback  rode  up  to  us,  but  not  liking 
the  looks  of  our  couiitenantses,  rode  off  again  ;  and  we  got  into 
Tunbridge  Wells  (where  I  transacted  my  business)  at  forty-five 
minutes  after  eleven.  This  makes  me  quitts  with  your  lordship 
after  yesterday's  picquet,  which  I  shall  be  very  happy  to  give 
you  your  revenge,  and  am 

"  Your  most  obliged,  faithful  servant, 

"  H.  Esmond  Warrington." 

And  now,  perhaps,  the  reader  will  understand  by  what 
means  Lady  Maria  Esmond  was  enabled  to  surprise  her  dear 
aunt  in  her  bed  on  Saturday  morning,  and  walk  out  of  the 
house  of  captivity.  Having  despatched  Mrs.  Betty  to  London, 
she  scarcely  expected  that  her  emissary  would  return  on  the 
day  of  her  departure  ;  and  she  and  the  Chaplain  w^ere  play- 
ing their  cards  at  midnight,  after  a  small  refection  which  the 
bailiff's  wife  had  provided  for  them,  when  the  rapid  whirling 
of  wheels  was  heard  approaching  their  house,  and  caused  the 
lady  to  lay  her  trumps  down,  and  her  heart  to  beat  with  more 
than  ordinary  emotion.  Whirr  came  the  wheels — the  carriage 
stojDped  at  the  very  door  :  there  was  a  parley  at  the  gate  :  then 
appeared  Mrs.  Betty,  with  a  face  radiant  with  joy,  though  her 
eyes  were  full  of  tears  ;  and  next,  who  is  that  tall  young  gen- 
tleman who  enters  'i  Can  any  of  my  readers  guess  ?  Will 
they  be  very  angry  if  I  say  that  the  Caplain  slapped  down  his 
cards  with  an  huzzay,  whilst  Lady  Maria,  turning  as  wdiite  as 
a  sheet,  rose  up  from  her  chair,  tottered  forward  a  step  or  two, 
and,  with  an  hysterical  shriek,  flung  herself  in  her  cousin's 
arms  ?  How  many  kisses  did  he  give  her  ?  If  they  w^ere  millc, 
deinde  centum,  dein  milk  altcj-a,  dein  secimda  centum,  and  so  on, 
I  am  not  going  to  cry  out.  He  had  come  to  rescue  her.  She 
knew  he  would  ;  he  was  her  champion,  her  prescr  .er  from  bond- 
age and  ignominy.  She  wept  a  genuine  flood  of  tears  upon 
his  shoulder,  and  as  she  reclines  there,  giving  way  to  a  hearty 
emotion,  I  protest  I  think  she  looks  handsomer  than  she  has 
looked  during  the  whole  course  of  this  history.  She  did  not 
faint  this  time  :  she  went  home,  leaning  lovingly  on  her  cousin's 
arm,  and  may  have  had  one  or  two  hysterical  outbreaks  in 
the  night ;  but  Madame  Bernstein  slept  soundly,  and  did  not 
hear  her. 

"You  are  both  free  to  go  home,"  were  the  first  words 
Harry  said.      ''  Get  my  lady's  hat   and  cardinal,   Betty,    and 


THE   VIRGIXIANS.  327 

Chaplain,  we'll  smoke  a  pipe  together  at  our  lodgings,  it  will 
refresh  me  after  my  ride."  The  Chaplain,  who,  too,  had  a 
great  deal  of  available  sensibility,  was  very  much  overcome  ; 
he  burst  into  tears  as  he  seized  Harry's  hand,  and  kissed  it, 
and  prayed  God  to  bless  his  dear  generous  young  patron.  Mr. 
Warrington  felt  a  glow  of  pleasure  thrill  through  his  frame. 
It  is  good  to  be  able  to  help  the  suffering  and  the  poor ;  it 
is  good  to  be  able  to  turn  sorrow  into  joy.  Not  a  little 
proud  and  elated  was  our  young  champion,  as,  with  his  hat 
cocked,  he  marched  by  the  side  of  his  rescued  princess.  His 
feelings  came  out  to  meet  him,  as  it  were,  and  beautiful  happi- 
nesses with  kind  eyes  and  smiles  danced  before  him,  and  clad 
him  in  a  robe  of  honor,  and  scattered  flowers  on  his  path,  and 
blew  trumpets  and  shawms  of  sweet  gratulation,  calling,  "  Here 
comes  the  conqueror  !  Make  way  for  the  champion  !  "  And 
so  they  led  him  up  to  the  king's  house,  and  seated  him  in  the 
hall  of  complacency,  upon  the  cushions  of  comfort.  And  yet 
it  was  not  much  he  had  done.  Only  a  kindness.  He  had 
but  to  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket,  and  with  an  easy  talisman, 
drive  off  the  dragon  which  kept  the  gate,  and  cause  the  tyrant 
to  lay  down  his  axe,  who  had  got  Lady  Maria  in  execution. 
Never  mind  if  his  vanity  is  puffed  up  ;  he  is  very  good-na- 
tured ;  he  has  rescued  two  unfortunate  people,  and  pumped 
tears  of  goodwill  and  happiness  out  of  their  eyes  : — and  if  he 
brags  a  little  to-night,  and  swaggers  somewhat  to  the  Chaplain, 
and  talks  about  London  and  Lord  March,  and  White's,  and 
Almack's,  with  the  air  of  a  maccaroni,  I  don't  think  we  need 
like  him  much  the  less. 

Sampson  continued  to  be  prodigiously  affected.  This  man 
had  a  nature  most  easily  worked  upon,  and  extraordinarily  quick 
to  receive  pain  and  pleasure,  to  tears,  gratitude,  laughter,  ha- 
tred, liking.  In  his  preaching  profession  he  had  educated  and 
trained  his  sensibilities  so  that  they  were  of  great  use  to  him  ; 
he  was  for  the  moment  what  he  acted.  He  wept  quite  genuine 
tears,  finding  that  he  could  produce  them  freely.  He  loved 
you  whilst  he  was  with  you  ;  he  had  a  real  pang  of  grief  as  he 
mingled  his  sorrow  with  the  widow  or  orphan  ;  and,  meeting 
Jack  as  he  came  out  of  the  door,  went  to  the  tavern  opposite, 
and  laughed  and  roared  over  the  bottle.  He  gave  money  very 
readily,  but  never  repaid  when  he  borrowed.  He  was  on  this 
night  in  a  rapture  of  gradtude  and  flattery  towards  Harry 
Warrington.  In  all  London,  perhaps,  the  unlucky  Fortunate 
Youth  could  not  have  found  a  more  dangerous  companion. 

To-night   Sampson  was  in   his  grateful  mood,  and  full  of 


328 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


enthusiasm  for  the  benefactor  who  had  released  him  from  dur- 
ance. With  each  bumper  his  admiration  grew  stronger.  He 
exalted  Harry  as  the  best  and  noblest  of  men,  and  the  com- 
placent young  simpleton,  as  we  have  said,  was  disposed  to  take 
these  praises  as  very  well  deserved.  "  The  younger  branch  of 
our  family,"  said  Mr.  Harry  with  a  superb  air,  "  have  treated 
you  scurv'ily;  but,  by  Jove,  Sampson  my  boy,  I'll  stand  by 
you ! "  At  a  certain  period  of  Burgundian  excitement  Mr. 
Warrington  was  always  very  eloquent  respecting  the  splendor 
of  his  famil3\  "  I  am  very  glad  I  was  enabled  to  help  you  in 
your  strait.  Count  on  me  whenever  you  want  me,  Sampson. 
Did  you  not  say  you  had  a  sister  at  boarding-school  ?  You 
wall  want  money  for  her,  sir.  Here  is  a  little  bill  which  may 
help  to  pay  her  schooling."  And  the  liberal  young  fellow 
passed  a  bank-note  across  to  the  Chaplain. 

Again  the  man  was  affected  to  tears.  Harry's  generosity 
smote  him. 

"  Mr.  Warrington,"  he  said,  putting  the  bank-note  a  short 
distance  from  him,  'T — I  don't  deserve  your  kindness, — by 
George,  I  don't  !  "  and  he  swore  an  oath  to  corroborate  his 
passionate  assertion. 

*'  Psha  !  "  says  Harry.  "  I  have  plenty  more  of  'em.  There, 
was  no  money  in  that  confounded  pocket-book  which  I  lost 
last  week." 

"No,  sir.  There  was  no  money !"  says  Mr.  Sampson, 
dropping  his  head. 

"Hallo!  How  do  you  know,  Mr.  Chaplain  ?"  asks  the 
young  gentleman. 

"  I  know  because  I  am  a  villain,  sir.  I  am  not  worthy  of 
your  kindness.  I  told  you  so.  I  found  the  book,  sir,  that 
night,  when  you  had  too  much  wine  at  Barbeau's." 

"  And  read  the  letters  ?"  asked  Mr.  Warrington,  starting  up 
and  turning  very  red. 

"  They  told  me  nothing  I  did  not  know,  sir,"  said  the  Chap- 
lain. "  You  have  had  spies  about  you  whom  you  little  suspect 
— from  whom  3'ou  are  much  too  young  and  simple  to  be  able  to 
keep  your  secret." 

"  Are  those  stories  about  Lady  Fanny,  and  my  cousin  \M11 
and  his  doings,  true  then  ? "  inquired  Harry. 

"  Yes,  they  are  true,"  sighed  the  Chaplain.  "  The  house  of 
Castlewood  has  not  been  fortunate,  sir,  since  your  honor's 
branch,  the  elder  branch,  left  it." 

"  Sir,  you  don't  dare  for  to  breathe  a  word  against  mv  Lady 
Maria  ?  "  Harry  cried  out. 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


329 


"Oh,  not  for  worlds!"  says  Mr.  Samps»on,  with  a  queei 
look  at  his  young  friend.  *'  I  may  think  she  is  too  old  for  your 
honor,  and  that  'tis  a  pity  you  should  not  have  a  wife  better 
suited  to  your  age,  though  I  admit  she  looks  very  young  for 
hers,  and  hath  every  virtue  and  accomplishment." 

"  She  is  too  old,  Sampson,  I  know  she  is,"  says  Mr.  War- 
rington, with  much  majesty;  "but  she  has  my  word,  and  you 
see,  sir,  how  fond  she  is  of  me.  Go  bring  me  the  letters,  sir, 
which  you  found,  and  let  me  try  and  forgive  you  for  having 
seized  upon  them." 

"  My  benefactor,  let  me  try  and  forgive  myself!  "  cries  Mr. 
Sampson,  and  departed  towards  his  chamber,  leaving  his  young 
patron  alone  ever  his  wine. 

Sampson  returned  presently,  looking  very  pale.  "  What 
has  happened,  sir?  "  says  Harry,  with  an  imperious  air. 

The  Chaplain  held  out  a  pocket-book.  "  With  your  name 
in  it,  sir,"  he  said. 

"  My  brother's  name  in  it,"  says  Harry  ;  "  it  was  George 
who  gave  it  to  me." 

"  I  kept  it  in  a  locked  chest  sir,  in  which  I  left  it  this 
morning  before  I  was  taken  by  those  people.  Here  is  the  book, 
sir,  but  the  letters  are  gone.  My  trunk  and  valise  have  also 
been  tampered  with.  And  I  am  a  miserable,  guilty  man,  un- 
able to  make  you  the  restitution  which  I  owe  3^ou."  Sampson 
looked  the  picture  of  woe  as  he  uttered  these  sentiments.  He 
clasped  his  hands  together,  and  almost  knelt  before  Harry  in 
an  attitude  the  most  pathetic. 

Who  had  been  in  the  rooms  in  Mr.  Sampson's  and  Mr. 
Warrington's  absence  ?  The  landlady  was  ready  to  go  on  her 
knees,  and  declare  that  nobody  had  come  in  :  nor,  indeed,  was 
Mr.  Warrington's  chamber  in  the  least  disturbed,  nor  anything 
abstracted  from  Mr.  Sampson's  scanty  wardrobe  and  posses- 
sions, except  those  papers  of  which  he  deplored  the  absence. 

Whose  interest  was  it  to  seize  them  ?  Lady  Maria's  ?  The 
poor  woman  had  been  a  prisoner  all  day,  and  during  the  time 
when  the  capture  was  effected. 

She  certainly  was  guiltless  of  the  rape  of  the  letters.  The 
sudden  seizure  of  the  two — Case,  the  house-steward's  secret 
journey  to  London, — Case,  who  knew  the  shoemaker  at  whose 
house  Sampson  lodged  in  London,  and  all  the  secret  affairs 
of  the  Esmond  family,  —  these  points,  considered  together 
and  separated,  might  make  Mr.  Sampson  think  that  the  Bar- 
oness Bernstein  was  at  the  bottom  of  this  mischief.  But 
why  arrest  Lady  Maria  ?     The   Chaplain  knew  nothing  as  yet 


330  THE  VIRGINIANS. 

about  that  letter  which  her  ladyship  had  lost :  for  poor  Maria 
had  not  thought  it  necessary  to  confide  her  secret  to  him. 

As  for  the  pocket-book  and  its  contents,  Mr.  Harry  was  so 
swollen  up  with  self-satisfaction  that  evening,  at  winning  his 
three  bets,  at  rescuing  his  two  friends,  at  the  capital  cold 
supper  of  partridges  and  ancient  Burgundy  which  obsequious 
Monsieur  Barbeau  had  sent  over  to  the  young  gentleman's 
lodgings,  that  he  accepted  Sampson's  vows  of  contrition,  and 
solemn  promises  of  future  fidelity,  and  reached  his  gracious 
hand  to  the  Chaplain,  and  condoned  his  offence.  When  the 
iatter  swore  his  great  gods,  that  henceforth  he  would  be  Harry's 
truest,  humblest  friend  and  follower,  and  at  any  moment  would 
be  ready  to  die  for  Mr.  Warrington,  Harry  said,  majestically, 
"  I  think,  Sampson,  you  would  ;  I  hojDe  you  would.  My  family 
— the  Esmond  family — has  always  been  accustomed  to  have 
faithful  friends  round  about  'em — and  to  reward  'em  too.  The 
wine's  with  you  Chaplain.    What  toast  do  you  call,  sir  ?  " 

"  I  call  a  blessing  on  the  house  of  Esmond-Warrington  !  " 
cries  the  Chaplain,  with  real  tears  in  his  eyes. 

"  We  are  the  elder  branch,  sir.  My  grandfather  was  the 
Marquis  of  Esmond,"  says  Mr.  Harry,  in  a  voice  noble  but 
somewhat  indistinct.  "  Here's  to  you,  Chaplain — and  I  forgive 
you,  sir — and  God  bless  you,  sir — and  if  you  had  been  took  for 
three  times  as  much,  Ed  have  paid  it.  ^^'hy,  what's  that  I  see 
through  the  shutters  ?  I  am  blest  if  the  sun  hasn't  risen  again ! 
W^e  have  no  need  of  candles  to  go  to  bed,  ha,  ha !  "  And  once 
more  extending  his  blessing  to  his  chaplain,  the  young  fellow 
went  off  to  sleep. 

About  noon  Madame  de  Bernstein  sent  over  a  servant  to 
say  that  she  would  be  glad  if  her  nephew  would  come  over  and 
drink  a  dish  of  chocolate  with  her  :  whereupon  our  ycu  ig  friend 
rose  and  walked  to  his  aunt's  lodgings.  She  remarked,  not 
without  pleasure,  some  alteration  in  his  toilette:  in  his  brief 
sojourn  in  London  he  had  visited  a  tailor  or  two,  and  had  been 
introduced  by  my  Lord  March  to  some  of  his  lordship's  pur 
veyors  and  tradesmen. 

Aunt  Bernstein  called  him  "  my  dearest  child,"  and  thanked 
him  for  his  noble,  his  generous  behavior  to  dear  ^Mari:.  What 
a  shock  that  seizure  in  church  had  been  to  her  !  A  stiil  greater 
shock  that  she  had  lost  three  hundred  only  on  the  Wednesday 
night  to  Lady  Yarmouth,  and  was  quite  a  sec.  "Why,"  said 
the  Baroness,  "  I  had  to  send  Case  to  London  to  my  agent  to 
get  me  money  to  pay — I  could  not  leave  Tunbridge  in  het 
debt." 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


331 


"  So  Case  did  go  to  London  ! '"  says  Mr.  Harr}-. 

"  Of  course  he  did  :  the  Baroness  de  Bernstein  can't  afford 
to  say  she  wants  money.     Canst  thou  lend  me  some,  child  1 " 

"I  can  give  your  ladyship  twenty-two  pounds,"  said  Harry, 
blushing  very  red  :  "  I  have  but  forty-four  left  till  I  get  my  Vir- 
ginian remittances.  I  have  bought  horses  and  clothes,  and 
been  very  extravagant,  aunt." 

"  And  rescued  your  poor  relations  in  distress,  you  prodigal 
good  boy.  No,  child,  I  do  not  want  thy  money.  I  can  give 
thee  some.  Here  is  a  note  upon  my  agent  for  fifty  pounds, 
vaurien  !  Go  and  spend  it,  and  be  merry !  I  dare  say  thy 
mother  will  repay  me,  though  she  does  not  love  me."  And  she 
looked  quite  affectionate,  and  held  out  a  pretty  hand,  which  the 
youth  kissed. 

"  Your  mother  did  not  love  me,  but  your  mother's  father 
did  once.  Mind,  sir,  you  always  come  to  me  when  you  have 
need  of  me." 

When  bent  on  exhibiting  them  nothing  could  exceed  Beatrix 
Bernstein's  grace  or  good  humor.  "  I  can't  help  loving  you, 
child,"  she  continued,  "  and  yet  I  am  so  angry  with  you  that  I 
have  scarce  the  patience  to  speak  to  you.  So  you  have  ac- 
tually engaged  yourself  to  poor  Maria,  who  is  as  old  as  your 
mother  ?  What  will  Madam  Esmond  say  ?  She  may  live  three 
hundred  years,  and  you  wiU  not  have  wherewithal  to  support 
yourselves." 

"  I  have  ten  thousand  pounds  from  my  father,  of  my  own, 
now  my  poor  brother  is  gone,"  said  Harry,  "  that  will  go  some 
way." 

"Why,  the  interest  will  not  keep  you  in  card-money." 

"  We  must  give  up  cards,"  says  Harry. 

"  It  is  more  than  Maria  is  capable  of.  She  will  pawn  the 
coat  off  your  back  to  play.  The  rage  for  it  runs  in  all  my 
brother's  family — in  me  too,  I  own  it.  I  warned  you.  I  prayed 
you  not  to  play  with  them,  and  now  a  lad  of  twenty  to  engage 
himself  to  a  woman  of  forty-two ! — to  write  letters  on  his  knees 
and  signed  with  his  heart's  blood  (which  he  spells  like  harts- 
horn), and  say  that  he  will  marry  no  other  woman  than  his 
adorable  cousin,  Lady  Maria  Esmond.    Oh  !  it's  cruel — cruel !  " 

'•  Great  heavens  !  jNIadam,  who  showed  you  my  letter  ?  " 
asked  Harry,  burning  with  a  blush  again. 

''  An  accident.  She  fainted  when  she  was  taken  by  those 
bailiffs.  Brett  cut  her  laces  for  her  ;  and  when  she  was  carried 
off,  poor  thing,  we  found  a  little  sachet  on  the  floor^  which  I 
opened,  not  knowing  in  the  least  what  it  contained.     And  in  it 


332 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


was  Mr.  Harry  Warrington's  precious  letter.  And  here,  sir,  is 
the  case." 

A  pang  shot  througli  Harry's  heart.  "  Great  heavens  !  why 
didn't  you  destroy  it .''  "  he  thouglit. 

"  I — I  will  give  it  back  to  Maria,"  he  said,  stretching  out 
his  hand  for  the  little  locket. 

"  My  dear,  I  have  burned  the  foolish  letter,"  said  the  old 
lady.  "  If  you  choose  to  betray  me  I  must  take  the  conse- 
quence. If  you  choose  to  write  another,  I  cannot  help  thee. 
But,  in  that  case,  Harry  Esmond,  I  had  rather  never  see  thee 
again.  Will  you  keep  my  secret  1  Will  you  believe  an  old 
woman  who  loves  you  and  knows  the  w^orld  better  than  you 
do  }  I  tell  you,  if  you  keep  that  foolish  promise,  misery  and 
ruin  are  surely  in  store  for  you.  What  is  a  lad  like  you  in  the 
hands  of  a  wily  woman  of  the  world,  who  makes  a  toy  of  you  .'' 
She  has  entrapped  you  into  a  promise,  and  your  old  aunt  has 
cut  the  strings  and  set  you  free.  Go  back  again  !  Betray  me 
if  you  will,  Harry." 

"I  am  not  angry  with  you,  aunt — I  wish  I  were,"  said  Mr. 
\\'arrington,  with  very  great  emotion.  "  I — I  shall  not  repeat 
what  you  told  me." 

"  Maria  never  will,  child — mark  my  words  !  "  cried  the  old 
lady,  eagerly.  "  She  will  never  own  that  she  has  lost  that 
paper.     She  will  tell  you  that  she  has  it." 

"  But  I  am  sure  she — she  is  very  fond  of  me  ;  you  should 
have  seen  her  last  night,"  faltered  Harry. 

'•  Must  I  tell  more  stories  against  my  own  flesh  and  blood  ?  " 
sobs  out  the  Baroness.  "  Child,  you  do  not  know  her  past 
life!" 

"  And  I  must  not,  and  I  will  not !  "  cries  Harry,  starting  up. 
"  Written  or  said — it  does  not  matter  which  !  But  my  word  is 
given  ;  they  may  play  with  such  things  in  England,  but  we 
gentlemen  of  Virginia  don't  break  'em.  If  she  holds  me  to  my 
word,  she  shall  have  me.  If  we  are  miserable,  as,  I  'dare  say 
we  shall  be,  I'll  take  a  firelock,  and  go  join  the  King  of  Prussia, 
or  let  a  ball  put  an  end  to  me." 

"  I — I  have  no  more  to  say.  \M11  you  be  pleased  to  ring 
that  bell  1  I — I  wish  you  a  good  morning,  Mr.  Warrington." 
And,  dropping  a  very  stately  curtsey,  the  old  lady  rose  on  her 
tortoiseshell  stick,  and  turned  towards  the  door.  But,  as  she 
made  her  first  step,  she  put  her  hand  to  her  heart,  sank  on  the 
sofa  again,  and  shed  the  first  tears  that  had  dropped  for  long 
years  from  Beatrix  Esmond's  eyes. 

Harry  was  greatly  moved,  too.     He  knelt  down  by  her 


THE   VIRGIAHANS.  ^^Z'^ 

He  seized  her  cold  hand,  and  kissed  it.  He  told  her,  in  hi.3 
artless  way,  how  very  keenly  he  had  felt  her  love  for  him,  and 
how,  with  all  his  heart,  he  returned  it.  "  Ah,  aunt !  "  said  he, 
"you  don't  know  what  a  villain  I  feel  myself.  When  you  told 
me,  just  now,  how  that  paper  was  burned — oh  !  I  was  ashamed 
to  think  how  glad  I  was."  He  bowed  his  comely  head  over 
her  hand.  She  felt  hot  drops  from  his  eyes  raining  on  it.  She 
had  loved  this  boy.  For  half  a  century  past — never,  perhaps, 
in  the  course  of  her  whole  worldly  life — had  she  felt  a  sensa- 
tion so  tender  and  so  pure.  The  hard  heart  was  wounded  now, 
softened,  overcome.  She  put  her  two  hands  on  his  shoulders, 
and  lightly  kissed  his  forehead. 

"  You  will  not  tell  her  what  I  have  done,  child  ?  "  she  said. 

He  declared  "  Never  !  never  !  "  And  demure  Mrs.  Brett, 
entering  at  her  mistress's  summons  found  the  nephew  and  aunt 
in  this  sentimental  attitude. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

IN   WHICH    HARRY    PAYS    OFF    AN    OLD    DEBT,    AND    INCURS    SOME 
NEW    ONES. 

Our  Tunbridge  friends  were  now  weary  of  the  Wells,  and 
eager  to  take  their  departure.  When  the  autumn  should  arrive, 
Bath  was  Madame  de  Bernstein's  mark.  There  were  more 
cards,  company,  life,  there.  She  would  reach  it  after  papng  a 
few  visits  to  her  country  friends.  Harry  promised,  with  rather 
a  bad  grace,  to  ride  with  Lady  Maria  and  the  Chaplain  to 
Castlewood.  Again  they  passed  by  Oakhurst  village,  and  the 
hospitable  house  where  Harry  had  been  so  kindly  entertained. 
Alaria  made  so  many  keen  remarks  about  the  young  ladies  of 
Oakhurst,  and  their  setting  their  caps  at  Harr)%  and  the 
mother's  evident  desire  to  catch  him  for  one  of  them,  that, 
somewhat  in  a  pet,  Mr.  Warrington  said  he  would  pass  his 
friends'  door,  as  her  ladyship  disliked  and  abused  them  ;  and 
was  very  haughty  and  sulky  that  evening  at  the  inn  where  they 
stopped,  some  few  miles  further  on  the  road. "  At  supper,  my 
Lady  Maria's  smiles  brought  no  corresponding  good  humor  to 
Harry's  face  ;  her  tears  (which  her  ladyship  had  at  command) 
did  not  seem  to  create  the  least  sympathy  from  Mr.  Warring- 


334 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


ton ;  to  her  querulous  remarks  he  growled  a  surly  reply  ;  and 
my  lady  was  obliged  to  go  to  bed  at  length  without  getting  a 
single  tete-a-tete  with  her  cousin, — that  obstinate  chaplain,  as  if 
by  order,  persisting  in  staying  in  the  room.  Had  Harry  given 
Sampson  orders  to  remain  ?  She  departed  with  a  sigh.  He 
bowed  her  to  the  door  with  an  obstinate  politeness,  and  con- 
signed her  to  the  care  of  the  landlady  and  her  maid. 

What  horse  was  that  w^iich  galloped  out  of  the  inn-yard  ten 
minutes  after  Lady  Maria  had  gone  to  her  chamber  t  An  hour 
after  her  departure  from  their  supper-room,  Mrs.  Betty  came  in 
for  her  lady's  bottle  of  smelling-salts,  and  found  Parson  Samp- 
son smoking  a  pipe  alone.  Mr.  Warrington  was  gone  to  bed — 
was  gone  to  fetch  a  walk  in  the  moonlight — how  should  he 
know  where  Mr.  Harry  was,  Sampson  answered,  in  reply  to 
the  maid's  interrogatories.  Mr.  Warrington  was  ready  to  set 
forward  the  next  morning,  and  took  his  place  by  the  side  of 
Lady  Maria's  carriage.  But  his  brow  was  black — the  dark 
spirit  was  still  on  him.  He  hardly  spoke  to  her  during  the 
journey.  "  Great  heavens  !  she  must  have  told  him  that  she 
stole  it !  "  thought  Lady  Maria  within  her  own  mind. 

The  fact  is  that,  as  they  were  walking  up  that  steep  hill 
W'hich  lies  about  three  miles  from  Oakhurst,  on  the  Westerham 
road.  Lady  Maria  Esmond,  leaning  on  her  fond  youth's  arm, 
and  indeed  very  much  in  love  with  him,  had  warbled  into  his 
ear  the  most  sentimental  vows,  protests,  and  expressions  of 
affection.  As  she  grew  fonder,  he  grew  colder  !  As  she  looked 
up  in  his  face,  the  sun  shone  down  upon  hers,  which,  fresh  and 
well-preserved  as  it  was,  yet  showed  some  of  the  lines  and 
wrinkles  of  twoscore  years ;  and  poor  Harry,  with  that  arm 
leaning  on  his,  felt  it  intolerably  weighty,  and  by  no  means 
relished  his  walk  up  the  hill.  To  think  that  all  his  life  that  drag 
was  to  be  upon  him  !  It  w^as  a  dreary  look  forward  ;  and  he 
cursed  the  moonlight  walk,  and  the  hot  evening,  and  the  hot 
wine  which  had  made  him  give  that  silly  pledge  by  which  he 
was  fatally  bound. 

Maria's  praises  and  raptures  annoyed  Harry  beyond  measure. 
The  poor  thing  poured  out  scraps  of  the  few  plays  which  she 
knew  that  had  reference  to  her  case,  and  strove  with  her  utmost 
power  to  charm  her  young  companion.  She  called  him,  over 
and  over  again,  her  champion,  her  Enrico,  her  preserver,  and 
vowed  that  his  Molinda  would  be  ever,  ever  faithful  to  him. 
She  clung  to  him.  "  Ah,  child  !  have  I  not  thy  precious  image, 
thy  precious  hair,  thy  precious  writing  hereV^  she  said,  looking 
in  his  face.     "  Shall  it  not  go  with  me  to  the  grave  ?     It  would, 


THE  VIRGINIANS. 


335 


sir,  were  I  to  meet  with  unkindness  from  my  Enrico  !  "  she 
sighed  out. 

Here  was  a  strange  story  !  Madame  Bernstein  had  given 
him  the  Uttle  silken  case — she  had  burned  the  hair  and  the  note 
which  the  case  contained,  and  Maria  had  it  still  on  her  heart !  It 
was  then,  at  the  start  which  Harry  gave,  as  she  was  leaning  on 
his  arm, — at  the  sudden  movement  as  if  he  would  drop  hers — that 
Lady  Maria  felt  her  first  pang  of  remorse  that  she  had  told  a 
fib,  or  rather,  that  she  was  found  out  in  telling  a  fib,  which  is  a 
far  more  cogent  reason  for  repentance.  Heaven  help  us !  if 
some  people  were  to  do  penance  for  telling  lies,  would  they 
ever  be  out  of  sackcloth  and  ashes  ? 

Arrived  at  Castlewood,  Mr.  Harry's  good  humor  was  not 
increased.  My  lord  was  from  home  ;  the  ladies  also  were 
away  ;  the  only  member  of  the  family  whom  Harry  found,  was 
Mr.  Will,  who  returned  from  partridge-shooting  just  as  the  chaise 
and  cavalcade  reached  the  gate,  and  who  turned  very  pale 
when  he  saw  his  cousin,  and  received  a  sulky  scowl  of  recog- 
nition from  the  young  A^irginian. 

Nevertheless,  he  thought  to  put  a  good  face  on  the  matter, 
and  they  met  at  supper,  where,  before  my  Lady  Maria,  their 
conversation  was  at  first  civil,  but  not  lively.  Mr.  Will  had 
been  to  some  races  ?  to  several.  He  had  been  pretty  success- 
ful in  his  bets  t  Mr.  Warrington  hopes.  Pretty  well.  "  And 
you  have  brought  back  my  horse  sound  1 "  asked  Mr.  Warring- 
ton. 

"Your  horse  ?  what  horse  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Will. 

"What  horse  .?  my  horse  !  "  says  Mr.  Harry,  curtly. 

"  Protest  I  don't  understand  you,"  says  Will. 

"  The  brown  horse  for  which  I  played  you,  and  which  I  won 
of  you  the  night  before  you  rode  away  upon  it,"  says  Mr.  War- 
rington, sternly.     "  You  remember  the  horse,  Mr.  Esmond." 

"  Mr.  Warrington,  I  perfectly  well  remember  playing  you 
for  a  horse,  which  my  servant  handed  over  to  you  on  the  day 
of  your  departure." 

*'  The  Chaplain  was  present  at  our  play.  Mr.  Sampson, 
will  you  be  umpire  between  us  ?  "  Mr.  Warrington  said,  with 
much  gentleness. 

"  I  am  bound  to  decide  that  Mr.  Warrington  played  for  the 
brown  horse,"  says  Mr.  Sampson. 

"Well,  he  got  the  other  one,"  said  sulky  Mr.  Will,  with  a 
grin. 

"  And  sold  it  for  thirty  shillings  !  "  said  Mr.  Warrington, 
always  preserving  his  calm  tone. 


336  THE  VIRGINIANS. 

Will  was  waggish.  "  Thirty  shillings  ?  and  a  devilish  good 
price,  too,  for  the  broken-knee'd  old  rip.     Ha,  ha  !  " 

"  Not  a  word  more.  'Tis  only  a  question  about  a  bet,  my 
dear  Lady  Maria.  Shall  I  serve  you  some  more  chicken .?  " 
Nothing  could  be  more  studiously  courteous  and  gay  than  Mr. 
Warrington  was,  so  long  as  the  lady  remained  in  the  room. 
.When  she  rose  to  go,  Harry  followed  her  to  the  door,  and 
closed  it  upon  her  with  the  most  courtly  bow  of  farewell.  He 
stood  at  the  closed  door  for  a  moment,  and  then  he  bade  the 
servants  retire.  When  those  menials  were  gone,  Mr.  Warring- 
ton locked  the  heavy  door  before  them,  and  pocketed  the  key. 

As  it  clicked  in  the  lock,  Mr.  Will,  who  had  been  sitting 
over  his  punch,  looking  now  and  then  askance  at  his  cousin, 
asked  with   one  of  the   oaths  which   commonly  garnished  his 

conversation,    "  What   the  Mr.   Warrington     meant    by 

that  ? " 

"  I  guess  there's  going  to  be  a  quarrel,"  said  Mr.  Warring- 
ton, blandly,  "  and  there  is  no  use  in  having  these  fellows  look 
on  at  rows  between  their  betters.'' 

"  Who  is  going  to  quarrel  here,  I  should  like  to  know  ?  " 
asked  Will,  looking  very  pale,  and  grasping  a  knife. 

"  Mr.  Sampson,  you  were  present  when  I  played  Mr.  Will 
fifty  guineas  against  his  brown  horse  ?  " 

"  Against  his  horse  !  "  bawls  out  Mr,  Will. 

"  I  am  not  such  a  fool  as  you  take  me  for,"  says  Mr.  War- 
rington, "  although  I  do  come  from  Virginia  1 "  And  he 
repeated  his  question  :  "  Mr.  Sampson,  you  were  here  when  I 
played  the  Honorable  William  Esmond,  Esquire,  fifty  guineas 
against  his  brown  horse  ?  " 

"  I  must  own  it,  sir,"  says  the  Chaplain,  wdth  a  deprecatory 
look  towards  his  lord's  brother. 

*'  /don't  own  no  such  a  thing,"  says  Mr.  Will,  with  rather 
a  forced  laugh. 

"  No,  sir  :  because  it  costs  you  no  more  pains  to  lie  than  to 
cheat,"  said  Mr.  Warrington,  walking  up  to  his  cousin.  "  Hands 
off,  Mr.  Chaplain,  and  see  fair  play  !  Because  you  are  no 
better  than  a — ha  ! " 

No  better  than  a  what  we  can't  say,  and  shall  never  know, 
for  as  Harry  uttered  the  exclamation,  his  dear  cousin  flung  a 
wine-bottle  at  Mr.  Warrington's  head,  who  bobbed  just  in  time, 
so  that  the  missile  flew  across  the  room,  and  broke  against  the 
wainscot  opposite,  breaking  the  face  of  a  pictured  ancestor  of 
the  Esmond  family,  and  then  itself  against  the  wall,  whence  it 
spirted  a  pint  of  good  port-wine  over  the   Chaplain's  face  and 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  ^iZI 

flowered  wig.  "Great  heavens,  gentlemen,  I  pray  you  to  be 
quiet !  "  cried  the  parson,  dripping  with  gore. 

But  gentlemen  are  not  inclined  at  some  moments  to  remem- 
ber the  commands  of  the  Church.  The  bottle  having  failed, 
Mr.  Esmond  seized  the  large  silver-handled  knife  and  drove  at 
his  cousin.  But  Harry  caught  up  the  other's  right  hand  with 
his  left,  as  he  had  seen  the  boxers  do  at  Marybone ;  and  de- 
livered a  rapid  blow  upon  Mr.  Esmond's  nose,  which  sent  him 
reeling  up  against  the  oak  panels,  and  I  dare  say  caused  him 
to  see  ten  thousand  illuminations.  He  dropped  his  knife  in 
his  retreat  against  the  wall,  which  his  rapid  antagonist  kicked 
under  the  table. 

Now^  Will,  too,  had  been  at  Marybone  and  Hockley-in-the- 
Hole,  and,  after  a  gasp  for  breath  and  a  glare  over  his  bleeding 
nose  at  his  enemy,  he  dashed  forward  his  head  as  though  it 
had  been  a  battering  ram,  intending  to  project  it  into  Mr. 
Henry  Warrington's  stomach. 

This  manoeuvre  Harr^-  had  seen,  too,  on  his  visit  to  Mary- 
bone, and  amongst  the  negroes  upon  the  maternal  estate,  who 
would  meet  in  combat,  like  two  concutient  cannon-balls,  each 
harder  than  the  other.  But  Harry  had  seen  and  marked  the 
civilized  practise  of  the  white  man.  He  skipped  aside,  and, 
saluting  his  advancing  enemy  with  a  tremendous  blow  on  the 
right  ear,  felled  him,  so  that  he  struck  his  head  against  the 
heavy  oak  table  and  sank  lifeless  to  the  ground. 

"  Chaplain,  you  will  bear  witness  that  it  has  been  a  fair 
fight!"  said  Mr.  Warrington,  still  quivering  with  the  excite- 
ment of  the  combat,  but  striving  with  all  his  might  to  restrain 
himself  and  look  cool.  And  he  he  drew  the  key  from  his 
pocket  and  opened  the  door  in  the  lobby,  behind  which  three 
or  four  servants  were  gathered.  A  crash  of  broken  glass,  a 
cry,  a  shout,  an  oath  or  two,  had  told  them  that  some  violent 
scene  was  occurring  within,  and  they  entered,  and  behold  two 
victims  bedabbled  with  red — the  Chaplain  bleeding  port-wine 
and  the  Honorable  William  Esmond,  Esquire,  stretched  in  his 
own  gore. 

"  Mr.  Sampson  will  bear  witness  that  I  struck  fair,  and  that 
Mr.  Esmond  hit  the  first  blow,"  said  Mr.  Warrington.  Undo 
his  neckcloth,  somebody — he  may  be  dead  •  and  get  a  fleam. 
Gumbo,  and  bleed  him.  Stop  !  He  is  coming  to  himself  !  Lift 
him  up,  you,  and  tell  a  maid  to  wash  the  floor." 

Indeed,  in  a  minute  Mr.  Will  did  come  to  himself.  First 
his  eyes  rolled  about,  or  rather,  I  am  ashamed  to  say,  his  eye, 
one  having  been  closed  by  Mr.  Warrington's  first  blow.     First, 

22 


^^S  THE  VIRGINIAA'S. 

then,  his  eye  rolled  about ;  then  he  gasped  and  uttered  ah 
inarticulate  moan  or  two,  then  he  began  to  swear  and  curse 
very  freely  and  articulately. 

"He  is  getting  well,"  said  Mr.  Warrington. 

"  Oh,  praise  be  Mussy  !  "  sighs  the  sentimental  Betty. 

"  Ask  him,  Gumbo,  whether  he  would  like  any  more  1  "  said 
Mr.  Warrington,  with  a  stern  humor. 

"  Massa  Harr}^  say,  ^^'ool  you  like  any  maw  1 "  asked 
obedient  Gumbo,  bowing  over  the  prostrate  gentleman. 

"No,  curse  you,  you  black  devil  !  "  says  Mr.  Will,  hitting 
up  at  the  black  object  before  him.  ("  So  he  nearly  cut  my 
tongue  in  tii  in  my  mouf  !  "  Gumbo  explained  to  the  pitying 
Betty.)  "No,  that  is,  yes  !  You  infernal  Mohock!  Why  does 
not  somebody  kick  him  out  of  the  place  ? " 

"  Because  nobody  dares,  Mr.  Esmond,"  says  Mr.  Warring- 
ton, with  great  state,  arranging  his  ruffles — his  ruffled  ruffles. 

"  And  nobody  won't  neither,"  growled  the  men.  They  had 
all  grown  to  love  Harry,  whereas  Air.  \M11  had  nobody's  good 
word.  "  We  know  all's  fair,  sir.  It  ain't  the  first  time  Master 
William  have  been  served  so." 

"  And  I  hope  it  won't  be  the  last,"  cries  shrill  Betty.  "  To 
go  for  to  strike  a  poor  black  gentleman  so  !  '' 

Mr.  Will  had  gathered  himself  up  by  this  time,  had  wiped 
his  bleeding  face  with  a  napkin,  and  was  skulking  off  to  bed. 

"  Surely  it's  manners  to  say  good-night  to  the  company. 
Good-night,  Mr.  Esmond,"  says  Mr.  Warrington,  whose  jokes, 
though  few,  were  not  very  brilliant ;  but  the  honest  lad  relished 
the  brilliant  sally,  and  laughed  at  it  inwardly. 

"  He's  'ad  his  zopper,  and  he  goos  to  baid  ! "  says  Betty,  in 
her  native  dialect,  at  which  everybody  laughed  outright,  except 
Mr.  William,  who  went  away  leaving  a  black  fume  of  curses,  as 
it  were,  rolling  out  of  that  funnel,  his  mouth. 

It  must  be  owned  that  Mr.  Warrington  continued  to  be  witty 
the  next  morning.  He  sent  a  note  to  Mr.  Will  begging  to  know 
whether  he  was  for  a  ride  to  tozvn  or  anyw/urcs  else.  If  he  was 
for  London,  that  he  would  friten  the  highwaymen  on  Elouns- 
low  Heath,  and  look  a  very  gcjited  fgcrr  at  the  Chocolate  House. 
Which  letter,  I  fear,  Mr.  Will  received  with  his  usual  violence, 
requesting  the  writer  to  go  to  some  place — not  Hounslow. 

And  besides  the  parley  between  Will  and  Harry,  there  comes 
a  maiden  simpering  to  Mr.  Warrington's  door,  and  Gumbo 
advances,  holding  something  white  and  triangular  in  his  ebon 
fingers. 

Harry  knew  what  it  was  well  enough.     "  Of  course  it's  a 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


339 


letter,"  groans  he.  Molinda  greets  her  Enrico,  &c.,  &c.,  &c. 
No  sleep  has  she  known  that  night,  and  so  forth,  and  so  forth, 
and  so  forth.  Has  Enrico  slept  well  in  the  halls  of  his  fathers  ? 
tind  so  laeite?',  und  so  lueiter.  He  must  never  never  qiiaril  and 
be  so  cruel  again.  Kai  ta  loipa.  And  I  protest  I  sha'nt  quote 
any  more  of  this  letter.  Ah,  tablets,  golden  once, — are  ye  now 
faded  leaves  1  Where  is  the  juggler  who  transmuted  you,  and 
why  is  the  glamor  over  ? 

After  the  little  scandal  with  Cousin  Will,  Harry's  dignity 
would  not  allow  him  to  stay  longer  at  Castlewood :  he  wrote  a 
majestic  letter  to  the  lord  of  the  mansion,  explaining  the  cir- 
cumstances which  had  occurred,  and,  as  he  called  in  Parson 
Sampson  to  supervise  the  document,  no  doubt  it  contained  none 
of  those  eccentricities  in  spelling  which  figured  in  his  ordinary 
correspondence  at  this  period.  He  represented  to  poor  Maria, 
that  after  blackening  the  eye  and  damaging  the  nose  of  a  son 
of  the  house,  he  should  remain  in  it  with  a  very  bad  grace  ;  and 
she  was  forced  to  acquiesce  in  the  opinion  that,  for  the  present, 
his  absence  would  best  become  him.  Of  course,  she  wept 
plentiful  tears  at  parting  with  him.  He  would  go  to  London, 
and  see  younger  beauties  :  he  W'Ould  find  none,  none  who  would 
love  him  like  his  fond  Maria.  I  fear  Mr.  Warrington  did  not 
exhibit  any  profound  emotion  on  leaving  her :  nay,  he  cheered 
up  immediately  after  he  crossed  Castlewood  Bridge,  and  made 
his  horses  whisk  over  the  road  at  ten  miles  an  hour  :  he  sang 
to  them  to  go  along  :  he  nodded  to  the  pretty  girls  by  the  road- 
side :  he  chucked  my  landlady  under  the  chin  :  he  certainly  was 
not  inconsolable.  Truth  is,  he  longed  to  be  back  in  London 
again,  to  make  a  figure  at  St.  James's,  at  Newmarket,  where- 
ever  the  men  of  fashion  congregated.  All  that  petty  Tunbridge 
society  of  women  and  card-playing  seemed  child's-play  to  him 
now  he  had  tasted  the  delight  of  London  life. 

By  the  time  he  reached  London  again,  almost  all  the  four- 
and-forty  pounds  which  we  have  seen  that  he  possessed  at  Tun- 
bridge had  slipped  out  of  his  pocket,  and  farther  supplies  were 
necessary.  Regarding  these  he  made  himself  presently  easy. 
There  were  the  two  sums  of  5,000/.  in  his  own  and  his  brother's 
name,  of  which  he  was  the  master.  He  would  take  up  a  little 
money,  and  with  a  run  or  two  of  good  luck  at  play  he  could 
easily  replace  it.  Meantime  he  must  live  in  a  manner  becom- 
ing his  station,  and  it  must  be  explained  to  Madam  Esmond 
that  a  gentleman  of  his  rank  cannot  keep  fitting  company,  and 
appear  as  becomes  him  in  society,  upon  a  miserable  pittance  of 
two  hundred  a  year. 


340  THE   VIRGIXIANS. 

Mr.  Warrington  sojourned  at  the  "  Bedford  Coffee-House  " 
as  before,  but  only  for  a  short  while.  He  sought  out  proper 
lodgings  at  the  Court  end  of  the  town,  and  fixed  on  some  apart- 
ments in  Bond  Street,  where  he  and  Gumbo  installed  them- 
selves, his  horses  standing  at  a  neighboring  livery-stable.  And 
now  tailors,  mercers,  and  shoemakers  were  put  in  requisition. 
Not  without  a  pang  of  remorse,  he  laid  aside  his  mourning  and 
figured  in  a  laced  hat  and  waistcoat.  Gumbo  was  always  dex- 
terous in  the  art  of  dressing  hair,  and  with  a  little  powder  flung 
into  his  fair  locks  i\Ir.  Warrington's  head  was  as  modish  as  that 
of  any  gentleman  in  the  Mall.  He  figured  in  the  Ring  in  his 
phaeton.  Reports  of  his  great  wealth  had  long  since  preceded 
him  to  London,  and  not  a  little  curiosity  was  excited  about  the 
fortunate  Virginian. 

Until  our  young  friend  could  be  balloted  for  at  the  proper 
season,  my  Lord  IMarch  has  written  down  his  name  for  the  club 
at  "White's  Chocolate  House,"'  as  a  distinguished  gentlemian 
from  America.  There  were  as  yet  but  few  persons  of  fashion 
in  London,  but  with  a  pocketful  of  money  at  one-and-twenty,  a 
young  fellow  can  make  himself  happy  even  out  of  the  season  \ 
and  Mr.  Harry  was  determined  to  enjoy. 

He  ordered  Mr.  Draper,  then,  to  sell  five  hundred  pounds 
of  his  stock.  What  would  his  poor  mother  have  said  had  she 
known  that  the  young  spendthrift  was  already  beginning  to  dis- 
sipate his  patrimony  ?  He  dined  at  the  tavern,  he  supped  at 
the  club,  where  Jack  Morris  introduced  him,  with  immense  eulo- 
giums,  to  such  gentlemen  as  were  in  town.  Life  and  youth  and 
pleasure  were  before  him,  the  wine  was  set  a-running,  and  the 
eager  lad  was  greedy  to  drink.  Do  you  see,  far  away  in  the 
west  yonder,  the  jdIous  v.idow  at  her  prayers  for  her  son ?  Be- 
hind the  trees  at  Oakhurst  a  tender  little  heart,  too,  is  beating 
for  him,  perhaps.  When  the  Prodigal  Son  was  away  carousing, 
were  not  love  and  forgiveness  still  on  the  watch  for  him  ? 

Amongst  the  inedited  letters  of  the  late  Lord  Orford,  there 
is  one  which  the  present  learned  editor,  Mr.  Peter  Cunning- 
ham, has  omitted  from  his  collection,  doubting  possibly  the 
authenticity  of  the  document.  Nay,  I  myself  have  only  seen  a 
copy  of  it  in  the  Warrington  papers  in  Madam  Esmond's  prim 
handwriting,  and  noted  "  Mr.  H.  WalpoWs  accoinit  of  my  son 
Heiu-y  at  Lo?ido?i,  and  of  Barofiess  Tushe?', — wrote  to  Genl. 
Conway.''^ 

A  rlington  Street.     Friday  Night. 
"  I  have  come  away,  child,  for  a  day  or  two  from  my  devotions  to  our  Lady  of  Straw- 
berry.    Have  I  not  been  on  my  knees  to  her  these  three  weeks,  and  aren't  the  poor  old 
joints  full   of  rheumatism?     A  fit  took  me   that  I  would  pay  London  a  visit,  that  I  would 
go  to  Vauxhall  and  Raneiagh.     Quoi  !     May  I  not  have  my  rattle  as  well  as  other  elderly 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


341 


babies  ?  Suppose,  after  being  so  long  virtuous,  I  take  a  fancy  to  cakes  and  ale,  shall  your 
reverence  say  nay  to  me  ?  George  Selwyn  and  Tony  Storer  and  your  humble  servant  took 
boat  at  Westminster  t'other  night.  Was  it  Tuesday  ?— no,  Tuesday  I  was  with  their 
Graces  of  Norfolk,  who  are  just  from  Tunbridge— it  was  Wednesday.  How  should  I 
know?     Wasn't  I  dead  drunk  with  a  whole  pint  of  lemonade  I  took  at  White's? 

"The  Norfolk  folk  had  been  entertaining  me  on  Tuesday  with  the  acount  of  a  young 
savage  Iroquois,  Choctaw,  or  Virginian,  who  has  lately  been  making  a  little  noise  in  our 
quarter  of  the  globe.  He  is  an  offshoot  of  that  disreputalji  .•  family  of  Esmond-Castlewood, 
of  whom  all  the  men  are  gamblers  and  spendthrifts,  and  all  the  women— well,  I  shan't  say  the 
word,  lest  Lady  Ailesbury  should  be  looking  over  your  shoulder.  Both  the  late  lords,  my 
father  told  me,  were  in  his  pay,  and  the  last  one,  a  beauof  Queen  Ann's  reign,  from  a 
viscount  advanced  to  be  an  earl  through  the  merits  and  intercession  of  his  notorious  old 
sister  Bernstein,  late  Tusher,  «^^  Esmond — a  great  beauty,  too,  of  her  day,  a  favorite^  of 
the  old  Pretender.  She  sold  his  secrets  to  my  papa,  who  paid  her  for  them  ;  and  being 
nowise  particular  in  her  love  for  the  Stuarts,  came  over  to  the  august  Hanoverian  house 
at  present  reigning  over  us.  '  Will  Horace  Walpole's  tongue  never  stop  scandal  ? '  says  ypur 
wife  over  your  shoulder.  I  kiss  your  ladyship's  hand.  I  am  dumb.  The  Bernstein  is  a 
model  of  virtue.  She  had  no  good  reasons  for  marrying  her  father's  chaplain.  Many  of 
the  nobility  omit  the  marriage  altogether.  She  ivastit  ashamed  of  being  Mrs.  Tusher,  and 
didn't  take  a  German  Baro7icmo  for  a  second  husband,  wiiom  nobody  out  of  Hanover  ever 
saw.  The  Yaiinouth  bears  no  malice.  Esther  and  Vashti  are  very  good  friends,  and  have 
been  cheating  each  other  at  Tunbridge  at  cards  all  the  summer. 

"  'And  what  has  all  this  to  do  with  the  Iroquois?'  says  your  ladyship.  The  Iroquois 
has  been  at  Tunbridge,  too — not  cheating,  perhaps,  but  winning  vastly.  They  say  he  ha§ 
bled  Lord  March  of  thousands — Lord  March,  by  whom  so  much  blood  has  been  shed,  that 
he  has  quarrelled  with  everybody,  fought  with  everybody,  rode  over  everybody,  been  fallen 
in  love  with  by  everybody's  wife  except  Mr.  Conway's,  and  not  excepting  her  present 
Majesty,  the  Countess  of  England,  Scotland,  France  and  Ireland,  a  Queen  of  Walmoden 
and  Yarmouth,  whom  heaven  preserve  to  us. 

"  You  know  an  offensive  little  creature  de  par  le  monde,  one  Jack  Morris,  who  skips  in 
and  out  of  all  the  houses  of  London.  When  we  were  at  Vauxhall,  Mr.  Jack  gave  us  a  nod 
under  the  shoulder  of  a  pretty  young  fellow  enough,  on  whose  arm  he  was  leaning,  and  who 
appeared  hugely  delighted  with  the  enchantments  of  the  garden.  Lord,  how  he  stared  at 
the  fireworks!  Gods,  how  he  huzzayed  at  the  singing  of  a  horrible  painted  wench  who 
shrieked  the  ears  off  my  head !  A  twopenny  string  of  glass  beads  and  a  strip  of  tawdry 
cloth  are  treasure  in  Iroquois  land,  and  our  savage  valued  them  accordingly. 

"  A  buzz  went  about  the  place  that  this  was  the  fortunate  youth.  He  won  three  hundred 
at  White's  last  night  very  genteely  from  Rockingham  and  my  precious  nephew,  and  here 
he  was  bellowing  and  huzzaying  over  the  music  so  as  to  do  j'ou  good  to  hear.  I  do  not  love 
a  puppet-show,  but  I  love  to  treat  children  to  one.  Miss  Conway !  I  present  your  ladyship 
my  compliments,  and  hope  we  shall  go  and  see  the  dolls  together. 

''  When  the  singing-v/oman  came  down  from  her  throne,  Jack  Morris  must  introduce 
my  Virginian  to  her.  I  saw  him  blush  up  to  the  eyes,  and  make  her,  upon  my  word,  a  very 
fine  bow,  such  as  I  had  no  idea  was  practised  in  wigwams.  '  There  is  a  certain  jenny 
squaw  about  her,  and  that's  why  the  savage  likes  her,'  George  said — a  joke  certainly  not  as 
brilliant  as  a  firework.  After  which  it  seemed  to  me  that  the  savage  and  the  savages 
retired  together 

"  Having  had  a  great  deal  too  much  to  eat  and  drink  three  hours  before,  my  partners 
must  have  chicken  and  rack-punch  at  Vauxhall,  where  George  fell  asleep  straightway,  and 
for  my  sins  I  must  tell  Toney  Storer  what  I  knew  about  this  Virginian's  amiable  family, 
especially  some  of  the  Bernstein's  antecedents,  and  the  history  of  another  elderly  beauty  of 
the  family,  a  certain  Lady  Maria,  who  was  an  mieux  with  the  late  Prince  of  Wales.  What 
did  I  say  ?  I  protest  not  half  of  what  I  knew,  and  of  course  not  a  tenth  part  of  what  I 
was  going  to  tell_,  for  who  should  start  out  upon  us  but  my  savage,  this  time  quite  red  in 
the  face ;  and  in  his  war-paint.  The  wretch  had  been  drinking  fire-water  in  the  next 
box! 

"  He  cocked  his  hat,  clapped  his  hand  to  his  sword,  asked  which  of  the  gentlemen  was 
It  that  was  maligning  his  family  ?  so  that  I  was  obliged  to  entreat  him  not  to  make  such  a 
noise,  lest  he  should  wake  my  friend  Mr.  George  Selwyn.  And  I  added,  '  I  assure  you, 
sir,  I  had  no  idea  that  you  were  near  me,  and  I  most  sincerely  apologise  for  giving  you 
pain.' 

"  The  Huron  took  his  hand  off  his  tomahawk  at  this  pacific  rejoinder,  m?.de  a  bow  not 
ungraciously,  said  he  could  not,  of  course,  ask  more  than  an  apology  from  a  gentleman  of 
my  age  {Merci,  Mo7isieur  .'),  and,  hearing  the  name  of  Mr.  Selwyn,  made  another  bow  to 
George,  and  said  he  had  a  letter  to  him  from  Lord  March,  which  he  had  had  the  ill-fortune 
to  mislay.  George  has  put  him  up  for  the  club,  It  anpears,  in  conjunction  with  March,  and 
no  doubt  these  three  lambs  will  fleece  each  other.  Meanwhile,  my  pacified  savage  sat  down 
with  us,  and  htried  the  JiatcJzet  in  another  bowl  of  punch,  for  which  these  gentlemen  must 
call.     Heaven  help  us  !     'Tis  eleven  o'clock,  and  here  comes  Bedson  with  my  gruel  I 

"To  the  Honble.  H.  S.  Conway."  '•  H.  W." 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

rake's    progress. 

People  were  still  very  busy  in  Plarry  Warrington's  time 
(not  that  our  young  gentleman  took  much  heed  of  the  contro- 
versy) in  determining  the  relative  literary  merits  of  the  ancients 
and  the  moderns  ;  and  the  learned,  and  the  world  with  them, 
indeed,  pretty  generally  pronounced  in  favor  of  the  former. 
The  moderns  of  that  day  are  the  ancients  of  ours,  and  we 
speculate  upon  them  in  the  present  year  of  grace,  as  our  grand- 
children, a  hundred  years  hence,  will  give  their  judgment  about 
us.  As  for  your  book-learning,  O  respectable  ancestors  (though, 
to  be  sure,  you  have  the  mighty  Gibbon  with  you),  I  think  you 
will  own  that  you  are  beaten,  and  could  point  to  a  couple  of 
professors  at  Cambridge  and  Glasgow  who  know  more  Greek 
than  was  to  be  had  in  your  time  in  all  the  universities  of 
Europe,  including  that  of  Athens,  if  such  an  one  existed.  As 
for  science,  you  were  scarce  more  advanced  than  those  heathen 
to  whom  in  literature  you  owned  yourselves  inferior.  And  in 
public  and  j^i'ivate  morality  ?  Which  is  the  better,  this  actual 
year  1858,  or  its  predecessor  a  century  back .?  Gentlemen  of 
Mr.  Disraeli's  House  of  Commons !  has  every  one  of  you  his 
price,  as  in  Walj)ole's  or  Newcastle's  time, — or  (and  that  is  the 
delicate  question}  have  you  almost  all  of  you  had  it  ?  Ladies, 
I  do  not  say  that  you  are  a  society  of  Vestals — but  the  chroni- 
cle of  a  hundred  years  since  contains  such  an  amount  of  scan- 
dal, that  you  may  be  thankful  you  did  not  live  in  such  danger- 
ous times.  No  :  on  my  conscience  I  believe  that  men  and 
women  are  both  better  ;  not  only  that  the  Susannahs  are  more 
numerous,  but  that  the  Elders  are  not  nearly  so  wicked.  Did 
you  ever  hear  of  such  books  as  "  Clarissa,"  '^  Tom  Jones," 
''  Roderic  Random  ;  "  paintings  by  contemporary  artists,  of  the 
men  and  women,  the  life  and  society,  of  their  day  ?  Suppose 
we  were  to  describe  the  doings  of  such  a  person  as  Mr.  Love- 
lace, or  my  Lady  Bellaston,  or  that  wonderful  "  Lady  of 
Quality  "  who  lent  her  memoirs  to  the  author  of  "  Peregrine 
Pickle."  How  the  pure  and  outraged  Nineteenth  Century 
would  blush,  scream,  run  out  of  the  room,  call  away  the  young 
ladies,  and  order  Mr.  Mudie  never  to  send  one  of  that  odious 
author's  books  again  !     You  are  fifty-eight  years  old,  Madam, 


i 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  ^^^^i 

and  it  may  be  that  you  are  too  squeamish,  that  you  cry  out  be- 
fore you  are  hurt,  and  when  nobody  had  any  intention  of 
offending  your  ladyship.  Also,  it  may  be  that  the  novelist's 
art  is  injured  by  the  restraints  put  ujDon  him,  as  many  an  hon- 
est, harmless  statue  at  St.  Peter's  and  the  Vatican  is  spoiled 
by  the  tin  draperies  in  which  ecclesiastical  old  women  have 
swaddled  the  fair  limbs  of  the  marble.  But  in  your  prudery 
there  is  reason.  So  there  is  in  the  state  censorship  of  the 
Press.  The  page  may  contain  matter  dangerous  to  bonos  mores. 
Out  with  your  scissors,  censor,  and  clip  off  the  prurient  para- 
graph !  We  have  nothing  for  it  but  to  submit.  Society,  the 
despot,  has  given  his  imperial  decree.  We  may  think  the 
statue  had  been  seen  to  greater  advantage  without  the  tin 
drapery  ;  we  may  plead  that  the  moral  were  better  might  we 
recite  the  whole  fable.  Away  with  him — not  a  word  !  I  never 
saw  the  pianofortes  in  the  United  States  with  the  frilled  muslin 
trousers  on  their  legs  ;  but,  depend  on  it,  the  muslin  covered 
some  of  the  notes  as  well  as  the  mahogany,  muffled  the  music, 
and  stopped  the  player. 

To  what  does  this  prelude  introduce  us  ?  I  am  thinking  ot 
Harry  Warrington,  Esquire,  in  his  lodgings  in  Bond  Street, 
London,  and  of  the  life  which  he  and  many  of  the  young  bucks 
of  fashion  led  in  those  times,  and  how  I  can  no  more  take  my 
fair  young  reader  into  them,  than  Lady  Squeams  can  take  her 
daughter  to  Cremorne  Gardens  on  an  ordinary  evening.  My 
dear  Miss  Diana  (Psha  !  I  know  you  are  eight-and-thirty,  al- 
though you  are  so  wonderfully  shy,  and  want  to  make  us  be- 
lieve you  have  just  left  off  schoolroom-dinners  and  a  pinafore), 
when  your  grandfather  was  a  young  man  about  town,  and  a 
member  of  one  of  the  Clubs  at  White's,  and  dined  at  Pontac's 
off  the  feasts  provided  by  Braund  and  Lebeck,  and  rode  to 
Newmarket  with  March  and  Rockingham,  and  toasted  the  best 
in  England  with  Gilly  Williams  and  George  Selwyn  (and  didn't 
understand  George's  jokes,  of  which,  indeed,  the  flavor  has 
very  much  evaporated  since  the  bottling) — the  old  gentleman 
led  a  life  of  which  your  noble  aunt  (author  of  "  Legends  of  the 
Squeams's  :  or,  fair  fruits  off  a  Family  Tree,")  has  not  given 
you  the  slightest  idea. 

It  was  before  your  grandmother  adopted  those  serious  views 
for  which  she  was  distinguished  during  her  last  long  residence 
at  Bath,  and  after  Colonel  Tibbalt  married  Miss  Lye,  the  rich 
soap-boiler's  heiress,  that  her  ladyship's  wild  oats\vere  sown. 
When  she  was  young,  she  was  as  giddy  as  the  rest  of  the  gen- 
teel world.     At  her  house  in  Hill  Street,  she  had  ten  card- 


344 


THE   J  YA'  GINIANS. 


tables  on  Wednesdays  and  Sunday  evenings,  except  for  a  short 
time  when  Ranelagh  was  open  on  Sundays.  Every  night  of 
her  life  she  gambled  for  eight,  nine,  ten  hours.  Everybody 
else  in  society  did  the  like.  She  lost ;  she  won  ;  she  cheated  ; 
she  pawned  her  jewels  ;  who  knows  what  else  she  was  not 
ready  to  pawn,  so  as  to  find  funds  to  supply  her  fury  for  play  ? 
What  was  that  after-supper  duel  at  the  "  Shakspeare's  Head  '" 
in  Covent  Garden,  between  your  grandfather  and  Colonel  Tib- 
bait  :  ^vhere  they  drew  3words  and  engaged  only  in  the  presence 
of  Sir  John  Screwby,  who  was  drunk  under  the  table  ?  They 
were  interrupted  by  Mr.  John  Fielding's  people,  and  your 
grandfather  was  carried  home  to  Hill  Street  wounded  in  a 
chair.  I  tell  you  those  gentlemen  in  powder  and  ruffles,  who 
turned  out  the  toes  of  their  buckled  pumps  so  delicately,  were 
terrible  fellows.  Swords  were  perpetually  being  drawn  ;  bottles 
after  bottles  were  drunk  ;  oaths  roared  unceasingly  in  conver- 
sation ;  tavern-drawers  and  watchmen  were  pinked  and  maimed  ; 
chairmen  belabored  ;  citizens  insulted  by  reeling  pleasure-hunt- 
ers. You  have  been  to  Cremorne  with  proper  "  vouchers  "  of 
course  .''  Do  you  remember  our  great  theatres  thirty  years 
ago  ?  You  were  too  good  to  go  to  a  play.  Well,  you  ha\e  no 
idea  what  the  playhouses  were,  or  what  the  green  boxes  were, 
when  Garrick  and  ]\Irs.  Pritcbard  were  playing  before  them  ! 
And  I,  for  my  children's  sake,  thank  that  good  Actor  in  his  re- 
tirement who  was  the  first  to  banish  that  shame  from  the 
theatre.  No,  Madam,  you  are  mistaken  ;  I  do  7iot  plume  my- 
self on  my  superior  virtue.  I  do  not  say  you  are  naturally 
better  than  your  ancestress  in  her  wild,  rouged,  gambling,  flar- 
ing tearing  days  ;  or  even  than  poor  Polly  Fogle,  who  is  just 
taken  up  for  shop-lifting,  and  would  have  been  hung  for  it  a 
hundred  years  ago.  Only,  I  am  heartily  thankful  that  my  temp- 
tations are  less,  having  quite  enough  to  do  with  those  of  the 
present  century. 

So,  if  Harry  Warrington  rides  down  to  new  Newmarket  to 
the  October  meeting,  and  loses  or  wins  his  money  there  ;  if  he 
makes  one  of  a  party  at  the  "  Shakspeare  "  or  the  "  Bedford 
Head;"  if  he  dines  at  White's  ordinary,  and  sits  down  to 
macco  and  lansquenet  afterwards  ,  if  he  boxes  the  watch,  and 
makes  his  appearance  at  the  Roundhouse  :  if  he  turns  out  for  a 
short  space  a  wild,  dissipated,  harum-scarum  young  Harr}^  War- 
rington: I,  knowing  the  weakness  of  human  nature,  am  not 
going  to  be  surprised  ;  and,  quite  aware  of  my  own  short-com- 
ings, don't  intend  to  be  very  savage  at  my  neighbor's.  Mr. 
Sampson  was :  in  his  chapel  in   Long  Acre  he  whipped  Vice 


THE   l^IRGINTAiYS.  345 

tremendously  ;  gave  Sin  no  quarter  ;  out-cursed  BlasiDliemy  with 
superior  anathemas  ;  knocked  Drunkenness  down,  and  trampled 
on  the  prostrate  brute  wallowing  in  the  gutter  ;  dragged  out 
conjugal  Infidelity,  and  pounded  her  with  endless  stones  of 
rhetoric — and,  after  service,  came  to  dinner  at  the  "  Star  and 
Garter,"  made  abow^l  of  punch  for  Harry  and  his  friends  at  the 
"  Bedford  Head,"  or  took  a  hand  at  whist  at  Mr.  Warrington's 
lodgings,  or  my  Lord  March's,  or  wherever  there  was  a  supper 
and  good  company  for  him. 

I  often  think,  however,  in  respect  of  Mr.  Warrington's  doings 
at  this  period  of  his  coming  to  London,  that  I  may  have  taken 
my  usual  degrading  and  uncharitable  views  of  him — for  you 
see,  I  have  not  uttered  a  single  word  of  virtuous  indignation 
against  his  conduct,  and  if  it  was  not  reprehensible,  have 
certainly  judged  him  most  cruelly.  O  the  Truthful,  O  the 
Beautiful,  O  Modesty,  O  Benevolence,  O  Pudor,  O  Mores, 
O  Blushing  Shame,  O  Namby  Pamby — each  with  your  re- 
spective capital  letters  to  your  honored  names !  O  Niminy, 
O  Piminy !  how  shall  I  dare  for  to  go  for  to  say  that  a  young 
man  ever  was  a  young  man  ? 

No  doubt,  dear  young  lady,  I  am  calumniating  Mr.  Warring- 
ton, according  to  my  heartless  custom.  As  a  proof,  here  is  a 
letter  ouf  of  the  Warrington  collection,  from  Harry  to  his 
mother,  in  wdiich  there  is  not  a  single  word  that  would  lead  you 
to  suppose  he  was  leading  a  wild  life.  And  such  a  letter  from 
an  only  son,  to  a  fond  and  exemplary  parent,  we  know  must  be 
true ! — 

"  Bond  Street,  Londotts  October  25,  1756. 

"  HoNORD  Madam. — I  take  up  my  pen  to  acknowledge  your  honored  favor  of  ro  Julj^, 
per  '  Lively  Virginia  '  packet,  which  has  duly  come  to  hand,  forwarded  by  our  Bristol  agent, 
and  rejoice  to  hear  that  the  prospect  of  the  crops  is  so  good.  'Tis  Tully  who  says  that 
agriculture  is  the  noblest  pursuit  ;  how  delightful  when  that  pursuit  is  also  prophetable  ! 

"  Since  my  last,  dated  from  Tunbridge  Wells,  one  or  two  i?isadence  have  occurred  of 
which  it  is  tiessasery*  I  should  advise  my  honored  Mother.  Our  party  there  broke  up  end 
of  August :  the  partridge-shooting  commencing.  Baroness  Bernstein,  whose  kindness  to  me 
has  been  most  invariable,  has  been  to  Bath,  her  usual  winter  resort,  and  has  made  me  a 
welcome  present  of  a  fifty-pound  bill.  I  rode  back  with  the  Rev.  Mr.  Sampson,  whose  in- 
struction I  find  7iiost  valhible,  and  my  cousin  Lady  Maria,  to  Castlewood.t  I  paid  a  flying 
visit  on  the  way  to  my  dear  kind  friends  Col.  and  Mrs.  Lambert.  Oakhurst  House,  who 
send  my  honored  mother  their  most  affectionate  remembrarces.  The  youngest  Miss  Lam- 
bert,^^I  grieve  to  say,  was  dellicate  ;  and  her  parents  in  some  anxiety. 

"  At  Castlewood  I  lament  to  state  my  stay  was  short,  owing  to  a  quarrel  with  my  cousin 
William.  He  is  a  young  man  of  violent  passions,  and  alas  !  addicted  to  liquor,  when  he  has 
no  controul  over  them.  In  a  trifling  di-^pute  about  a  horse,  hizh  words  arose  between  us  and 
he  aymed  a  blow  at  me,  or  its  equivulent — which  my  Grandfathers  my  honored  mothers 
child  could  not  brook.  I  rejoyned,  and  feld  him  to  the  ground,  whents  he  was  carried 
almost  seftcetis  to  bed.  I  sent  to  enquire  after  his  health  in  the  morning  :  but  having  no 
further  news  of  him,  came  away  to  London,  where  I  have  been  ever  since  with  brief  intavles 
of  absence. 

*  This  word  has  been  much  operated  upon  with  the  penknife,  but  is  left  sic,  no  noubt  to 
the  writer's  satisfaction. 

t  Could  Parson  Sampson  have  been  dictating  the  above  remarks  to  Mr.  Warrington? 


346  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

'•  Knowing  you  would  wish  me  to  see  my  dear  Grandfathers  University  r  f  Cambrid.cce, 
I  rode  thither  lately  in  company  with  some  friends,  passing  through  part  of  Harts,  and  l>-ing 
at  the  famous  bed  of  Ware.  The  October  meeting  was  just  begun  at  Cambridge  when  I 
went.  I  saw  the  students  in  //let'r  gotvnds  a7id  capps,  and  rode  over  to  the  famous  New- 
market Heath,  where  there  happened  to  be  some  races — my  friend  Lord  Marchs  horse 
Marrowbones  by  Cleaver  coming  off  winner  of  a  large  steak.  It  was  an  amusmg  day — the 
jockeys,  horses,'  &c.,  very  different  to  our  poor  races  at  home — the  betting  awful — the 
richest  noblemen  here  mix  with  the  jox,  and  bett  all  round.  Cambridge  pleased  me  ;  espec- 
ially King's  College  Chapel,  of  a  rich  but  elegant  Gothick. 

'•  I  have  been  out  into  the  world,  and  am  made  member  of  the  Club  at  "White's, 
where  I  meet  gentlemen  of  the  first  fashion.  My  Lords  Rockingham,  Carlisle,  Orford, 
Bolingbroke,  Coventry  are  of  my  friends,  introduced  to  me  by  my  Lord  March,  of  whom  I 
have  often  wrote  before.  Lady  Coventry  is  a  fine  woman,  but  M/««.  'E\&r\  lady  paints 
here,  old  and  young  ;  so,  if  you  and  Mountain  and  Fanny  wish  to  be  171  fashion,  I  must 
send  you  out  some  rooge-p'ots :  everybody  plays — eight,  ten,  card-tables  at  every  house  on 
every  receiving  night.  I  am  sorry  to  say  all  do  not  play  fair,  and  some  do  not  pay  fair.  I 
have  been  obliged  to  sit  down,  and  do  as  Rome  does,  and  have  actually  seen  ladies  whom  I 
could  name  take  my  counters  from  before  my  face. 

'•  One  day  his  regiment  the  20th,  being  paraded  in  St.  James's  Park,  a  friend  of  mine, 
Mr.  Wolfe,  did  me  the  honor  to  present  me  to  his  Royal  Highness  the  Captain-General, 
who  was  most  gracious :  a  fat,  jolly  Prince,  if  I  may  speak  so  without  disrespect,  reminding 
me  in  his  manner  of  that  unhappy  General  Braddock,  whom  we  knew  to  oursorrow  last 
year.  When  he  heard  my  name,  and  how  dearest  George  had  served  and  fallen  in  Brad- 
dock's  unfortunate  campaign,  he  talked  a  great  deal  with  me  ;  asked  why  a  young  fellow 
like  me  did  not  serve  too  ;  why  I  did  not  go  to  the  King  of  Prussia,  who  was  a  great  General, 
and  see  a  campaign  or  two  ;  and  whether  that  would  not  be  better  than  dawdling  about  at 
routs  and  card-parties  in  London  ?  I  said,  I  would  like  to  go  with  all  my  heirt,  but  was  an 
only  son  now,  on  leave  from  my  mother,  and  belonged  to  our  estate  in  Virginia.  His 
Royal  Highness  said,  Mr.  Braddock  had  wrote  home  accounts  of  Mrs.  Esmond's  loyalty, 
and  that  he  would  gladly  serve  me.  Mr.  Wolfe  and  I  have  waited  on  him  since,  at  his  Royal 
Highness's  house  "in  Pall  Mall.  The  latter,  who  is  still  quite  a  young  man,  made  the 
Scots  campaign  with  his  Highness,  whom  Mr.  Dempster  loves  so  much  at  home.  To  be 
sure,  he  was  too  severe  :  if  anything  can  be  too  severe  against  rebels  in  arms. 

"  Mr.  Draper  has  had  half  the  Stock,  my  late  Papa's  property,  transferred  to  my  name. 
Until  there  can  be  no  doubt  of  that  painful  loss  in  our  family  which  I  would  give  my  right 
hand  to  replace,  the  remaining  stock  must  remain  in  the  trustees'  name  in  behalf  of  him  who 
inherited  it.  Ah,  dear  mother!  There  is  no  day,  scarce  any  hour,  when  I  don't  think 
of  him.  I  wish  he  were  by  me  often.  I  feel  like  as  if  I  was  better  when  I  am  thmking  of 
him,  and  Would  like,  for  the  honor  of  my  family,  that  he  was  representing  of  it  here  in- 
stead of, 

"  Honored  Madam, 

"Your dutiful  and  affectionate  Son, 

"Henry  Esmond  Warrington. 

"  P.S. — I  am  Wke your  sex,  who  always,  they  say,  put  their  chief  news  in  in  a  poscrip. 
I  had  something  to  tell  you  about  a  person  to  whom  w^  heart  is  etigaged.  I  shall  write 
more  about  it,  which  there  is  no  hurry.  Safice  she  is  a  nobleman's  daughter,  and  her 
family  as  good  as  our  oivn.'''' 

Clargis  Street,  Lo>ido?i,  October  23,  1756. 

"I  think,  my  good  sister,  we  have  been  all  our  lives  a  little  more  than  kin  and  less 
than  kind,  to  use  the  words  of  a  poet  whom  your  dear  father  loved  dearly.  When  you  were 
born  in  our  Western  Principalitie,  my  mother  was  not  as  old  as  Isaac's  ;  but  even  then  I 
was  much  more  than  old  enough  to  be  yours.  And  though  she  gave  you  all  she  could  leave 
or  give,  including  the  little  portion  of  love  that  ought  to  have  been  my  share,  yet,  if  we  can 
have  good  will  for  one  another,  we  may  learn  to  do  without  affection  :  and  some  little  kind- 
ness you  owe  me,  for  your  son's  sake  as  well  as  yotir  father's,  whom  I  loved  and  admired 
more  than  any  man  I  think  ever  I  knew  in  this  world  ;  he  was  greater  than  almost  all,  though 
he  made  no  noyse  in  it.  I  have  seen  very  many  who  have,  and,  believe  me,  have  found  but 
few  with  such  good  heads  and  good  harts  as  Mr.  Esmond. 

"  Had  we  been  better  acquainted,  I  might  have  given  you  some  advice  regarding  your 
young  gentleman's  introduction  to  Europe,  which  you  would  have  taken  or  not,  as  people  do 
in  this  world.  At  least  you  would  have  sed  afterwards,  'What  she  counselled  me  was 
right,  and  had  Harry  done  as  Madam  Beatrix  wisht,  it  had  been  better  for  him.'  My  good 
sister,  it  was  not  for  you  to  know,  or  for  me  to  whom  you  never  wrote  to  tell  you,  but  your  boy 
in  coming  to  England  and  Castlewood  found  but  ill  friends  there  ;  except  one,  an  old  aunt, 
of  whom  all  kind  of  evil  hath  been  spoken  and  sed  these  fifty  years  past— and  not  without 
cawse  too,  perhaps. 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  34^ 

"  Now,  I  must  tell  Harry's  mother  what  will  doubtless  scarce  astonish  her,  that  almost 
everybodj'  who  knows  him  loves  him.  He  is  prudent  of  his  tongue,  generous  of  his  money, 
as  bold  as  a  lyon,  with  an  imperious  domineering  way  that  sets  well  upon  him  ;  you  know 
whether  he  is  handsome  or  not :  my  dear,  I  like  him  none  the  less  for  not  being  over  witty 
or  wise,  and  never  cared  for  your  sett-the-TJiaines-?iivxe.  gentlemen,  who  are  so  much  more 
clever  than  their  neighbors.  Your  father's  great  friend,  Mr.  Addison,  seemed  to  me  but  a 
supercilious  prig,  and  his  follower,  Sir  Dick  Steele,  was  not  pleasant  in  his  cupps,  nor  out  of 
'em.  And  {r;ve?ions  a  hiy)  your  Master  Harry  will  certainly  not  burn  the  river  up  with  his 
wits.  Of  book-learning  he  is  as  ignorant  as  any  lord  in  England,  and  for  this  I  hold  him 
none  the  worse.  If  heaven  have  not  given  him  a  turn  that  way,  'tis  of  no  use  trying  to  bend 
him. 

"  Considering  the  place  he  is  to  hold  in  his  own  colony  when  he  returns,  and  the  stock 
he  comes  from,  let  me  tell  you,  that  he  hath  not  means  enough  allowed  him  to  support  his 
station,  and  is  likely  to  make  the  more  depence  from  the  narrowness  of  his  income — from 
sheer  despair  breaking  out  of  all  bounds,  and  becoming  extravagant,  which  is  not  his  turn. 
But  he  likes  to  live  as  well  as  the  rest  of  his  company,  and,  between  ourselves,  has  fell  into 
some  of  the  finest  and  most  rakish  in  England.  He  thinks  'tis  for  the  honor  of  the  family 
not  to  go  back,  and  many  a  time  calls  for  ortolans  and  champagne  when  he  would  as  leave 
dine  with  a  stake  and  a  mug  of  beer.  And  in  this  kind  of  spirit  I  have  no  doubt  from  what 
he  hath  told  me  in  his  talk  (which  is  very  naif,  as  the  French  say),  that  his  mamma  hath 
encouraged  him  in  his  high  opinion  of  himself.  We  women  like  our  belongings  to  have  it, 
however  little  we  love  to  pay  the  cost.  Will  you  have  your  ladd  make  a  figar  in  London? 
Trebble  his  allowance  at  the  very  least,  and  his  Aunt  Bernstein  (with  his  honored  mamma's 
permission)  will  add  a  little  more  on  to  whatever  summ  you  give  him.  Otherwise  he  will  be 
spending  the  little  capital  I  learn  he  has  in  this  country,  which,  when  a  ladd  once  begins  to 
matiger  theie  is  very  soon  an  end  to  the  loaf.  Please  God,  1  shall  be  able  to  leave  Henry 
Esmond's  grandson  something  at  my  death  ;  but  my  savings  are  small,  and  the  pension  with 
which  my  gracious  Sovereign  hath  endowed  me  dies  with  me.  As  iox  fen  M.  de  Bernstein, 
he  left  only  debt  at  his  decease  :  the  officers  of  his  Majesty's  Electoral  Court  of  Hannover 
are  but  scantily  paid. 

"  A  lady  who  is  at  present  very  high  in  his  Majesty's  confidence  hath  taken  a  great 
phancy  to  your  ladd,  and  will  take  an  early  occasion  to  bring  him  to  the  Sovereign's  favor- 
able notice.  His  Royal  Highness  the  Duke  he  hath  seen.  If  live  in  America  he  must,  why 
should  not  Mr.  Esmond  Warrington  return  as  Governor  of  Virginia,  and  with  a  title  to  his 
name  ?    That  is  what  I  hope  for  him. 

'*  Meanwhile,  I  must  be  candid  with  you,  and  tell  you  I  fear  he  hath  entangled  himself 
here  in  a  very  silly  engagement.  Even  to  marry  an  old  woman  for  money  is  scarce  pardon- 
able— the  game  ne  valatit  gueres  la  chandelle — Mr.  Bernstein,  when  alive,  more  than  once 
assured  me  of  this  fact,  and  I  believe  him,  poor  gentleman  !  But  to  engage  yourself  to  an 
old  woman  without  money,  and  to  marry  her  merely  because  you  have  promised  her,  this 
seems  to  me  a  follie  which  only  very  young  ladds  fall  into,  and  I  fear  Mr.  Warrington  is  one. 
How,  or  for  what  consideration,  I  know  not,  but  my  niece  Maria  Esmond  hath  escainote  a. 
promise  from  Harry.  He  knows  nothing  of  her  antecedens,  which  I  do.  She  hath  laid  her- 
self out  for  twenty  husbands  these  twenty  years  past.  I  care  not  how  she  hath  got  the 
promise  from  him.  'Tis  a  sinn  and  a  shame  that  a  woman  more  than  forty  years  old  should 
surprize  the  honor  of  a  child  like  that,  and  hold  him  to  his  word.  She  is  not  the  woman  she 
pretends  to  be-     A  horse-jockey  (he  saith)  cannot  take  him  in— but  a  woman  ! 

"I  write  this  news  to  you  advisedly,  displeasant  as  it  must  be.  Perhaps 'twill  bring  you 
to  England  :  but  Ivvould  be  very  cautious,  above  all,  very  gentle,  for  the  bitt  will  instantly 
make  his  high  soirit  restive.  I  fear  the  property  is  entailed,  so  that  threats  of  cutting  him 
off  from  It  will  not  m.ove  Maria.  Otherwise  I  know  her  to  be  so  mercenary  that  (though 
she  really  hath  a  great  phancy  for  this  handsome  ladd)  without  money  she  wouldnot  hear  of 
him.  AH  I  could,  and  more  than  I  ought,  I  have  done  to  prevent  the  match.  What  and 
more  I  will  not  say  in  writing ;  but  that  I  am,  for  Henry  Esmond's  sake,  his  grandson's 
sincerest  friend,  and.  Madam, 

'•  Your  faithful  sister  and  servant, 

"Beatrix  B.\roness  de  Bernstein." 

"  To  Mrs.  Esmond  Warrington,  of  Castlewood,  in  Virginia-" 

On  the  back  of  this  letter  is  written,  in  Madam  Esmond's 
hand,  "My  sister  Bernstein's  letter,  received  with  Henry's 
December  24  :  on  receipt  of  which  it  was  determined  my  son 
should  instantly  go  home." 


348  THE   VIRGINIANS. 


CHAPTER   XLII. 

F  O  R  T  U  N  A  T  U  S     N  I  M  I  U  M. 

Though  Harry  Warrington  persisted  in  his  determination 
to  keep  that  dismal  promise  which  his  cousin  had  extracted 
from  him,  we  trust  no  benevolent  reader  will  think  so  ill  of  him 
as  to  suppose  that  the  engagement  was  to  the  young  fellow's 
taste,  and  that  he  would  not  be  heartily  glad  to  be  rid  of  it. 
Very  likely  the  beating  administered  to  poor  Will  was  to  this 
end  ;  and  Harry  may  have  thought,  "  A  boxing-match  between 
us  is  sure  to  bring  on  a  quarrel  with  the  family  ;  in  the  quarrel. 
with  the  family,  Maria  may  take  her  brother's  side.  I,  of 
course,  will  make  no  retraction  or  apology.  Will,  in  that  case, 
may  call  me  to  account,  wiien  I  know  which  is  the  better  man. 
In  the  midst  of  the  feud,  the  agreement  may  come  to  an  end, 
and  I  may  be  a  free  man  once  more." 

So  honest  Harry  laid  his  train,  and  fired  it ;  but,  the  explo- 
sion over,  no  harm  was  found  to  be  done,  except  that  William 
Esmond's  nose  was  swollen,  and  his  eye  black  for  a  week.  He 
did  not  send  a  challenge  to  his  cousin,  Harry  Warrington  ;  and, 
in  consequence,  neither  killed  Harry,  nor  was  killed  himself. 
Will  was  knocked  down,  and  he  got  up  again.  How  many 
men  of  sense  would  do  the  same,  could  they  get  their  little  ac- 
count settled  in  a  private  place,  with  nobody  to  tell  how  the 
score  was  paid  !  Maria  by  no  means  took  her  family's  side  in 
the  quarrel,  but  declared  for  her  cousin,  as  did  my  lord,  when 
advised  of  the  disturbance.  Will  had  struck  the  first  blow. 
Lord  Castlewood  said,  by  the  Chaplain's  showing.  It  was  not 
the  first  or  the  tenth  time  he  had  been  found  quarrelling  in  his 
cups.  Mr.  Warrington  only  showed  a  proper  spirit  in  resent- 
ing the  injury,  and  it  was  for  Will,  not  for  Harry,  to  ask 
pardon. 

Harry  said  he  would  accept  no  apology  as  long  as  his  horse 
was  not  returned  or  his  bet  paid.  This  chronicler  has  not  been 
able  to  find  out,  from  any  of  the  papers  which  have  come  under 
his  view,  how  that  affair  of  the  bet  was  finally  arranged  :  but 
'tis  certain  the  cousins  presently  met  in  the  houses  of  various 
friends,  and  without  mauling  each  other. 

Maria's  elder  brother  had  been  at  first  quite  willing  that  his 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  34^ 

sister,  who  had  remained  unmarried  for  so  many  years,  and  on 
the  train  of  whose  robe,  in  her  long  course  over  the  path  of 
hfe,  so  many  briars,  so  much  mud,  so  many  rents  and  stains 
had  naturally  gathered,  should  marry  with  any  bridegroom  who 
presented  himself,  and  if  with  a  gentleman  from  Virginia,  so 
much  the  better.  She  would  retire  to  his  wigwam  in  the  forest, 
and  there  be  disposed  of.  In  the  natural  course  of  things, 
Harry  would  survive  his  elderly  bride,  and  might  console  him- 
self or  not,  as  he  preferred,  after  her  departure. 

But,  after  an  interview  with  aunt  Bernstein,  which  his  lord- 
ship had  on  his  coming  to  London,  he  changed  his  opinion  :  and 
even  went  so  far  as  to  try  and  dissuade  Maria  from  the  match  ; 
and  to  profess  a  pity  for  the  young  fellow  who  was  to  be  made 
to  undergo  a  life  of  misery  on  account  of  a  silly  promise  given 
at  one-and-twenty. 

Misery,  indeed  !  Maria  was  at  a  loss  to  know  why  he  was 
to  be  miserable.  Pity,  forsooth  !  My  lord  at  Castlewood  had 
thought  it  was  no  pity  at  all.  Maria  knew  what  pity  meant. 
Her  brother  had  been  with  Aunt  Bernstein  :  Aunt  Bernstein 
had  offered  money  to  break  this  match  off.  She  understood 
what  my  lord  meant,  but  Mr.  Warrington  was  a  man  of  honor, 
and  she  could  trust  him.  Away,  upon  this,  walks  my  lord  to 
White's,  or  to  whatever  haunts  he  frequented.  It  is  probable 
that  his  sister  had  guessed  too  accurately  what  the  nature  of 
his  conversation  with  Madame  Bernstein  had  been. 

"And  so,"  thinks  he,  "the  end  of  my  virtue  is  likely  to  be 
that  the  Mohock  will  fall  a  prey  to  others,  and  that  there  is  no 
earthly  use  in  my  sparing  him.  '  Quem  Deus  vult ' — what  was 
the  school-master's  adage  t  If  I  don't  have  him,  somebody 
else  will.  That  is  clear.  My  brother  has  had  a  slice  ;  my  dear 
sister  wants  to  swallow  the  whole  of  him  bodily.  Here  have  I 
been  at  home  respecting  his  youth  and  innocence  forsooth, 
declining  to  play  beyond  the  value  of  a  sixpence,  and  acting 
guardian  and  Mentor  to  him.  Why,  I  am  but  a  fool  to  fatten 
a  goose  for  other  people  to  feed  off  !  Not  many  a  good  action 
have  I  done  in  this  life,  and  here  is  this  one,  that  serves  tobenef  t 
whom  1 — other  folks.  Talk  of  remorse  !  By  all  the  fires  and 
furies,  the  remorse  I  have  is  for  things  I  haven't  done  and 
might  have  done  !  Why  did  I  spare  Lucretia  ?  She  hated  me 
ever  after,  and  her  husband  went  the  way  for  which  he  was  pre- 
destined. Why  have  I  left  this  lad  o^l — that  March  and  the 
rest,  who  don't  want  him,  may  pluck  him  !  And  I  have  a  bad 
repute  ;  and  I  am  the  man  people  point  at,  and  call  the  wicked 
lord,  and  against  whom  women  warn  their  sons  !       Pardi,  I  am 


35 o  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

not  a  penny  worse,  only  a  great  deal  more  unlucky  than  my 
neighbors,  and  'tis  only  my  cursed  weakness  that  has  been  my 
greatest  enemy  !  "  Here,  manifestly,  in  setting  down  a  speech 
which  a  gentleman  only  thought^  a  chronicler  overdraws  his 
account  with  the  patient  reader,  who  has  a  right  not  to  accept 
this  draft  on  his  credulity.  But  have  not  Livy,  and  Thucy- 
dides,  and  a  score  more  of  historians,  made  spe'eches  for  their 
heroes,  which  we  know  the  latter  never  thought  of  delivering  ? 
How  much  more  may  we  then^  knowing  my  Lord  Castlewood's 
character  so  intimately  as  we  do,  declare  what  was  passing 
in  his  mind,  and  transcribe  his  thoughts  on  this  paper? 
What  ?  a  whole  pack  of  the  wolves  are  on  the  hunt  after  this 
lamb,  and  will  make  a  meal  of  him  presently,  and  one  hungr}^ 
old  hunter  is  to  stand  by,  and  not  have  a  single  cutlet  ?  Who 
has  not  admired  that  noble  speech  of  my  Lord  Clive,  when 
reproached  on  his  return  from  India  with  making  rather  too 
free  with  jaghires,  lakhs,  gold  mohurs,  diamonds,  pearls,  and 
what  not.  '•  Upon  my  life,"  said  the  hero  of  Plassy,  "  when  I 
think  of  my  opportunities,  I  am  surprised  I  took  so  little  !  " 

"  To  tell  disagreeable  stories  of  a  gentleman,  until  one  is  in 
a  manner  forced  to  impart  them,  is  always  painful,  to  a  feeling 
mind.  Hence,  though  I  have  known,  before  the  very  first  page 
of  this  history  was  written,  what  sort  of  a  person  my  Lord 
Castlewood  was,  and  in  what  esteem  he  was  held  by  his  con- 
temporaries, I  have  kept  back  much  that  was  unpleasant  about 
him,  only  allowing  the  candid  reader  to  perceive  that  he  was  a 
nobleman  who  ought  not  to  be  at  all  of  our  liking.  It  is  true 
that  my  Lord  March,  and  other  gentlemen  of  whom  he  com- 
plained, would  have  thought  no  more  of  betting  with  Mr.  War- 
rington for  his  last  shilling,  and  taking  their  winnings,  than  they 
would  scruple  to  pick  the  bones  of  a  chicken  ;  that  they  would 
take  any  advantage  of  the  game,  or  their  superior  skill  in  it,  of 
the  race  and  their  private  knowledge  of  the  horses  engaged ; 
in  so  far,  they  followed  the  practice  of  all  gentlemen  ;  but  when 
they  played,  they  played  fair ;  and  when  they  lost,  they  paid. 

Now  Madam  Bernstein  was  loth  to  tell  her  Virginian 
nephew  all  she  knew  to  his  family's  discredit ;  she  was  even 
touched  by  my  lord's  forbearance  in  regard  to  Harry  on  his 
first  arrival  in  Europe  ;  and  pleased  with  his  lordship's  com- 
pliance with  her  wishes  in 'this  particular.  But  in  the  conver- 
sation which  she  had  with  her  nephew  Castlewood  regarding 
Maria's  designs  on  Harry,  he  had  spoken  his  mind  out  with  his 
usual  cynicism,  voted  himself  a  fool  for  having  spared  a  l^' 
whom  no  sparing  would  eventually  keep  from  ruin ;  pointed  out 


THE    VIRGINIANS.  3^i 

Mr.  Harry  s  undeniable  extravagances  and  spendthrift  associ- 
ates, his  nights  at  faro  and  hazard,  and  his  rides  to  Newmarket, 
and  asked  wliy  he  alone  should  keep  his  hands  from  the  young 
fellow?  In  vain  Madame  Bernstein  pleaded  that  Harry  was 
poor.  Bah  !  he  was  heir  to  a  principality  which  ought  to  have 
been  his,  Castlewood's,  and  might  have  set  up  their  ruined 
family.  (Indeed  Madam  Bernstein  thought  Mr.  Warrington's 
Virginian  property  much  greater  than  it  w^as.)  Were  there  not 
money-lenders  in  the  town  who  would  give  him  money  on  post- 
obits  in  plenty  ?  Gastlewood  knew  as  much  to  his  cost :  he 
had  applied  to  them  in  his  father's  lifetime,  and  the  cursed 
crew  had  eaten  up  two-thirds  of  his  miserable  income.  He 
spoke  wdth  such  desperate  candor  and  ill-humor,  that  Madam 
Bernstein  began  to  be  alarmed  for  her  favorite,  and  determined 
to  caution  him  at  the  first  opportunity. 

That  evening  she  began  to  pen  a  billet  to  Mr.  Warrington  ; 
but  all  her  life  long  she  was  slow  with  her  pen,  and  dis- 
liked using  it.  "  I  never  knew  any  good  to  come  of  writing 
vc\ox&  \Xid,\\  bon  jour  ox  business,"  she  used  to  say.  "  What  is 
the  use  of  wTiting  ill,  when  there  are  so  many  clever  people 
W'ho  can  do  it  well  ?  and  even  then  it  w-ere  best  left  alone." 
So  she  sent  one  of  her  men  to  Mr.  Harry's  lodging,  bidding 
him  come  and  drink  a  dish  of  tea  with  her  next  day,  when  she 
proposed  to  warn  him. 

But  the  next  morning  she  was  indisposed,  and  could  not 
receive  Mr.  Harry  when  he  came  :  and  she  kept  her  chamber 
for  a  couple  of  days,  and  the  next  day  there  was  a  great 
engagement ;  and  the  next  day  Mr.  Harry  was  off  on  some 
expedition  of  his  own.  In  the  whirl  of  London  life,  what  man 
sees  his  neighbor,  what  brother  his  sister,  what  schoolfellow 
his  old  friend .?  Ever  so  many  days  passed  before  Mr.  War- 
rington and  his  aunt  had  that  confidential  conversation  which 
the  latter  desired. 

She  began  by  scolding  him  mildly  about  his  extravagance 
and  mad-cap  frolics  (though  in  truth  she  w^as  charmed  with  him 
for  both) — he  replied  that  young  men  will  be  young  men,  and 
that  it  was  in  dutifully  waiting  in  attendance  on  his  aunt,  he  had 
made  the  acquaintance  wdth  whom  he  mostly  lived  at  present. 
She  then,  wdth  some  prelude,  began  to  warn  him  regarding  his 
cousin.  Lord  Gastlewood ;  on  which  he  broke  into  a  bitter 
laugh,  and  said  the  good-natured  world  had  told  him  plenty 
about  Lord  Gastlewood  already.  "  To  say  of  a  man  of  his 
lordship's  rank,  or  of  any  gentleman,  '  Don't  play  with  him,'  is 
more  than  I  like  to  do,"  continued  the  lady ;  *'  but  *  *  *  " 


352  THE    VIRGINIAXS. 

"  O^,  you  may  say  on,  aunt  !  "  said  Harry,  with  something 
like  an  imprecation  on  his  Hps. 

"  And  have  you  played  with  your  cousin  already  ? "  asked 
the  young  man's  worldly  old  monitress. 

••  And  lost  and  won  Madam !  "  answ^ers  Harry  gallantly. 
"  It  don't  become  me  to  say  which.  If  w^e  have  a  bout  with  a 
neighbor  in  Virginia,  a  bottle,  or  a  pack  of  cards,  or  a  quarrel, 
we  don't  go  home  and  tell  our  mothers.  I  mean  no  offence, 
aunt !  "  And,  blushing,  the  handsome  young  fellow  w^ent  up 
and  kissed  the  old  lady.  He  looked  very  brave  and  brilliant, 
with  his  rich  lace,  his  fair  face  and  hair,  his  fine  new  suit  of 
velvet  and  gold.  On  taking  leave  of  his  aunt  he  gave  his 
usual  sumptuous  benefactions  to  her  servants,  w-ho  crowded 
round  him.  It  was  a  rainy  winter  day,  and  my  gentleman,  to 
save  his  fine  silk  stockings,  must  come  in  a  chair.  "  To 
White's  ! "  he  called  out  to  the  chairmen,  and  away  they 
carried  him  to  the  place  where  he  passed  a  great  deal  of  his 
time. 

Our  Virginian's  friends  might  have  wished  that  he  had  been 
a  less  sedulous  frequenter  of  that  house  of  entertainment !  but 
so  much  may  be  said  in  favor  of  Mr.  Warrington  that,  having 
engaged  in  play,  he  fought  his  battle  like  a  hero.  He  was  not 
flustered  by  good  luck,  and  perfectly  calm  when  the  chances 
went  against  him.  If  Fortune  is  proverbially  fickle  to  men  at 
play,  how  many  men  are  fickle  to  Fortune,  run  away  frightened 
from  her  advances ;  and  desert  her,  who,  perhaps,  had  never 
thought  of  leaving  them  but  for  their  cowardice.  ''  By  George, 
Mr.  Warrington,"  said  Mr.  Selwyn,  waking  up  in  a  rare  fit  of 
enthusiasm,  "  you  deserve  to  win  !  Vou  treat  your  luck  as  a 
gentleman  should,  and  as  long  as  she  remains  with  you,  behave 
to  her  with  the  most  perfect  politeness.  Si  celeres  quatit  pen- 
nas — you  know  the  rest.  No  ?  Well,  you  are  not  much  the 
worse  off — you  wall  call  her  ladyship's  coach,  and  make  her  a 
bow  at  the  step.  Look  at  Lord  Castlewood  yonder,  passing 
the  box.  Did  you  ever  hear  a  fellow  curse  and  swear  so  at 
losing  five  or  six  pieces  ?  She  must  be  a  jade  indeed,  if  she 
long  give  her  favors  to  such  a  niggardly  ca7iaille  as  that !  " 

"We  don't  consider  our  family  canaille,  sir,  says  Mr.  War- 
rington, ''  and  my  Lord  Castlewood  is  one  of  them," 

"  I  forgot.  I  forgot,  and  ask  your  pardon  !  And  I  make 
you  my  compliment  upon  my  lord,  and  Mr.  Will  Esmond  his 
brother,"  says  Harry's  neighbor  at  the  hazard-table.  "The 
box  is  with  me.  Five's  the  main  !  Deuce  Ace  !  my  usual 
luck.    Virtute  mea  me  involve  !  "  and  he  sinks  back  in  his  chair. 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  .^^^-^ 

Whether  it  vv'-as  upon  this  occasion  of  taking  the  box,  that 
Mr.  Harry  threw  the  fifteen  mains  mentioned  in  one  of  those 
other  letters  of  Mr.  Walpole's,  which  have  not  come  into  his 
present  learned  editor's  hands,  I  know  not ;  but  certain  it  is, 
that  on  his  first  appearance  at  "Whites,"  Harry  had  five  or  six 
evenings  of  prodigious  good  luck,  and  seemed  more  than  ever 
the  Fortunate  Youth.  The  five  hundred  pounds  withdrawn 
from  his  patrimonial  inheritance  had  multiplied  into  thousands. 
He  bought  fine  clothes,  purchased  fine  horses,  gave  grand 
entertainments,  made  handsome  presents,  lived  as  if  he  had 
been  as  rich  as  Sir  James  Lowther,  or  his  Grace  of  Bedford, 
and  yet  the  five  thousand  pounds  never  seemed  to  diminish. 
No  wonder  that  he  gave  where  giving  was  so  easy  ;  no  wonder 
that  he  was  generous  with  Fortunatus's  purse  in  his  pocket.  I 
say  no  wonder  that  he  gave,  for  such  was  his  nature.  Other 
Fortunati  tie  up  the  endless  purse,  drink  small  beer,  and  go  to 
bed  with  a  tallow  candle. 

During  this  vein  of  his  luck,  what  must  Mr.  Harry  do,  but 
find  out  from  Lady  Maria  what  her  ladyship's  debts  were,  and 
pay  them  off  to  the  last  shilling.  Her  stepmother  and  half- 
sister,  who  did  not  love  her,  he  treated  to  all  sorts  of  magnifi- 
cent presents.  "  Had  you  not  better  get  yourself  arrested, 
Will  ? "  my  lord  sardonically  said  to  his  brother.  "  Although 
you  bit  him  in  that  affair  of  the  horse,  the  Mohock  will  certainly 
take  you  out  of  pawn."  It  was  then  that  Mr.  William  felt  a 
true  remorse,  though  not  of  that  humble  kind  which  sent  the 
repentant  Prodigal  to  his  knees.  "  Confound  it,"  he  groaned, 
"  to  think  that  I  have  let  this  fellow  slip  for  such  a  little  matter 
as  fifty  pound  !     Why,  he  was  good  for  a  thousand  at  least !  " 

As  for  Maria,  that  generous  creature  accepted  the  good  for- 
tune sent  her  with  a  grateful  heart ;  and  was  ready  to  accept  as 
much  more  as  you  pleased.  Having  paid  off  her  debts  to  her 
various  milliners,  tradesmen,  and  purveyors,  she  forthwith  pro- 
ceeded to  contract  new  ones.  Mrs.  Betty,  her  ladyship's  maid, 
went  round  informing  the  tradespeople  that  her  mistress  was 
about  to  contract  a  matrimonial  alliance  with  a  young  gentle- 
man of  immense  fortune  ;  so  that  they  might  give  my  lady 
credit  to  any  amount.  Having  heard  the  same  story  twice  or 
thrice  before,  the  tradesfolk  might  not  give  it  entire  credit,  but 
their  bills  were  paid  :  even  to  Mrs.  Pincott,  ©f  Kensington,  my 
lady  showed  no  rancor,  and  affably  ordered  fresh  supplies 
from  her  ;  and  when  she  drove  about  from  the  mercer  to  the 
toy-shop,  and  from  the  toy-shop  to  a  jeweller,  in  a  coach,  with 
her  maid  and  Mr.  Warrington  inside,  they  thought  her  a  fortu 

23 


354  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

nate  woman  indeed,  to  have  secured  the  Fortunate  Youth, 
though  they  might  wonder  at  the  taste  of  this  latter  in  ha\-ing 
selected  so  elderly  a  beauty,  Mr.  Sparks,  of  Tavistock  street, 
Covent  Garden,  took  the  liberty  of  waiting  upon  Mr,  Warring- 
ton at  his  lodgings  in  Bond  street,  with  the  pearl  necklace  and 
the  gold  etwee  which  he  had  bought  in  Lady  Maria's  company 
the  day  before  ;  and  asking  whether  he,  Sparks,  should  leave 
them  at  his  honor's  lodging,  or  send  them  to  her  ladyship  with 
his  honor's  compliments  ?  Harry  added  a  ring  out  of  the  stock 
which  the  jeweller  happened  to  bring  with  him,  to  the  necklace 
and  the  etwee  ;  and  sumptuously  bidding  that  individual  to 
send  him  in  the  bill,  took  a  majestic  leave  of  Mr.  Sparks,  who 
retired,  bowing  even  to  Gumbo,  as  he  quitted  his  honor's 
presence. 

Nor  did  his  bounties  end  here.  Ere  many  days  the  pleased 
young  fellow  drove  up  in  his  phaeton  to  Mr.  Sparks'  shop,  and 
took  a  couple  of  trinkets  for  two  young  ladies,  whose  parents 
had  been  kind  to  him,  and  for  whom  he  entertained  a  sincere 
regard.  '*  Ah  ! "  thought  he,  "  how  I  wish  I  had  my  poor 
George's  wit  and  genius  for  poetry !  I  would  send  these 
presents  with  pretty  verses  to  Hetty  and  Theo.  I  am  sure,  if 
good-will  and  real  regard  could  make  a  poet  of  me,  I  should 
have  no  difficulty  in  finding  rhymes,"  And  so  he  called  in 
Parson  Sampson,  and  they  concocted  a  billet  together. 


CHAPTER    XLHI. 

IN    WHICH    HARRY    FLIES    HIGH. 


So  Mr.  Harry  Warrington,  of  A'^irginia,  had  his  lodgings  in 
Bond  Street,  London,  England,  and  lived  upon  the  fat  of  the 
land,  and  drank  bumpers  of  the  best  wine  thereof.  His  title  of 
Fortunate  Youth  was  pretty  generally  recognized.  Being  young, 
wealthy,  good-looking,  and  fortunate,  the  fashionable  world 
took  him  by  the  hand  and  made  him  welcome.  Harry  was 
liked  because  he  was  likeable ;  because  he  was  rich,  handsome, 
jovial,  well-born,  well-bred,  brave  ;  because,  with  jolly  topers, 
he  liked  a  jolly  song  and  a  bottle  ;  because,  with  gentlemen 
sportsmen,  he  loved  any  game  that  was  a-foot  or  a-horseback  ; 
because,  with  ladies,  he  had  a  modest  blushing  timidity  which 
rendered  the  lad  interesting ;  because,  to  those  humbler  than 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


355 


himself  in  degree  he  was  always  magnificently  liberal,  and 
anxious  to  spare  annoyance.  Our  Virginian  w^as  very  grand, 
and  high  and  mighty,  to  be  sure  ;  but,  in  those  times,  when  the 
distinction  of  ranks  yet  obtained,  to  be  high  and  distant  with 
his  inferiors,  brought  no  unpopularity  to  a  gentleman.  Re- 
member that,  in  those  days,  the  Secretary  of  State  alwa3-s  knelt 
when  he  went  to  the  king  with  his  despatches  of  a  morning, 
and  the  Under-Secretary  never  dared  to  sit  down  in  his  chief's 
presence.  If  I  were  Secretary  of  State  (and  such  there  have 
been  amongst  men  of  letters  since  Addison's  days)  I  should  not 
like  to  kneel  when  I  went  in  to  my  audience  with  my  despatch- 
box.  If  I  were  Under-Secretary,  I  should  not  like  to  have  to 
stand,  whilst  the  Right  Honorable  Benjamin  or  the  Right 
Honorable  Sir  Edward  looked  over  the  papers.  But  there  is  a 
modus  in  rebus :  there  are  certain  lines  which  must  be  drawn  : 
and  I  am  only  half  pleased,  for  my  part,  when  Bob  Bowstreet, 
whose  connection  with  letters  is  through  Policeman  X  and  Y, 
and  Tom  Garbage,  who  is  an  esteemed  contributor  to  the 
KcTifiel  Miscellany.,  propose  to  join  fellowship  as  brother  literary 
men,  slap  me  on  the  back,  and  call  me  old  boy  ;  or  by  my 
Christian  name. 

As  much  pleasure  as  the  town  could  give  in  the  winter 
season  of  1756-57,  Mr.  Warrington  had  for  the  asking.  There 
were  operas  for  him,  in  which  he  took  but  moderate  delight. 
(A  prodigious  deal  of  satire  was  brought  to  bear  against  these 
Italian  Operas,  and  they  were  assailed  for  being  foolish.  Popish, 
unmanly,  unmeaning ;  but  people  went,  nevertheless.)  There 
were  the  theatres,  with  Mr.  Garrick  and  ]\Irs.  Pritchard  at  one 
house,  and  Mrs.  Clive  at  another.  There  were  masquerades 
and  ridottos,  frequented  by  all  the  fine  society  ;  there  were 
their  lordship's  and  ladyship's  own  private  drums  and  assem- 
blies, which  began  and  ended  with  cards,  and  which  Mr.  War- 
rington did  not  like  so  well  as  White's,  because  the  play  there 
was  neither  so  high  nor  so  fair  as  at  the  club-table. 

One  day  his  kinsman.  Lord  Castlewood,  took  him  to  Court, 
and  presented  Harry  to  his  Majesty,  who  was  now  come  to 
town  from  Kensington.  But  that  gracious  sovereign  either  did 
not  like  Harry's  introducer,  or  had  other  reasons  for  being 
sulky.  His  Majesty  only  said,  "  Oh,  heard  of  you  from  Lady 
Yarmouth.  The  Earl  of  Castlewood  "  (turning  to  his  lordship, 
and  speaking  in  German,)  "  shall  tell  him  that  he  plays  too 
much  !  "  And  so  saying,  the  Defender  of  the  Faith  turned  his 
royal  back.  Lord  Castlewood  shrank  back  quite  frightened  at 
this  cold  reception  of  his  august  master. 


356  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

"  What  does  he  say  ?  "  asked  Harry. 

"  His  Majesty  thinks  they  play  too  high  at  White's,  and  is 
displeased,'"  whispered  the  nobleman. 

"  If  he  does  not  want  us,  we  had  better  not  come  again, 
that  is  all,"  said  Harry,  simply.  '^  I  never,  somehow,  con- 
sidered that  German  fellow  a  real  King  of  England." 

"  Hush  !  for  heaven's  sake,  hold  your  confounded  colonial 
tonguci  ''  cries  out  my  lord.  "  Don't  you  see  the  walls  here 
have  ears  ?  " 

"  And  what  then  ?  "  asks  Mr.  Warrington.  "  Why,  look  at 
the  people  !  Hang  me,  if  it  is  not  quite  a  curiosity  !  They 
were  all  shaking  hands  witli  me,  and  bowing  to  me,  and  flatter- 
ing me  just  now  ;  and  at  present  they  avoid  me  as  if  I  were  the 
plague  !  " 

"  Shake  hands,  nephew,"  said  a  broad-faced,  broad-shoul- 
dered gentleman  in  a  scarlet-laced  waistcoat,  and  a  great  old- 
fashioned  wig.  "  I  heard  what  you  said.  I  have  ears  like  the 
wall,  look  you.  And,  now,  if  other  people  show  you  the  cold 
shoulder,  I'll  give  you  my  hand."  And  so  saying,  the  gentle- 
man put  out  a  great  brown  hand,  with  which  he  grasped  Harr^^'s. 
''  Something  of  my  brother  about  your  eyes  and  face.  Though 
I  suppose  in  your  island  you  grow  more  wiry  and  thin  like.  I 
am  thine  uncle,  child.  My  name  is  Sir  IMiles  Warrington.  My 
lord  knows  me  well  enough." 

My  lord  looked  very  frightened  and  yellow.  "  Yes,  my 
dear  Harry.    This  is  your  paternal  uncle.  Sir  Miles  Warrington." 

"  Might  as  well  have  come  to  see  us  in  Norfolk,  as  dangle 
about  playing  the  fool  at  Tumbridge  Wells,  Mr.  Warrington,  or 
Mr.  Esmond, — which  do  you  call  yourself?"  said  the  Baronet. 
"  The  old  lady  calls  herself  Madam  Esmond,  don't  she  ?  " 

"  My  mother  is  not  ashamed  of  her  father's  name,  nor  am 
I,  uncle,"  said  Mr.  Harry,  rather  proudly. 

"  Well  said,  lad  !  Come  home  and  eat  a  bit  of  mutton  with 
Lady  Warrington,  at  three,  in  HiiI  Street, —  that  is  if  you  can 
do  without  your  White's  kickshaws.  You  need  not  look  fright- 
ened, my  Lord  Castlewood  !     I  shall  tell  no  tales  out  of  school." 

"^  I — I  am  sure  Sir  Miles  Warrington  will  act  as  a  gentle- 
man I  "  says  my  lord,  in  much  perturbation. 

"  Belike  he  will,"  growled  the  Baronet,  turning  on  his  heel. 
"  And  thou  wilt  come,  young  man,  at  three  ;  and  mind,  good 
roast  mutton  waits  for  nobody.  Thou  hast  a  great  look  of  thy 
father.  Lord  bless  us,  how  we  used  to  beat  each  other  !  He 
was  smaller  than  me,  and  in  course  younger  ;  but  many  a  time 
he  had  the  best  of  it.     Take  it  he   was  henpecked  when  he 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  3^7 

married,  and  Madam  Esmond  took  the  spirit  out  of  him  when 
she  got  him  in  her  island.  Virginia  is  an  island.  Ain't  it  an 
island  ?  " 

Harr)--  laughed,  and  said  "  No  !  "  And  the  jolly  Baronet, 
going  off,  said,  '^  Well,  island  or  not,  thou  must  come  and  tell 
all  about  it  to  my  ladv.  Shell  know  whether  'tis  an  island  or 
not." 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Warrington,"  said  my  lord,  with  an  appealing 
look,  "  I  need  not  tell  you  that,  in  this  great  city,  ever}-  man 
has  enemies,  and  that  there  is  a  great,  great  deal  of  detraction 
and  scandal.  I  never  spoke  to  you  about  Sir  Miles  W^ar- 
rington,  precisely  because  I  did  know  him,  and  because  we 
have  had  differences  together.  Should  he  permit  himself  re- 
marks to  my  disparagement,  you  will  receive  them  cum  gra7io, 
and  remember  that  it  is  from  an  enemy  they  come."  And  the 
pair  walked  out  of  the  King's  apartments  and  into  Saint 
James's  Street.  Harr}^  found  the  news  of  his  cold  reception  at 
court  had  already  preceded  him  to  White's.  The  King  had 
turned  his  back  upon  him.  The  King  was  jealous  of  Harry's 
favor  with  the  favorite.  Harry  was  an  mieiix  with  Lady  Yar- 
mouth. A  score  of  gentlemen  wished  him  a  compliment  upon 
his  conquest.  Before  night  it  was  a  settled  matter  that  this 
was  amongst  the  other  victories  of  the  Fortunate  Youth. 

Sir  Miles  told  his  wife  and  Harr}^  as  much,  when  the  3'oung 
man  appeared  at  the  appointed  hour  at  the  Baronet's  dinner- 
table,  and  he  rallied  Harr}^  in  his  simple  rustic  fashion.  The 
lady,  at  first  a  grand  and  stately  personage,  told  Harry,  on 
their  further  acquaintance,  that  the  reputation  which  the  world 
had  made  for  him  was  so  bad,  that  at  first  she  had  given 
him  but  a  frigid  v/elcome.  With  the  young  ladies  Sir  Miles's 
daughters,  it  was,  "  How  d'ye  do,  cousin?"  and  "  No,  thank 
you,  cousin,"  and  a  number  of  prim  curtseys  to  the  Virginian, 
as  they  greeted  him  and  took  leave  of  him.  The  little  boy, 
the  heir  of  the  house,  dined  at  table,  under  the  care  of  his 
governor  ;  and,  having  his  glass  of  port  by  papa  after  dinner, 
gave  a  loose  to  his  innocent  tongue,  and  asked  many  questions 
of  his  cousin.  At  last  the  innocent  youth  said,  after  looking 
hard  in  Harry's  face,  "  Are  you  wicked,  Cousin  Harry  t  You 
don't  look  very  wicked  !  " 

"  My  dear  Master  Miles  !  "  expostulates  the  tutor,  turning 
very  red. 

"  But  you  know  you  said  he  was  wicked  !  "  cried  the  child. 

"  We  are  all  miserable  sinners,  Miley,"  explains  papa. 
"  Haven't  you  heard  the  clergyman  say  so  every  Sunday  1  " 


358 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


"  Yes,  but  not  so  very  wicked  as  Cousin  Harr}-.  Is  it  true 
that  you  gamble,  cousin,  and  drink  all  night  with  wicked  men, 
and  frequent  the  company  of  wicked  women  ?  You  know  you 
said  so,  Mr.  Walker — and  mamma  said  so,  too,  that  Lady 
Yarmouth  was  a  wicked  woman." 

"And  you  are  a  little  pitcher,"  cries  papa  :  "  and  my  wife, 
Nephew  Harry,  is  a  staunch  Jacobite — you  won't  like  her  the 
worse  for  that.  Take  Miles  to  his  sisters,  Mr.  Walker,  and 
Topsham  shall  give  thee  a  ride  in  the  park,  child,  on  thy  little 
horse."  The  idea  of  the  little  horse  consoled  Master  Miles  ; 
for,  when  his  father  ordered  him  away  to  his  sisters,  he  had 
begun  to  cr}'  bitterly,  bawling  out  that  he  would  far  rather  stay 
with  his  wicked  cousin. 

"  They  have  made  you  a  sad  reputation  among  'em, 
nephew  !  "  says  the  jolly  Baronet.  "  My  wife,  you  must  know, 
of  late  years,  and  since  the  death  of  my  poor  eldest  son,  has 
taken  to, — to,  hum ! — to  Tottenham  Court  Road  and  Mr. 
Whitfield's  preaching :  and  we  have  had  one  Ward  about  the 
house,  a  friend  of  Mr.  Walker's  yonder,  who  has  recounted  sad 
stories  about  you  and  your  brother  at  home." 

"  About  me.  Sir  Miles,  as  much  as  he  pleases,"  cries  Harry, 
warm  with  port;  "but  I'll  break  any  man's  bones  who  dares 
say  a  word  against  my  brother  1  Why.  sir,  that  fellow  was  not 
fit  to  buckle  my  dear  George's  shoe  ;  and  if  I  find  him  repeat- 
ing at  home  what  he  dared  to  say  in  our  house  in  Yirginia,  I 
promise  him  a  second  caning." 

"You  seem  to  stand  up  for  your  friends.  Nephew  Harry," 
says  the  Baronet.  "  Fill  thy  glass,  lad,  thou  art  not  as  bad  as 
thou  hast  been  painted.  I  always  told  my  ladies  so.  I  drink 
Madam  Esmond  Warrington's  health,  of  A'irginia,  and  will  have 
a  full  bumper  for  that  toast." 

Harry,  as  in  duty  bound,  emptied  his  glass,  filled  again,  and 
drank  Lady  Warrington  and  Master  Miles. 

"  Thou  wouldst  be  heir  to  four  thousand  acres  in  Norfolk, 
did  he  die,  though,"  said  the  Baronet. 

"  God  forbid,  sir,  and  be  praised  that  I  have  acres  enough 
in  Virginia  of  my  own  !  "  says  Mr.  Warrington.  He  went  up 
presently  and  took  a  dish  of  coffee  with  Lady  \\'arrington  :  he 
talked  to  the  young  ladies  of  the  house.  He  was  quite  easy, 
pleasant,  and  natural.  There  was  one  of  them  somewhat  like 
Fanny  Mountain,  and  this  young  lady  became  his  special 
favorite.  When  he  went  away,  they  all  agreed  their  wicked 
cousin  was  not  near  so  wicked  as  they  had  imagined  him  to 
be  :  at  any  rate,  my  lady  had  strong  hopes  of  rescuing  him  from 


THE   VIRGI.riANS.  3-^ 

the  pit.  She  sent  him  a  good  book  that  evening,  whilst  Mr. 
Harry  was  at  White's  ;  with  a  pretty  note,  praying  that  "  Law's 
Call  "  might  be  of  service  to  him  :  and,  this  despatched,  she 
and  her  daughters  went  off  to  a  rout  at  the  house  of  a  minister's 
lady.  But  Harry,  before  he  went  to  White's,  had  driven  to  his 
friend  Mr.  Sparks,  in  Tavistock  Street,  and  purchased  more 
trinkets  for  his  female  cousins — "from  their  aunt  in  Virginia," 
he  said.  You  see;  he  was  full  of  kindness  :  he  kindled  and 
warmed  with  prosperity.  There  are  men  on  whom  wealth  hath 
no  such  fortunate  influence.  It  hardens  base  hearts  :  it  makes 
those  who  were  mean  and  servile,  mean  and  proud.  If  it  ;.hould 
please  the  gods  to  try  me  with  ten  thousand  a  year,  I  will,  of 
course,  meekly  submit  myself  to  their  decrees,  but  I  will  pray 
them  to  give  me  strength  enough  to  bear  the  trial.  All  the 
girls  in  Hill  Street  were  delighted  at  getting  the  presents  from 
Aunt  Warrington  in  Virginia,  and  addressed  a  collective  note, 
which  must  have  astonished  that  good  lady  when  she  received 
it  in  Spring  time,  when  she  and  Mountain  and  Fanny  were  on 
a  visit  to  grim,  deserted  Castlewood,  when  the  snows  had 
cleared  away,  and  a  thousand  peach-trees  flushed  with  blossoms. 
"  Poor  boy !  "  the  mother  thought.  "  This  is  some  present  he 
gave  his  cousins  in  my  name,  in  the  time  of  his  prosperity — nay, 
of  his  extra\-agance  and  folly.  How  quickly  his  wealth  has 
passed  away  !  But  he  ever  had  a  kind  heart  for  the  poor, 
Mountain  ;  and  we  must  not  forget  him  in  his  need.  It  behoves 
us  to  be  more  than  ever  careful  of  our  own  expenses,  my  good 
people  !  "  And  so,  I  dare  say,  they  warmed  themselves  by  one 
log  ;  and  ats  of  one  dish,  and  worked  by  one  candle.  And  the 
widow's  servants,  whom  the  good  soul  began  to  pinch  more 
and  more  I  fear,  lied,  stole,  and  cheated  more  and  more  :  and 
what  was  saved  in  one  way,  was  stole  in  another. 

One  afternoon,  Mr.  Harry  sat  in  his  Bond  Street  lodgings, 
arra3^ed  in  his  dressing-gown,  sipping  his  chocolate,  surrounded 
by  luxury,  encased  in  satin,  and  yet  enveloped  in  care.  A  few 
weeks  previously,  when  the  luck  was  with  him,  and  he  was 
scattering  his  benefactions  to  and  fro,  he  had  royally  told  Par- 
son Sampson  to  get  together  a  list  of  his  debts,  which  he,  Mr. 
Warrington,  would  pay.  Accordingly,  Sampson  had  gone  to 
work,  and  had  got  together  a  list,  not  of  all  his  debts, — no  man 
ever  does  set  down  all, — but  such  a  catalogue  as  he  thought 
sufficient  to  bring  in  to  Mr.  Warrington,  at  whose  breakfast- 
table  the  divine  had  humbly  waited  until  his  honor  should 
choose  to  attend  it. 

Harry  appeared  at   length,  ver}^  pale   and  languid,  in  curl- 


360 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


papers,  had  scarce  any  appetite  for  his  breakfast ;  and  ths 
Chaplain,  fumbling  with  his  schedule  in  his  pocket,  humbly 
asked  if  his  patron  had  had  a  bad  night  ?  Yes,  his  honor  had 
had  a  very  bad  night.  He  had  been  brought  home  from 
White's  by  two  chairmen  at  five  o'clock  in  the  morning  ;  had 
caught  a  confounded  cold,  for  one  of  the  windows  of  the  chair 
would  not  shut,  and  the  rain  and  snow  came  in  ;  finally,  was  in 
such  a  bad  humor,  that  all  poor  Sampson's 'quirks  and  jokes 
could  scarcely  extort  a  smile  from  him. 

At  last,  to  be  sure,  Mr.  Warrington  burst  into  a  loud  laugh. 
It  Avas  when  the  poor  Chaplain,  after  a  sufficient  discussion  of 
muffins,  eggs,  tea,  the  news,  the  theatres,  and  so  forth,  pulled  a 
paper  out  of  his  pocket,  and  in  a  piteous  tone  said,  "  Here  is 
that  schedule  of  debts  which  your  honor  asked  for — two  hun- 
dred and  forty-three  pounds — every  shilling  I  owe  in  the  world, 
thank  heaven  ! — that  is — ahem  ! — every  shilling  of  which  the 
payment  will  in  the  least  inconvenience  me — and  I  need  not 
tell  my  dearest  patron  that  I  shall  consider  him  my  saviour  and 
benefactor !  " 

It  was  then  that  Harr}',  taking  the  paper  and  eyeing  the 
Chaplain  with  rather  a  wicked  look,  burst  into  a  laugh,  which 
was,  however,  anything  but  jovial.  Wicked  execrations,  more- 
over, accompanied  this  outbreak  of  humor,  and  the  luckless 
Chaplain  felt  that  his  petition  had  cofne  at  the  wrong  moment. 

"  Confound  it,  why  didn't  you  bring  it  on  ^Monday  ?  "  Harry 
asked. 

''  Confound  me,  why  did  I  not  bring  it  on  Monday  ? "'  echoed 
the  Chaplain's  timid  soul.  "  It  is  my  luck — my  usual  luck. 
Have  the  cards  been  against  you,  ^Ir.  Warrington  ? "' 

"  Yes  :  a  plague  on  them.  Monday  night,  and  last  night, 
have  both  gone  against  me.  Don't  be  frightened,  Chaplain, 
there's  money  enough  in  the  locker  yet.  But  I  must  go  into 
the  City  and  get  some." 

"  What,  sell  out,  sir  ? "  asks  his  Reverence,  with  a  voice  that 
was  re-assured,  though  it  intended  to  be  alarmed. 

"  Sell  out,  sir  ?  "  Yes  !  I  borrowed  a  hundred  of  Mackreth 
in  counters  last  night,  and  must  pay  him  at  dinner-time.  I  will 
do  your  business  for  you  nevertheless,  and  never  fear,  my  good 
Mr.  Sampson.  Come  to  breakfast  to-morrow,  and  we  will  see 
and  deliver  your  Reverence  from  the  Philistines."  But  though 
he  laughed  in  Sampson's  presence,  and  strove  to  put  a  good 
face  upon  the  matter,  Harry's  head  sank  down  on  his  chest 
when  the  parson  quitted  him,  and  he  sat  over  the  fire,  beating 
the  coals  about  with  the  poker,  and  giving  utterance  to  many 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  361 

naughty  disjointed  words,  which  showed,  but  did  not  relieve, 
the  agitation  of  his  spirit. 

In  this  mood,  the  young  fellow  was  interrupted  by  the 
appearance  of  a  friend,  who  on  any  other  day — even  on  that 
one  when  his  conscience  was  so  uneasy — was  welcome  to  Mr, 
Warrington.  This  was  no  other  than  Mr.  Lambert,  in  his 
military  dress,  but  with  a  cloak  over  him,  who  had  come  from 
the  countr}^,  had  been  to  the  Captain-General's  levee  that 
morning,  and  had  come  thence  to  visit  his  young  friend  in 
Bond  Street. 

Harry  may  have  thought  Lambert's  greeting  rather  cold  ; 
but  being  occupied  with  his  own  affairs,  he  put  away  that 
notion.  How  were  the  ladies  of  Oakhurst,  and  Miss  Hetty, 
who  was  ailing  when  he  passed  through  in  the  autumn  ? 
Purely  ?  Mr.  Warrington  M'as  very  glad.  They  were  come  to 
stay  awhile  in  London  with  their  friend  Lord  Wrotham  ?  Mr. 
Harry  was  delighted — though  it  must  be  confessed  his  face  did 
not  exhibit  any  peculiar  signs  of  pleasure  when  he  heard  the 
news. 

"And  so  you  live  at  W^hite's,  and  with  the  great  folks  ;  and 
you  fare  sumptuously  every  day,  and  you  pay  your  court  at  St. 
James's,  and  make  one  at  my  Lady  Yarmouth's  routs,  and  at 
all  the  card-parties  in  the  Court  end  of  the  town  1 "  asks  the 
Colonel. 

"  My  dear  Colonel,  I  do  what  other  folks  do,"  says  Harry, 
with  rather  a  high  manner. 

"  Other  folks  are  richer  folks  than  some  folks,  my  dear  lad." 

"  Sir!*'  says  Mr.  Warrington,  "  I  would  thank  you  to  believe 
that  I  owe  nothing  for  which  I  cannot  pay  ! " 

"  I  should  never  have  spoken  about  your  affairs,"  said  the 
other,  not  noticing  the  young  man's  haughty  tone,  "  but  that 
you  yourself  confided  them  to  me.  I  hear  all  sorts  of  stories 
about  the  Fortunate  Youth.  Only  at  his  Royal  Highness's 
even  to-day,  they  were  saying  how  rich  you  were  already,  and  I 
did  not  undeceive  them — " 

"  Colonel  Lambert,  I  can't  help  the  world  gossiping  about 
me !  "  cries  Mr.  Warrington,  more  and  more  impatient. 

" — And  what  prodigious  sums  you  had  won.  Eighteen 
hundred  one  night — two  thousand  another — six  or  eight  thou- 
sand in  all !  Oh  !  there  were  gentlemen  from  White's  at  the 
leve'e  too,  I  can  assure  you,  and  the  army  can  fling  a  main  as 
well  as  you  civilians  !  " 

"  I  wish  they  would  meddle  with  their  own  affairs,''  says 
Harry,  scowling  at  his  old  friend. 


362  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

"  And  I,  too,  you  look  as  if  you  were  going  to  say.  Well, 
my  boy,  it  is  my  affair,  and  you  must  let  Theo's  father  and 
Hetty's  father,  and  Harry  Warrington's  father's  old  friend  say 
how  it  is  my  affair."  Here  the  Colonel  drew  a  packet  out  of 
his  pocket.  "  Look  you,  Harry.  These  trinkets  which  you 
sent  with  the  kindest  heart  in  the  world  to  people  who  love 
you,  and  would  cut  off  their  little  hands  to  spare  you  needless 
pain,  could  never  be  bought  by  a  young  fellow  with  two  or 
three  hundred  a  year.  Why,  a  nobleman  might  buy  these 
things,  or  a  rich  City  banker,  and  send  them  to  his — to  his 
daughters,  let  us  say." 

"  Sir,  as  you  say,  I  meant  only  kindness,"  says  Harry,  blush- 
ing burning-red. 

"  But  you  must  not  give  them  to  my  girls,  my  boy.  Hester 
and  Theodosia  Lambert  must  not  be  dressed  up  with  the  win- 
nings off  the  gaming-table,  saving  your  presence.  It  goes  to 
my  heart  to  bring  back  the  trinkets.  Mrs.  Lambert  will  keep 
her  jDresent,  which  is  of  small  value,  and  sends  you  her  love 
and  a  God  bless  you — and  so  say  I,  Harry  Warrington,  with  all 
my  heart."  Here  the  good  Colonel's  voice  was  much  moved, 
and  his  face  grew  very  red,  and  he  passed  his  hand  over  his 
eyes  ere  he  held  it  out. 

But  the  spirit  of  rebellion  was  strong  in  Mr.  Warrington. 
He  rose  up  from  his  seat,  never  offering  to  take  the  hand 
which  his  senior  held  out  to  him.  "  Give  me  leave  to  tell 
Colonel  Lambert,"  he  said,  "  that  I  have  had  somewhat  too 
much  advice  from  him.  You  are  for  ever  volunteering  it,  sir, 
and  when  I  don't  ask  it.  You  make  it  your  business  to  inquire 
about  my  gains  at  play,  and  about  the  company  I  keep.  What 
right  have  you  to  control  my  amusements  or  my  companions  ? 
I  strive  to  show  my  sense  of  your  former  kindness  by  little  pre- 
sents to  your  family,  and  you  fling — you  bring  them  back." 

"  I  can't  do  otherwise,  Mr.  Warrington,"  says  the  Colonel, 
with  a  very  sad  face. 

"  Such  a  slight  may  mean  nothing  here,  sir,  but  in  our 
country  it  means  war,  sir !  "  cries  Mr.  Warrington.  "  God  for- 
bid I  should  talk  of  drawing  a  sword  against  the  father  of 
ladies  who  have  been  as  mother  and  sister  to  me  :  but  you 
have  wounded  my  heart.  Colonel  Lambert — you  have,  I  won't 
say  insulted,  but  humiliated  me,  and  this  is  a  treatment  I  will 
bear  from  no  man  alive  !  My  servants  will  attend  you  to  the 
door,  sir !  "  Saying  which,  and  rustling  in  his  brocade  dress- 
ing-gown, Mr.  \A'arrington,  with  much  state,  walked  off  to  his 
bedroom. 


THE  VIRGINIANS. 


Z^Z 


CHAPTER    XLIV. 

CONTAINS    WHAT    MIGHT,    PERHAPS,    HAVE     BEEN    EXPECTED. 

On  the  rejection  of  his  peace-offerings,  our  warlike  young 
American  chief  chose  to  be  in  great  wrath  not  only  against 
Colonel  Lambert,  but  the  whole  of  that  gentleman's  family. 
"He  has  humiliated  me  before  the  girls  !  "  thought  the  young- 
man.  "  He  and  }.Ir.  Wolfe,  who  were  for  ever  preaching 
morality  to  me,  and  giving  themselves  airs  of  superiority  and 
protection,  have  again  been  holding  me  up  to  the  family  as  a 
scapegrace  and  prodigal.  They  are  so  virtuous  that  they  won't 
shake  me  by  the  hand,  forsooth  ;  and  when  I  want  to  show 
them  a  little  common  gratitude,  thev  fling  my  presents  in  my 
face' !  " 

"  Why,  sir,  the  things  must  be  worth  a  little  fortune  !  "  says 
Parson  Sampson,  casting  an  eye  of  covetousness  on  the  two 
morocco  boxes,  in  which,  on  their  white  satin  cushions,  reposed 
Mr.  Sparks's  golden  gewgaws. 

"  They  cost  me  some  money,  Sampson,"  says  the  young 
man.  "  Not  that  I  would  grudge  ten  times  the  amount  to 
people  who  have  been  kind  to  me." 

"  No,  faith,  sir,  not  if  /  know  your  honor ! "  interjects 
Sampson,  who  never  lost  a  chance  of  praising  his  voung 
patron  to  his  face. 

"  The  repeater,  they  told  me,  was  a  great  bargain,  and 
worth  a  hundred  pounds  at  Paris.  Little  ]\Iiss  Hetty  I 
remember  saying  that  she  longed  to  have  a  repeating  watch." 

"Oh,  what  a  love!"  cries  the  Chaplain.  "With  a  little 
circle  of  pearls  on  the  back,  and  a  diamond  knob  for  the 
handle  !     Why,  'twould  win  any  woman's  heart,  sir  !  " 

"  There  passes  an  apple-woman  with  a  basket.  I  have  a 
mind  to  fling  the  thing  out  to  her !  "  cries  Mr.  Warrington, 
fiercely. 

When  Harry  went  out  upon  business,  which  took  him  to  the 
City  and  the  Temple,  his  parasite  did  not  follow  him  very  far 
into  the  Strand  ;  but  turned  away,  owning  that  he  had  a  terror 
of  Chancery  Lane,  its  inhabitants,  and  precincts.  Mr.  War- 
rington went  then  to  his  broker,  and  they  walked  to  the  Bank 
together,  where  they  did  some  little  business,  at  the  end  of 
which,  and  after  the  signing  of    a  trifling  signature  or  tw^o, 


3^4 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


Harry  departed  with  a  certain  number  of  crisp  bank-notes  in 
his  pocket.  The  broker  took  Mr.  Warrington  to  one  of  the 
great  dining-houses  for  whicli  the  City  was  famous  then  as 
now  ;  and  afterwards  showed  Mr.  Warrington  the  Virginia 
walk  upon  'Change,  through  which  Harry  passed  rather  shame- 
facedly. What  would  a  certain  lady  in  Virginia  say,  he 
thought,  if  she  knew  that  he  was  carrying  off  in  that  bottom- 
less gambler's  pocket  a  great  portion  of  his  father's  patrimony  ? 
Those  are  all  Virginian  merchants,  thinks  he,  and  they  are  all 
talking  to  one  another  about  me,  and  all  saying,  "  That  is 
young  Esmond,  of  Castlewood,  on  the  Potomac,  Madam 
Esmond's  son  ;  and  he  has  been  losing  his  money  at  play, 
and  he  has  been  selling  out  so  much,  and  so  much,  and  so 
much." 

His  spirits  did  not  rise  until  he  had  passed  under  the 
traitors'  heads  of  Temple  Bar,  and  was  fairly  out  of  the  City. 
From  the  Strand  Mr.  Harry  walked  home,  looking  in  at  St. 
James's  Street  by  the  way  ;  but  there  was  nobody  there  as  yet, 
the  company  not  coming  to  the  Chocolate  House  till  a  later 
hour. 

Arrived  at  home  Mr.  Harr}^  pulls  out  his  bundle  of  bank- 
notes ;  puts  three  of  them  into  a  sheet  of  paper,  w^hich  he 
seals  carefully,  having  previously  written  within  the  sheet  the 
words,  ''  much  good  may  they  do  you.  H.  E.  W."  And  this 
packet  he  directs  to  the  Reverend  Mr.  Sampson, — leaving  it  on 
the  chimney-glass,  with  directions  to  his  servants  to  give  it  to 
that  divine  when  he  should  come  in. 

And  now  his  honor's  phaeton  is  brought  to  the  door,  and  he 
steps  in,  thinking  to  drive  round  the  park  ;  but  the  rain  coming 
on,  or  the  east  wind  blowing,  or  some  other  reason  arising,  his 
honor  turns  his  horses'  heads  down  St,  James's  Street,  and  is 
back  at  White's  at  about  three  o'clock.  Scarce  anybody 
has  come  in  yet.  It  is  the  hour  when  folks  are  at  dinner. 
There,  however,  is  my  cousin  Castlewood,  lounging  over  the 
Public  Advertise?',  having  just  come  off  from  his  duty  at  Court 
hard  by. 

Lord  Castlewood  is  yawning  over  the  Public  Advertiser. 
What  shall  they  do  ?  Shall  they  have  a  little  picquet .?  Harry 
has  no  objection  to  a  little  picquet.  "Just  for  an  hour,"  sa3'S 
Lord  Castlewood.  "  I  dine  at  Arlington  Street  at  four." 
*'  Justfor  an  hour,"  says  Mr.Warrington  ;  and  they  call  fore  ards, 

"  Or  shall  we  have  'em  in  up  stairs  ? "  says  my  lord.  "  Out 
of  the  noise  ?  " 

"  Certainly  out  of  the  noise,"  says  Harr}^ 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  .  -x^d^ 

At  five  o'clock  a  half-dozen  of  gentlemen  have  come  in 
after  their  dinner,  and  are  at  cards,  or  coffee,  or  talk.  The 
folks  from  the  ordinary  have  not  left  the  table  yet.  There  the 
gentlemen  of  White's  will  often  sit  till  past  midnight. 

One  toothpick  points  over  the  coffee-house  blinds  into  the 
street.     "  Whose  phaeton  ?  "  asks  Toothpick  i  of  Toothpick  2. 

'*  The  Fortunate  Youth's,"  says  No.  2. 

"  Not  so  fortunate  the  last  three  nights.  Luck  confound- 
edly against  him.  Lost,  last  night,  thirteen  hundred  to  the 
table.     Mr.  Warrington  been  here  to-day,  John  ?  " 

"Mr.  Warrington  is  in  the  house  now,  sir.  In  the  little  tea- 
room with  Lord  Castlewood  since  three  o'clock.  They  are 
playing  at  picquet,"  says  John. 

'•  What  fun  for  Castlewood,"'  says  No.  i,  with  a  shrug. 

The  second  gentleman  growls  out  an  execration.  "  Curse 
the  fellow  !  "  he  says.  "  He  has  no  right  to  be  in  this  club  at 
all.  He  doesn't  pay  if  he  loses.  Gentlemen  ought  not  to 
play  with  him.  Sir  Miles  Warrington  told  me  at  Court  the 
other  day,  that  Castlewood  has  owed  him  money  on  a  bet 
these  three  years." 

"Castlewood,"  says  No.  i,  "don't  lose  if  he  plays  alone. 
A  large  company  fiurries  him,  you  see — that's  why  he  doesn't 
come  to  the  table,"  and  the  facetious  gentleman  grins,  and 
shows  all  his  teeth,  polished  perfectly  clean. 

"  Let's  go  up  and  stop  'em,"  growls  No.  2. 

"  Why  ?  "  asks  the  other.  "  Much  better  look  out  a-window. 
Lamplighter  going  up  the  ladder — famous  sport.  Look  at  that 
old  putt  in  the  chair  :  did  you  ever  see  such  an  old  quiz  ? " 

"  Who  is  that  just  gone  out  of  the  house  ?  As  I  live,  it's 
Fortunatas  !  He  seems  to  have  forgotten  that  his  phaeton  has 
been  here,  waiting  all  the  time.  I  bet  you  two  to  one  he  has 
been  losing  to  Castlewood." 

"  Jack,  do  you  take  me  to  be  a  fool  ? "  asks  the  one  gentle- 
man of  the  other.  "  Pretty  pair  of  horses  the  youth  has  got. 
How  he  is  flogging  'em  ! "  And  they  see  Mr.  W^arrington 
galloping  up  the  street,  and  scared  coachmen  and  chairmen 
clearing  before  him  :  presently  my  Lord  Castlewood  is  seen  to 
enter  a  chair,  and  go  his  way, 

Harry  drives  up  to  his  own  door.  It  was  but  a  few  yards, 
and  those  poor  horses  have  been  beating  the  pavement  all  this 
while  in  the  rain.  Mr.  Gumbo  is  engaged  at  the  door  in 
conversation  with  a  countr}^fi€d  looking  lass,  who  trips  off  with 
a  curtsey.  Mr.  Gumbo  is  always  engaged  with  some  pretty 
maid  or  other. 


366  T'^R   VIRGINIANS. 

"  Gumbo,  has  Mr.  Sampson  been  here  ? "  asks  Gumbo's 
master  from  his  driving  seat. 

"  No,  sar.  Mr.  Sampson  have  not  been  here  !  "  answers  Mr. 
Warrington's  gentleman.  Harry  bids  him  go  up  stairs  and 
bring  down  a  letter  addressed  to  Mr.  Sampson. 

"  Addressed  to  Mr.  Sampson  ?  Oh,  yes,  sir,"  says  Mr. 
Gumbo,  who  can't  read. 

"  A  sealed  letter,  stupid  !  on  the  mantelpiece  in  the  glass  ! " 
says  Harry ;  and  Gumbo  leisurely  retires  to  fetch  that  docu- 
ment. As  soon  as  Harry  has  it  he  turns  his  horses'  heads 
towards  St.  James  Street,  and  the  two  gentlemen,  still  yawning 
out  of  the  window  at  White's,  behold  the  Fortunate  Youth,  in 
an  instant,  back  again. 

As  they  passed  out  of  the  little  tea-room  where  he  and 
Lord  Castlewood  had  had  their  picquet  together,  Mr.  Warring- 
ton had  seen  that  several  gentlemen  had  entered  the  play-room, 
and  that  there  was  a  bank  there.  Some  were  steadily  at  work, 
and  had  their  gaming  jackets  on  :  they  kept  such  coats  at  the 
club,  which  they  put  on  when  they  had  a  mind  to  sit  down  to  a 
regular  night's  play. 

Mr.  Warrington  goes  to  the  clerk's  desk,  pays  his  account 
of  the  previous  night,  and,  sitting  down  at  the  table,  calls  for 
fresh  counters.  This  has  been  decidedly  an  unlucky  week  with 
the  Fortunate  Youth,  and  to-night  is  no  more  fortunate  than 
previous  nights  have  been.  He  calls  for  more  counters  and 
more  presently.  He  is  a  little  pale  and  silent,  though  very 
easy  and  polite  when  talked  to.     But  he  cannot  win. 

At  last  he  gets  up.  "  Hang  it !  stay  and  mend  your  luck  " 
says  Lord  March,  who  is  sitting  by  his  side  with  a  heap  of 
counters  before  him,  green  and  white.  "  Take  a  hundred  of 
mine,  and  go  on." 

"  I  have  had  enough  for  to-night,  my  lord,"  says  Harrj',  and 
rises  and  goes  away,  and  eats  a  broiled  bone  in  the  coffee-room, 
and  walks  back  to  his  lodgings  some  time  about  midnight.  A 
man  after  a  great  catastrophe  commonly  sleeps  very  well.  It 
is  the  waking  in  the  morning  which  is  sometimes  queer  and 
unpleasant.  Last  night  you  proposed  to  Miss  Brown  :  you  quar- 
relled over  your  cups  with  Captain  Jones,  and  valorously  pulled 
his  nose  :  you  pla3^ed  at  cards  with  Colonel  Robinson,  and 
gave  him — oh,  how  many  I  O  U's  !  These  thoughts,  with  a 
fine  headache,  assail  you  in  the  morning  watches.  What  a 
dreary,  dreary  gulf  between  to-day  and  yesterday  !  It  seems 
as  if  you  are  years  older.  Can't  you  leap  back  over  that  chasm 
again,  and  is  it  not  possible  that  Yesterday  is  but  a  dream  .? 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  367 

There  you  are,  in  bed.  No  daylight  in  at  the  windows  yet. 
Pull  your  nightcap  over  your  eyes,  the  blankets  over  your  nose, 
and  sleep  away  Yesterday.  Psha,  man,  it  was  but  a  dream  ! 
Oh  no,  no  !  Tl:ie  sleep  won't  come.  The  watchman  bawls  some 
hour — what  hour  !  Harry  minds  him  that  he  has  got  the  repeat- 
ing watch  under  his  pillow  which  he  had  bought  for  Hester. 
Ting,  ting,  ring  !  the  repeating  watch  sings  out  six  times  in  the 
darkness,  with  a  little  supplementary  performance  indicating 
the  half  hour.  Poor  dear  little  Hester  ! — so  bright,  so  gay,  so 
innocent !  he  would  have  liked  her  to  have  that  watch.  What 
will  Maria  say  1  (Oh,  that  old  Maria  !  what  a  bore  she  is  be- 
ginning to  be  !  he  thinks.)  What  will  Madam  Esmond  at 
home  say  when  she  hears  that  he  has  lost  every  shilling  of  his 
ready  money — of  his  patrimony  ?  All  his  winnings,  and  five 
thousand  pounds  besides,  in  three  nights.  Castlewood  could 
not  have  played  him  false  ?  No.  My  lord  knows  picquet  better 
than  Harrys  does,  but  he  would  not  deal  unfairly  with  his  own 
flesh  and  blood.  No,  no.  Harry  is  glad  his  kinsman,  who 
wanted  the  money,  has  got  it.  And  for  not  one  more  shilling 
than  he  possessed,  would  he  play.  It  was  when  he  counted  up 
his  losses  at  the  gaming-table  and  fould  they  would  cover  aD 
the  remainder  of  his  patrimony,  that  he  passed  the  box  and 
left  the  table.  But,  O  cursed  bad  company  !  O  extravagance 
and  folly  !  O  humiliation  and  remorse  !  '•  Will  my  mother  at 
home  forgive  me.?"  thinks  the  young  prodigal.  "  Oh  that  I 
were  there,  and  had  never  left  it !  " 

The  dreary  London  dawn  peeps  at  length  through  shutters 
and  curtains.  The  housemaid  enters  to  light  his  honor's  fire 
and  admit  the  dun  morning  into  his  windows.  Her  Mr.  Gumbo 
presently  follows,  who  warms  his  master's  dressing-gown  and 
sets  out  his  shaving-plate  and  linen.  Then  arrives  the  hair- 
dresser to  curl  and  powder  his  honor,  whilst  he  reads  his 
morning's  letters ;  and  at  breakfast-time  comes  that  inevitable 
Parson  Sampson,  with  eager  looks  and  servile  smiles,  to  wait 
on  his  patron.  The  parson  would  nave  returned  yesterday 
according  to  mutual  agreement,  but  some  jolly  fellows  kept  him 
to  dinner  at  the  "  St.  Alban's,"  and,  faith,  they  made  a  night 
of  it. 

"  Oh,  Parson !  "  groans  Harry,  'twas  the  worst  night  you 
ever  made  in  your  life  !     Look  here,  sir  !  " 

"  Here  is  a  broken  envelope  with  the  w^ords,  '  Much  good 
may  it  do  you,'  written  within,"  says  the  Chaplain,  glancing  at 
the  paper. 

"  Look  on  the  outside,  sir,"  cries  Mr.  Warrington.     "  The 


368  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

paper  was  directed  to  you."  The  poor  Chaplain's  countenance 
exhibited  great  alarm.  "  Has  some  one  broke  it  open,  sir  ?  " 
he  asks. 

"  Some  one,  yes.  I  broke  it  open,  Sampson.  Had  you  come 
here  as  you  proposed  yesterday  afternoon,  you  would  have 
found  that  envelope  full  of  bank-notes.  As  it  is,  they  were  all 
dropped  at  the  infernal  macco-table  last  night." 

"  What,  all .''  "  says  Sampson. 

"  Yes,  all,  with  all  the  money  I  brought  away  from  the  city, 
and  all  the  ready  money  I  have  left  in  the  world.  In  the  after- 
noon I  played  picquet  with  my  cous — with  a  gentleman  at 
White's — and  he  eased  me  of  all  the  money  I  had  about  me. 
Remembering  that  there  was  still  some  money  left  here,  unless 
you  had  fetched  it,  I  came  home  and  carried  it  back  and 
left  it  at  the  macco-table,  with  every  shilling  besides  that  be- 
longs to  me — and — great  heaven,  SamjDson,  what's  the  matter, 
man  ?  " 

"  It's  my  luck,  it's  my  usual  luck,"  cries  out  the  unfortunate 
Chaplain,  and  fairly  burst  into  tears. 

"  What !  You  are  not  whimpering  like  a  baby  at  the  loss 
of  a  loan  of  a  couple  of  hundred  pounds  1  cries  out  Mr.  War- 
rington, very  fierce  and  angry.  "  Leave  the  room,  Gumbo  ! 
Confound  you  !  why  are  you  always  poking  your  woolly  head 
in  at  that  door,? 

''  Some  one  below  wants  to  see  Master  with  a  little  bill," 
says  Mr.  Gumbo. 

"  Tell  him  to  go  to  Jericho  !  "  roars  out  Mr.  Warrington. 
*'  Let  me  see  nobody  !  I  am  not  at  home,  sir,  at  this  hour  of 
the  morning !  " 

A  murmur  or  two,  a  scuffle  is  heard  on  the  landing-place, 
and  silence  finally  ensues.  Mr.  Warrington's  scorn  and  anger 
are  not  diminished  by  this  altercation.  He  turns  round 
savagely  upon  unhappy  Sampson,  who  sits  with  his  head  buried 
in  his  breast. 

■"  Hadn't  you  better  take  a  bumper  of  brandy  to  keep  your 
spirits  up,  Mr.  Sampson  1  "  he  asks.  "  Hang  it,  man  !  don't 
be  snivelling  like  a  woman  !  " 

''  Oh,  it's  not  me  !  "  says  Sampson,  tossing  his  head.  "  I 
am  used  to  it,  sir." 

"  Not  you  !  Who  then  ?  Are  you  cr}^ing  because  somebody 
else  is  hurt,  pray  ? "  asks  Mr.  Warrington. 

"  Yes,  sir  !  "  says  the  Chaplain,  with  some  spirit  ;  "  because 
somebody  else  is  hurt,  and  through  my  fault.  I  have  lodged 
for  many  years  in   London   with  a  bootmaker,  a  very  honest 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


369 


man  :  and,  a  few  days  since,  having  a  perfect  reliance  upon — ■ 
upon  a  friend  who  had  promised  to  accommodate  me  with  a  loan 
— I  borrowed  sixty  pounds  from  my  landlord  which  he  was  about 
to  pay  to  his  own.  I  can't  get  the  money.  My  poor  landlord's 
goods  will  be  seized  for  rent ;  his  wife  and  dear  young  children 
w'ill  be  turned  into  the  street ;  and  this  honest  familywill  be 
ruined  through  my  fault.  But,  as  you  say,  Mr.  Warrington,  I 
ought  not  to  snivel  like  a  woman.  I  will  remember  that  you 
helped  me  once,  and  will  bid  you  farewell,  sir." 

And,  taking  his  broad-leafed  hat,  Mr.  Chaplain  walked  out 
of  the  room. 

An  execration  and  a  savage  laugh,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  burst 
out  of  Harry's  lips  at  this  sudden  movement  of  the  Chaplain's. 
He  was  in  such  a  passion  with  himself,  with  circumstances, 
with  all  people  round  about  him,  that  he  scarce  knew  where  to 
turn,  or  what  he  said.  Sampson  heard  the  savage  laughter.- 
and  then  the  voice  of  Harry  calling  from  the  stairs,  "  Sampson, 
Sampson !  hang  you  !  come  back  !  It's  a  mistake  !  I  beg 
your  pardon!"  But  the  Chaplain  was  cut  to  the  soul,  and 
walked  on.  Harry  heard  the  door  of  the  street  as  the  Parson 
slammed  it.  It  thumped  on  his  own  breast.  He  entered  his 
room,  and  sank  back  on  his  luxurious  chair  there.  He  was 
Prodigal,  amongst  the  swine — his  foul  remorses ;  they  had 
tripped  him  up,  and  were  wallowing  over  him.  Gambling,  ex- 
travagance, debauchery,  dissolute  life,  reckless  companions, 
dangerous  women — they  were  all  upon  him  in  a  herd,  and  were 
trampling  upon  the  prostrate  young  sinner. 

Prodigal  was  not,  however,  yet  utterly  overcome,  and  had 
some  fight  left  in  him.  Dashing  the  filthy  importunate  brutes 
aside,  and,  as  it  were,  kicking  his  ugly  remembrances  away 
from  him,  Mr.  Warrington  seized  a  great  glass  of  that  fire-water 
which  he  had  recommended  to  poor  humiliated  Parson  Sampson, 
and  flinging  off  his  fine  damask  robe,  rang  for  the  trembling 
Gumbo,  and  ordered  his  coat.  "  Not  that ! "  roars  he,  as 
Gumbo  brings  him  a  fine  green  coat  with  plated  buttons  and  a 
gold  cord.  "A  plain  suit — the  plainer  the  better  !  The  black 
clothes."  And  Gumbo  brings  the  mourning-coat  which  his 
master  had  discarded  for  some  months  past. 

Mr.  Harry  then  takes  : — i,  his  fine  new  gold  watch  ;  2,  his 
repeater  (that  which  he  had  bought  for  Hetty),  which  he  puts 
into  his  other  fob  ;  3,  his  necklace,  which  he  had  purchased 
for  Theo ;  4,  his  rings,  of  which  my  gentleman  must  ha\e  half- 
a-dozen  at  least  (with  the  exception  of  his  grandfather's  old  seal 
ring,  which  he  kisses  and  lays  down  on  the  pincushion  again)  \ 

24 


370  THE   VIRGIiVIANS, 

5,  his  three  gold  snuff  boxes  ;  and  6,  his  purse,  knitted  by  his 
mother,  and  containing  three  shillings  and  sixpence  and  a 
pocket-piece  brought  from  Virginia  :  and  putting  on  his  hat, 
issues  from  his  door. 

At  die  landing  he  is  met  by  Mr.  Ruff,  his  landlord,  who 
bows  and  cringes  and  puts  into  his  honor's  hand  a  strip  of  paper 
a  yard  long.  "  Much  obliged  if  Mr.  Warrington  will  settle. 
Mrs.  Ruff  has  a  large  account  to  make  up  to-day."  Mrs.  Ruff' 
is  a  milliner.  Mr.  Ruff  is  one  of  the  head-waiters  and  aides-de- 
camp of  Mr.  Mackreth,  the  proprietor  of  White's  Club.  The 
sight  of  the  landlord  does  not  add  to  the  lodger's  good  humor. 

"  Perhaps  his  honor  will  hav^e  the  kindness  to  settle  the  little 
account  ? "  asks  Mr.  Ruff. 

"  Of  course  I  will  settle  the  account,"  says  Harrys,  glumly 
looking  down  over  Mr.  Ruff's  head  from  the  stair  above  him. 

"  Perhaps  Mr.  Warrington  will  settle  it  now  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,  I  will  ?wt  settle  it  now  !  "  says  Mr.  Warrington, 
bullying  forward. 

"  I'm  very — very  much  in  want  of  money,  sir,"  pleads  the 
voice  under  him.     "  Mrs.  Ruff  is — " 

"  Hang  you,  sir,  get  out  of  the  way  ! "  cries  Mr.  Warrington, 
ferociously,  and  driving  Mr.  Ruff'  backward  to  the  wall,  sending 
him  almost  topsy-turvy  down  his  own  landing,  he  tramps  down 
the  stair,  and  walks  forth  into  Bond  Street. 

The  Guards  were  at  exercise  at  the  King's  Mews  at  Char- 
ing Cross,  as  Harry  passed,  and  he  heard  their  drums  and 
fifes,  and  looked  in  at  the  gate,  and  saw  them  at  drill.  "  I  can 
shoulder  a  musket  at  any  rate,"  thought  he  to  himself  gloomily, 
as  he  strode  on.  He  crossed  St.  Martin's  Lane  (where  he 
transacted  some  business),  and  so  made  his  way  into  Long 
Acre,  and  to  the  bootmaker's  house  where  friend  Sampson 
lodged.  The.  woman  of  the  house  said  Mr,  Sampson  was  not 
at  home,  but  had  promised  to  be  at  home  at  one  ;  and,  as  she 
knew  Mr.  Warrington,  showed  him  up  to  the  Parson's  apart- 
ments, where  he  sat  down,  and,  for  want  of  occupation,  tried 
to  read  an  unfinished  sermon  of  the  Chaplain's.  The  subject 
was  the  Prodigal  Son.  Mr.  Harry  did  not  take  very  accurate 
cognizance  of  the  sermon. 

Presently  he  heard  the  landlady's  shrill  voice  on  the  stair, 
pursuing  somebody  who  ascended,  and  Sampson  rushed  into 
the  room,  followed  by  a  sobbing  woman. 

At  seeing  Harry,  Sampson  started,  and  the  landlady  stopped. 
Absorbed  in  her  own  domestic  cares,  she  had  doubtless  forgot 
that  a  visitor  was  awaiting  her  lodger.     "  There's  only  thirteen 


THE   VIRGIXIANS.  371 

pound  in  the  house,  and  he  will  be  here  at  one,  I  tell  you  ! " 
she  was  bawling  out,  as  she  pursued  her  victim. 

"  Hush,  hush  !  m}^  good  creature  !  "  cries  the  gasping  Chap- 
lain, pointing  to  Harry,  who  rose  from  the  window-seat.  "  Don't 
you  see  Mr.  Warrington  ?  I've  business  with  him  —  most 
important  business.  It  will  be  all  right,  I  tell  you  !  "  And  he 
soothed  and  coaxed  Mrs.  Landlady  out  of  the  room,  with  the 
crowd  of  anxious  little  ones  hanging  at  her  coats. 

"  Sampson,  I  have  come  to  ask  your  pardon  again,"  says 
Mr.  Warrington,  rising  up.  "  What  I  said  to-day  to  you  was 
very  cruel  and  unjust,  and  unlike  a  gentleman. 

"  Not  a  word  more,  sir,"  says  the  other,  coldly  and  sadly, 
bowing  and  scarcely  pressing  the  hand  which  Harry  offered 
him. 

"  I  see  you  are  still  angry  wdth  me,"  Harry  continues. 

"  Nay,  sir,  an  apology  is  an  apology.  A  man  of  my  station 
can  ask  for  no  more  from  one  of  yours.  No  doubt  you  did  not 
mean  to  give  me  pain.  And  what  if  you  did  ?  And  you  are 
not  the  only  one  of  the  family  who  has,"  he  said,  as  he  looked 
piteously  round  the  room.  "  I  wish  I  had  never  known  the 
name  of  Esmond  or  Castlewood,"  he  continues,  "  or  that  place 
yonder  of  which  the  picture  hangs  over  my  fireplace,  and  where 
I  have  buried  myself  these  long,  long  years.  My  lord,  3'Our 
cousin,  took  a  fancy  to  me,  said  he  would  make  my  fortune,  has 
kept  me  as  his  dependent  till  fortune  has  passed  by  me,  and 
now  he  refuses  me  my  due." 

"  How  do  you  mean  your  due,  Mr.  Sampson? "  asks  Harry. 

"  I  mean  three  years'  salary  which  he  owes  me  as  Chaplain 
of  Castlewood.  Seeing  you  could  give  me  no  money,  I  went 
to  his  lordship  this  morning,  and  asked  him.  I  fell  on  my 
knees,  and  asked  him,  sir.  But  his  lordship  had  none.  He 
gave  me  civil  words,  at  least  (saving  your  presence,  Mr.  War- 
rington), but  no  money — that  is,  five  guineas,  which  he  declared 
was  all  he  had,  and  which  I  took.  But  what  are  five  guineas 
amongst  so  many  ?  Oh,  those  poor  little  children  !  those  poor 
little  children  !  " 

"  Lord  Castlewood  said  he  had  no  money  ? "  cries  out 
Harry.  "  He  won  eleven  hundred  pounds,  yesterday,  of  me  at 
picquet — which  I  paid  him  out  of  this  pocket-book." 

"  I  dare  say,  sir — I  dare  say,  sir.  One  can't  believe  a  word 
his  lordship  says,  sir,"  says  Mr.  Sampson  ;  but  I  am  thinking 
of  execution  in  this  house  and  ruin  upon  these  poor  folks 
to-morrow." 

"That   need   not  happen,"  says   Mr.  W^arrington.     "Here 


372 


THE   VTR  GINIA  NS. 


are  eighty  guineas,  Sampson.  As  far  as  they  go,  God  help 
you !  'Tis  all  I  have  to  give  you.  I  wish  to  my  heart  I  could 
give  more  as  I  promised  ;  but  you  did  not  come  at  the  right 
time,  and  I  am  a  poor  devil  now  until  I  get  my  remittances 
from  Virginia." 

The  Chaplain  gave  a  wild  look  of  surprise,  and  turned  quite 
white.  He  flung  himself  down  on  his  knees  and  seized  Harry's 
hand. 

"  Great  powers,  sir  !  "  says  he,  "  are  you  a  guardian  angel 
that  heaven  hath  sent  me  .^  You  quarrelled  with  my  tears  this 
morning,  Mr.  Warrington.  I  can't  heljD  them  now.  They  burst, 
sir,  from  a  grateful  heart.  A  rock  of  stone  would  pour  them 
forth,  sir,  before  such  goodness  as  yours  ?  May  heaven  eter- 
nally bless  you,  and  give  you  prosperity !  May  my  unworthy 
prayers  be  heard  in  your  behalf,  my  friend,  my  best  benefactor ! 
May " 

"  Nay,  nay  !  get  up,  friend — get  up,  Sampson  !  "  says  Harry, 
w'hom  the  Chaplain's  adulation  and  fine  phrases  rather  annoyed. 
"  I  am  glad  to  have  been  able  to  do  you  a  service — sincerely 
glad.     There — there  !     Don't  be  on  your  knees  to  me  !  " 

"  To  heaven  who  sent  you  to  me,  sir !  "  cries  the  Chaplain. 
"  Mrs.  Weston  !  Ivlrs.  Weston  !  " 

"What  is  it,  sir?"  says  the  landlady  instantly,  who,  indeed, 
had  been  at  the  door  the  whole  time.  "  We  are  saved,  Mrs. 
Weston  !  We  are  saved  !  "  cries  the  Chaplain.  "  Kneel,  kneel, 
woman,  and  thank  our  benefactor !  Raise  your  innocent 
voices,  children,  and  bless  him  !  "  A  universal  whimper  arose 
round  Harry,  which  the  Chaplain  led  off,  whilst  the  young 
Virginian  stood,  simpering  and  well  pleased,  in  the  midst  of 
this  congregation.  They  would  worship,  do  what  he  might. 
One  of  the  children,  not  understanding  the  kneeling  order,  and 
standing  up,  the  mother  fetched  her  a  slap  on  the  ear,  crying, 
"Drat  it,  Jane,  kneel  down,  and  bless  the  gentleman,  I  tell  'ee  !  " 
*  *  *  We  leave  them  performing  this  sweet  benedictory  ser- 
vice. Mr.  Harry  w-alks  off  from  Long  Acre,  forgetting  almost 
the  griefs  of  the  former  four  or  five  days,  and  tingling  with  the 
consciousness  of  having  done  a  good  action. 

The  young  woman  with  w4iom  Gumbo  had  been  conversing 
on  that  evening  when  Harry  drove  up  from  White's  to  his 
lodging,  was  Mrs.  Molly,  from  Oakhurst,  the  attendant  of  the 
ladies  there.  Wherever  that  fascinating  Gumbo  w^ent,  he  left 
friends  and  admirers  in  the  servants'-hall.  I  think  we  said  it 
was  on  a  Wednesday  evening  he  and  Mrs.  Molly  had  fetched  a 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  3^3 

walk  together,  and  they  were  performing  the  amiable  courtesies 
incident  upon  parting,  when  Gumbo's  master  came  up,  and  put 
an  end  to  their  twilight  whisperings  and  what  not. 

For  many  hours  on  Wednesday,  on  Thursday,  on  Friday,  a 
pale  little  maiden  sat  at  a  window  in  Lord  Wrotham's  house,  in 
Hill  street,  her  mother  and  sister  wistfully  watching  her.  She 
would  not  go  out.  They  knew  whom  she  -was  expecting.  He 
passed  the  door  once,  and  she  might  have  thought  he  was 
coming,  but  he  did  not.  He  went  into  a  neighboring  house. 
Papa  had  never  told  the  girls  of  the  presents  which  Harry  had 
sent,  and  only  whispered  a  word  or  two  to  their  mother  regard- 
ing his  quarrel  with  the  young  Virginian. 

On  Saturday  night  there  was  an  opera  of  Mr.  Handel's,  and 
papa  brought  home  tickets  for  the  galler}'.  Hetty  went  this 
evening.  The  change  would  do  her  good,  Theo  thought,  and 
— and,  perhaps  there  might  be  Somebody  amongst  the  fine 
company;  but  Somebody  was  not  there;  and  Mr.  Handel's  fine 
music  fell  blank  upon  the  poor  child.  It  might  have  been 
Signer  Bononcini's,  and  she  would  have  scarce  known  the 
difference. 

As  the  children  are  undressing,  and  taking  off  those  smart 
new  satin  sacks  in  which  they  appeared  at  the  Opera,  looking 
so  fresh  and  so  pretty  amongst  all  the  tawdry  rouged  folk,  Theo 
remarks  how  very  sad  and  wobegone  Mrs.  Molly,  their  maid, 
appears.  Theo  is  always  anxious  when  other  people  seem  in 
trouble ;  not  so  Hetty,  now,  wdio  is  suffering,  poor  thing,  from 
one  of  the  most  selfish  maladies  which  ever  visits  mortals. 
Have  you  ever  been  amongst  insane  people,  and  remarked  how 
they  never,  never  think  of  any  but  themselves  ? 

"What  is  the  matter,  Molly.?"  asks  kind  Theo  ;  and,  indeed, 
Molly  has  been  longing  to  tell  her  young  ladies.  "  Oh,  Miss 
Theo  !  Oh,  Miss  Hetty ! "  she  says.  "  How  ever  can  I  tell 
you  ?  Mr.  Gumbo  have  been  here,  Mr.  Warrington's  colored 
gentleman,  Miss  ;  and  he  says  Mr.  Warrington  have  been  took 
by  two  bailiffs  this  evening,  as  he  comes  out  of  Sir  Miles  War- 
rington's house,  three  doors  oft*." 

"  Silence  !  "  cries  Theo,  quite  sternly.  Who  is  it  that  gives 
those  three  shrieks  ?  It  is  Mrs.  Moll}-,  who  chooses  to  scream, 
because  Miss  Hetty  has  fallen  fainting  from  her  chair. 


374  ^^^^'   VIRGINIANS. 


CHAPTER    XLV. 

IN    WHICH    HARRY    FINDS    TWO    UNCLES. 

We  have  all  of  us,  no  doubt,  had  a  fine  experience  of  the 
world,  and  a  vast  variety  of  characters  have  passed  under  our 
eyes  ;  but  there  is  one  sort  of  men — not  an  uncommon  object 
of  satire  in  novels  and  plays — of  whom  I  confess  to  have  met 
with  scarce  any  specimens  at  all  in  my  intercourse  with  this 
sinful  mankind.  I  mean,  mere  religious  hypocrites,  preaching 
for  ever,  and  not  believing  a  word  of  their  own  sermons ; 
infidels  in  broad  brims  and  sables,  expounding,  exhorting, 
comminating,  blessing,  without  any  faith  in  their  own  paradise, 
or  fear  about  their  pandemonium.  Look  at  those  candid  troops 
of  hobnails  clumping  to  church  on  a  Sunday  evening ;  those 
rustling  maid-servants  in  their  ribbons  whom  the  3-oung  appren- 
tices follow  ;  those  little  regiments  of  schoolboys  ;  those  trim 
young  maidens  and  staid  matrons,  marching  with  their  glisten- 
ing prayer-books,  as  the  chapel  bell  chinks  yonder  (passing 
Ebenezer,  very  likely,  where  the  congregation  of  umbrellas, 
great  bonnets,  and  pattens,  is  by  this  time  assembled  under  the 
flaring  gas-lamps).  Look  at  those !  How  many  of  them  are 
hypocrites,  think  you  ?  Very  likely  the  maid-servant  is  think- 
ing of  her  sweetheart :  the  grocer  is  casting  about  how  he  can 
buy  that  parcel  of  sugar,  and  whether  the  County  Bank  will 
take  any  more  of  his  paper  :  the  head-schoolboy  is  conning 
Latin  verses  for  Monday's  exercise  :  the  young  scapegrace  re- 
members that  after  this  service  and  sermon,  there  will  be  papa's 
exposition  at  home,  but  that  there  will  be  pie  for  supper :  the 
clerk  who  calls  out  the  psalm  has  his  daughter  in  trouble,  and 
drones  through  his  responses  scarcely  aware  of  their  meaning  : 
the  very  moment  the  parson  hides  his  face  on  his  cushion,  he 
may  be  thinking  of  that  bill  which  is  coming  due  on  Monday. 
These  people  are  not  heavenly-minded  ;  they  are  of  the  world, 
worldly,  and  have  not  yet  got  their  feet  off  of  it ;  but  they  are 
not  hypocrites,  look  you.  Folks  have  their  religion  in  some 
handy  mental  lock-up,  as  it  were, — a  valuable  medicine,  to  be 
taken  in  ill  health ;  and  a  man  administers  his  nostrum  to  his 
neighbor,  and  recommends  his  private  cure  for  the  other's 
complaint.  "  My  dear  Madam,  you  have  spasms  ?  You  will 
find   these   drops   infallible  1"     "You   have   been   taking   too 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  3yr; 

much  wine,  my  good  sir  ?  By  tliis  pill  you  may  defy  any  evil 
consequences  from  too  much  wine,  and  take  your  bottle  of  port 
daily."  Of  spiritual  and  bodily  physic,  who  are  more  fond  and 
.eager  dispensers  than  women  ?  And  we  know  that,  especially 
a  hundred  years  ago,  every  lady  in  the  countr)^  had  her  still- 
room,  and  her  medicine-chest,  her  pills,  powders,  potions,  for 
all  the  village  round. 

My  Lady  Warrington  took  charge  of  the  consciences  and 
the  digestions  of  her  husband's  tenants  and  family.  She  had 
the  faith  and  health  of  the  servants'-hall  in  keeping.  Heaven 
can  tell  whether  she  knew  how  to  doctor  them  rightly  :  but, 
was  it  pill  or  doctrine,  she  administered  one  or  the  other  with 
equal  belief  in  her  owm  authority,  and  her  disciples  swallowed 
both  obediently.  She  believed  herself  to  be  one  of  the  most 
virtuous,  self-denying,  wise,  learned  women  in  the  world  ;  and, 
dinning  this  opinion  perpetually  into  the  ears  of  all  round 
about  her,  succeeded  in  bringing  not  a  few  persons  to  join  in 
her  persuasion. 

At  Sir  IMiles's  dinner  there  was  so  fine  a  sideboard  of  plate, 
and  such  a  number  of  men  in  livery,  that  it  required  some 
presence  of  mind  to  perceive  that  the  beer  was  of  the  smallest 
which  the  butler  brought  round  in  the  splendid  tankard,  and 
that  there  was  but  one  joint  of  mutton  on  the  grand  silver 
dish.  When  Sir  Miles  called  the  King's  health,  and  smacked 
his  jolly  lips  over  his  wine,  he  eyed  it  and  the  company  as  if 
the  liquor  was  ambrosia.  He  asked  Harry  \\'arrington  whether 
they  had  port  like  that  in  Virginia  ?  He  said  that  was  nothing 
to  the  wine  Harry  should  taste  in  Norfolk.  He  praised  the 
wine  so,  that  Harry  almost  believed  that  it  was  good,  and 
winked  into  his  own  glass,  trying  to  see  some  of  the  merits, 
which  his  uncle  perceived  in  the  ruby  nectar. 

Just  as  v/e  see  in  man  \^  a  well-regulated  family  of  this  present 
century,  the  Warringtons  had  their  own  paragons.  Of  the  two 
grown  daughters,  the  one  was  the  greatest  beauty,  the  other  the 
greatest  genius  and  angel  of  any  young  lady  then  alive,  as  Lady 
Warrington  told  Harr}'.  The  eldest,  the  Beauty,  was  engaged 
to  dear  Tom  Claypool,  the  fond  mother  informed  her  Cousin 
Harry  in  confidence.  But  the  second  daughter,  the  Genius 
and  Angel,  was  for  ever  set  upon  our  young  friend  to  improve 
his  wdts  and  morals.  She  sang  to  him  at  the  harpsichord — ■ 
rather  out  of  tune  for  an  angel,  Harry  thought  •  she  was  ready 
with  advice,  instruction,  conversation— with  almost  too  much 
instruction  and  advice,  thought  Harry,  who  w^ould  have  far 
preferred  the  society  of  the  littl^  cousin  \vho  reminded  him  of 


376 


THE   VIRGIXIAXS. 


Fanny  Mountain  at  home.  But  the  last-mentioned  young 
maiden  after  dinner  retired  to  her  nursery  commonly.  Beauty 
went  off  on  her  own  avocations ;  Mamma  had  to  attend  to  her 
poor  or  write  her  voluminous  letters ;  Papa  dozed  in  his  arm- 
chair ;  and  the  Genius  remained  to  keep  her  young  cousin 
company. 

The  calm  of  the  house  somehow  pleased  the  young  man, 
and  he  liked  to  take  refuge  there  away  from  the  riot  and  dissi- 
pation in  which  he  ordinarily  lived.  Certainly  no  welcome 
could  be  kinder  than  that  which  he  got.  The  doors  were 
opened  to  him  at  all  hours.  If  Flora  was  not  at  home,  Dora 
was  ready  to  receive  him.  Ere  many  days'  acquaintance,  he 
and  his  little  Cousin  Miles  had  been  to  have  a  galloping  match 
in  the  Park,  and  Harr}-,  who  was  kind  and  generous,  to  every 
man  alive  who  came  near  him,  had  in  view  the  purchase  of  a 
little  horse  for  his  cousin,  far  better  than  that  which  the  boy 
rode,  when  the  circumstances  occurred  which  brought  all  our 
poor  Harry's  coaches  and  horses  to  a  sudden  break-down. 

Though  Sir  jNIiles  Warrington  had  imagined  Virginia  to  be 
an  island,  the  ladies  were  much  better  instructed  in  geography, 
and  anxious  to  hear  from  Harry  all  about  his  home  and  his 
native  country.  He,  on  his  part,  was  not  averse  to  talk  about 
it.  He  described  to  them  the  length  and  breadth  of  his  estate  ; 
the  rivers  which  it  coasted  ;  the  produce  which  it  bore.  He 
had  had  with  a  friend  a  little  practice  of  surveying  in  has  boy- 
hood. He  made  a  map  of  his  county,  with  some  fine  towns 
here  and  there,  which,  in  truth,  were  but  log-huts  (but,  for  the 
honor  of  his  country,  he  was  desirous  that  they  should  wear  as 
handsome  a  look  as  possible).  Here  was  Potomac  ;  here  was 
James  River ;  here  were  the  wharves  whence  his  mother's  ships 
and  tobacco  were  brought  to  the  sea.  In  truth,  the  estate  was 
as  large  as  a  county.  He  did  not  brag  about  the  place  over- 
much. To  see  the  handsome  young  fellow,  in  a  fine  suit  of 
velvet  and  silver-lace,  making  his  draught,  pointing  out  this  hill 
and  that  fore'st  or  town,  you  might  have  imagined  him  a  travel- 
ling prince  describing  the  realms  of  the  queen  his  mother.  He 
almost  fancied  himself  to  be  so  at  times.  He  had  miles  where 
gentlemen  in  England  had  acres.  Not  only  Dora  listened,  but 
the  beautious  Flora  bowed  her  fair  head  and  heard  him  with 
attention.  Why,  what  was  young  Tom  Claypool,  their  brother 
baronet's  son  in  Norfolk,  with  his  great  boots,  his  great  voice, 
and  his  heirdom  to  a  poor  five  thousand  acres,  compared  to 
this  young  American  prince  and  charming  stranger  ?  Angel  as 
she  was,  Dora  began  to  lose   her  angelic  temper,  and  to  twit 


THE   VIRGINIAXS.  .yy 

Flora  for  a  flirt.  Claypool,  in  his  red  vvaistcoat,  would  sit 
dumb  before  the  splendid  Harry  in  his  ruffles  and  laces,  talking 
of  March  and  Chesterfield,  Selwyn  and  Bolingbroke  and  the 
whole  company  of  macaronis.  Mamma  began  to  love  Harry 
more  and  more  as  a  son.  She  was  anxious  about  the  spiritual 
welfare  of  those  poor  Indians,  of  those  poor  negroes  in  Virginia. 
What  could  she  do  to  help  dear  Madam  Esmond  (a  precious 
woman,  she  knew  !)  in  the  good  work  t  She  had  a  serious  butler 
and  housekeeper :  they  were  delighted  with  the  spiritual  be- 
havior and  sweet  musical  gifts  of  Gumbo. 

"  Ah  !  Harry,  Harry  !  you  have  been  a  sad  wild  boy  !  Why 
did  you  not  come  sooner  to  us,  sir,  and  not  lose  your  time 
amongst  the  spendthrifts  and  the  vain  world }  But  'tis  not  yet 
too  late.  We  must  reclaim  thee,  dear  Harry!  Mustn't  we, 
Sir  Miles  ?     Mustn't  we,  Dora  ?     Mustn't  we,  Flora  t  " 

The  three  ladies  all  look  up  to  the  ceiling.  They  will  re- 
claim the  dear  prodigal.  It  is  which  shall  reclaim  him  most. 
Dora  sits  by  and  watches  Flora.  As  for  mamma,  when  the 
girls  are  away,  she  talks  to  him  more  and  more  seriously,  more 
and  more  tenderly.  She  will  be  a  mother  to  him  in  the  absence 
of  his  own  admirable  parent.  She  gives  him  a  hymn-book. 
She  kisses  him  on  the  forehead.  She  is  actuated  by  the  purest 
love,  tenderness,  religious  regard,  towards  her  dear,  wayward, 
wild,  amiable  nephew. 

While  these  sentimentalities  were  going  on,  it  is  to  be  pre- 
sumed that  Mr.  Warrington  kept  his  own  counsel  about  his 
affairs  out-of-doors,  which  we  have  seen  were  in  the  very  worst 
condition.  He  who  had  been  favored  by  fortune  for  so  many 
weeks  was  suddenly  deserted  by  her,  and  a  few  days  had  served 
to  kick  down  all  his  heap  of  winnings.  Do  we  say  that  my 
Lord  Castlewood,  his  own  kinsman,  had  dealt  unfairly  by  the 
young  Virginian,  and  in  the  course  of  a  couple  of  afternoons' 
closet  practice  had  robbed  him  ?  We  would  insinuate  nothing 
so  disrespectful  to  his  lordship's  character  ;  but  he  had  won 
from  Harry  every  shilling  which  properly  belonged  to  him,  and 
would  have  played  him  for  his  reversion,  but  that  the  young 
man  flung  up  his  hands  when  he  saw  himself  so  far  beaten,  and 
declared  that  he  must  continue  the  battle  no  more.  Remem- 
bering that  there  still  remained  a  spar  out  of  the  wreck,  as  it 
were — that  portion  which  he  had  set  aside  for  poor  Sampson 
— Harry  ventured  it  at  the  gaming  table  ;  but  that  last  resource 
went  down  along  with  the  rest  of  Harry's  possessions,  and 
Fortune  fluttered  off  in  the  storm,  leaving  the  luckless  adven- 
turer almost  naked  on  the  shore. 


378 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


When  a  man  is  young  and  generous  and  hearty  the  loss  of 
money  scarce  afflicts  him.  Harry  would  sell  his  horses  and 
carriages,  and  diminish  his  train  of  life.  If  he  wanted  im- 
mediate supplies  of  mone}^,  would  not  his  aunt  Bernstein  be  his 
banker,  or  his  kinsman  who  had  won  so  much  from  him,  or  his 
kind  Uncle  Warrington  and  Lady  Warrington  who  were  always 
talking  virtue  and  benevolence,  and  declaring  that  they  loved 
him  as  a  son  ?  He  would  call  upon  these,  or  any  one  of  them 
whom  he  might  choose  to  favor,  at  his  leisure  ;  meanwhile, 
Sampson's  story  of  his  landlord's  distress  touched  the  young 
gentleman,  and,  in  order  to  raise  a  hasty  supply  for  the  clergy- 
man, he  carried  off  all  his  trinkets  to  a  certain  pawnbroker's 
shop  in  St.  Martin's  Lane. 

Now  this  broker  was  a  relative  or  partner  of  that  very  Mr. 
Sparks  of  Tavistock  Street  from  whom  Harry  had  purchased 
— purchased  did  we  say  ? — no  ;  taken  the  trinkets  which  he 
had  intended  to  present  to  his  Oakhurst  friends  ;  and  it 
chanced  that  Mr.  Sparks  came  to  visit  his  brother  tradesman 
very  soon  after  Mr.  Warrington  had  disposed  of  his  goods. 
Recognizing  immediately  the  little  enamelled  diamond-handled 
repeater  which  he  had  sold  to  the  Fortunate  Youth,  the  jewel- 
ler broke  out  into  expressions  regarding  Harry  which  I  will  not 
mention  here,  being  already  accused  of  speaking  much  too 
plainly.  A  gentleman  who  is  acquainted  with  a  pawnbroker, 
we  may  be  sure  has  a  bailiff  or  two  amongst  his  acquaintances ; 
and  those  bailiffs  have  followers  who,  at  the  bidding  of  the 
impartial  Law,  will  touch  with  equal  hand  the  fiercest  captain's 
epaulet  or  the  finest  macaroni's  shoulder.  The  very  gentleman 
who  had  seized  upon  Lady  Maria  at  Tunbridge  were  set  upon 
her  cousin  in  London.  They  easily  learned  from  the  garrulous 
Gumbo  that  his  honor  was  at  Sir  Miles  Warrington's  house  in 
Hill  Street,  and  whilst  the  black  was  courting  Mrs.  Lambert's 
maid  at  the  adjoining  mansion,  Mr.  Costigan  and  his  assistant 
lay  in  wait  for  poor  Harry,  who  was  enjoying  the  delights  of 
intercourse  with  a  virtuous  family-circle  assembled  round  his 
aunt's  table.  Never  had  Uncle  Miles  been  more  cordial,  never 
had  Aunt  W^arrington  been  more  gracious,  gentle  and  affec- 
tionate ;  Flora  looked  unusually  loveh^,  Dora  had  been  more 
than  ordinarily  amiable.  At  parting,  my  lady  gave  him  both 
her  hands,  and  called  benedictions  from  the  ceiling  down  upon 
him.  Papa  had  said  in  his  most  jovial  manner,  ''  Hang  it, 
nephew !  when  I  was  thy  age  I  should  have  kissed  two  such 
fine  girls  as  Do  and  Flo  ere  this,  and  my  own  flesh  and  blood 
too  !     Don't  tell  me  !     I  should,  my  Lady  Warrington  !     Odd's- 


The  VIRGINIANS.  379 

fish  !  'tis  the  boy  blushes,   and  not  the   girls  !  I  think — I   sup- 
pose they  are  used  to  it.     He,  he  !  " 

"  Papa  !  "  cry  the  virgins. 

"  Sir  Miles  ! "  says  the  august  mother  at  the  same  instant. 

"There,  there!  "  says  papa.  "A  kiss  won't  do  no  harm, 
and  won't  tell  no  tales,  will  it,  Nephew  Harr}^  ?  "  I  suppose, 
during  the  utterance  of  the  above  three  brief  phrases,  the 
harmless  little  osculatory  operation  has  taken  place,  and  blush- 
ing Cousin  Harry  has  touched  the  damask  cheek  of  Cousin 
Flora  and  Cousin  Dora. 

As  he  goes  downstairs  with  his  uncle,  mamma  makes  a 
speech  to  the  girls,  looking,  as  usual,  up  to  the  ceiling,  and 
saying,  "  What  precious  qualities  your  poor  dear  cousin  has! 
What  shrewdness  mingled  with  his  simplicity,  and  what  a  fine 
genteel  manner,  though  upon  mere  worldly  elegance  I  set  little 
store.  What  a  dreadful  pity  to  think  that  such  a  vessel  should 
ever  be  lost !  We  must  rescue  him,  my  loves.  We  must  take 
him  away  from  those  wicked  companions,  and  those  horrible 
Castlewoods — not  that  I  would  speak  ill  of  my  neighbors.  But 
I  shall  hope,  I  shall  pray,  that  he  may  be  rescued  from  his  evil 
courses  !  "  And  again  Lady  Warrington  eyes  the  cornice  in  a 
most  determined  manner,  as  the  girls  wistfully  look  toward  the 
door  behind  which  their  interesting  cousin  has  just  vanished. 

His  uncle  will  go  down  stairs  with  him.  He  calls,  "  God 
bless  you,  my  boy  !  "  most  affectionately  :  he  presses  Harry's 
hand,  and  repeats  his  valuable  benediction  at  the  door.  As  it 
closes,  the  light  from  the  hall  within  having  sufficiently  illumi- 
nated Mr.  Warrington's  face  and  figure,  two  gentlemen,  who 
have  been  standing  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  way,  advance 
rapid!}',  and  one  of  them  takes  a  strip  of  paper  out  of  his  pocket, 
and  putting  his  hand  upon  Mr.  Warrington's  shoulder,  declares 
him  his  prisoner.  A  hackney-coach  is  in  attendance,  and  poor 
Hariy  goes  to  sleep  in  Chancery  Lane. 

Oh,  to  think  that  a  Virginian  prince's  back  should  be  slapped 
by  a  ragged  bailiff's  follower  ! — that  Madam  Esmond's  son  should 
be  in  a  sponging-house  in  Cursitor  Street !  I  do  not  envy  our 
3^oung  prodigal  his  rest  on  that  dismal  night.  Let  us  hit  him 
now  he  is  down,  my  beloved  young  friends.  Let  us  imagine  the 
stings  of  remorse  keeping  him  wakeful  on  his  dingy  pillow ; 
the  horrid  jollifications  of  other  hardened  inmates  of  the  place 
ringing  in  his  ears  from  the  room  hard  by,  where  they  sit  booz- 
ing ;  the  rage  and  shame  and  discomfiture.  No  pity  on  him,  I 
say,  my  honest  young  gentlemen,  ior  von,  of  course,  have  never 
indulged  in  extravagance  or  folly,  or  paid  the  reckoning  of 
remorse. 


380  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

CHAPTER  XLVI. 

CHAINS     AND     SLAVERY. 

Remorse  for  past  misdeeds  and  follies  Harry  sincerely  felt, 
when  he  found  himself  a  prisoner  in  that  dismal  lock-up  house, 
and  wrath  and  annoyance  at  the  idea  of  being  subjected  to  the 
indignity  of  arrest ;  but  the  present  unpleasantry  he  felt  sure 
could  only  be  momentary.  He  had  twenty  friends  who  would 
release  him  from  his  confinement :  to  which  of  them  should  he 
apply,  was  the  question.  Mr.  Draper,  the  man  of  business,  who 
had  been  so  obsequious  to  him  :  his  kind  uncle  the  baronet,  who 
had  offered  to  make  his  house  Harry's  home,  who  loved  him  as 
a  son  :  his  Cousin  Castlewood,  who  had  won  such  large  sums 
from  him  :  his  noble  friends  at  the  Chocolate  House,  his  good 
Aunt  Bernstein — any  of  these  Harry  felt  sure  would  give  him  a 
help  in  his  trouble,  though  some  of  the  relatives,  perhaps,  might 
administer  to  him  a  little  scolding  for  his  imprudence.  The 
main  point  was,  that  the  matter  should  be  transacted  quietly, 
for  Mr.  Warrington  was  anxious  that  as  few  as  possible  of  the 
public  should  know  how  a  gentleman  of  his  prodigious  impor- 
tance had  been  subjected  to  such  a  vulgar  process  as  an  arrest. 

"  A  pretty  sensation  my  arrest  must  have  created  at  the 
club  !  "  thought  Harry.  "  I  suppose  that  Mr.  Selwyn  will  be 
cutting  all  sorts  of  jokes  about  my  misfortune,  plague  take  him  ! 
Everybody  round  the  table  will  have  heard  about  it.  March 
will  tremble  about  the  bet  I  have  with  him  ;  and,  faith,  'twill  be 
difficult  to  pay  him  when  I  lose.  They  will  all  be  setting  up  a 
whoop  of  congratulation  at  the  Savage,  as  they  call  me,  being 
taken  prisoner.  How  shall  I  ever  be  able  to  appear  in  the 
world  again  ?  Whom  shall  I  ask  to  come  to  my  help?  No,'' 
thought  he,  with  his  mingled  acuteness  and  simplicity,  "  I  will 
not  send  in  the  first  instance  to  any  of  my  relations  or  my  noble 
friends  at  White's.  I  will  have  Sampson's  counsel.  He  has 
often  been  in  a  similar  predicament,  and  will  know  how  to  ad- 
vise me."  Accordingly,  as  soon  as  the  light  of  dawn  ap- 
peared, after  an  almost  intolerable  delay — for  it  seemed  to  Harry 
as  if  the  sun  had  forgotten  to  visit  Cursitor  Street  in  his  rounds 
that  morning — and  as  soon  as  the  inmates  of  the  house  of  bond- 
age were  stirring,  ]\Ir.  Warrington  despatched  a  messenger  to 
his  friend  in  Long  Acre,  acquainting  the  Chaplain  with  the 


THE   r/RGimAXS. 


381 


i=) 


calamity  just  befallen  him,  and  beseeching  his  Reverence  to  give 
him  the  benefit  of  his  advice  and  consolation. 

Mr.  Warrington  did  not  know,  to  be  sure,  that  to  send  such 
a  message  to  the  parson  was  as  if  he  said,  "  I  am  fallen  amongst 
the  lions.  Come  down,  my  dear  friend,  into  the  pit  with  me." 
Harry  very  likely  thought  Sampson's  difficulties  were  over  ;  or, 
more  likely  still,  was  so  much  engrossed  with  his  own  affairs 
and  perplexities,  as  to  bestow  little  thought  upon  his  neighbor's. 
Having  sent  off  his  missive  the  captive's  mind  was  somewhat 
more  at  ease,  and  he  condescended  to  call  for  breakfast,  which 
was  brought  to  him  presently.  The  attendant  who  served  him 
with  his  morning  repast,  asked  him  whether  he  would  order 
dinner,  or  take  his  meal  at  Mrs.  Bailiff's  table  with  some  other 
gentlemen  ?  No.  Mr.  Warrington  would  not  order  dinner. 
He  should  quit  the  place  before  dinner-time,  he  informed  the 
chamberlain  who  waited  on  him  in  that  grim  tavern.  The  man 
went  away,  thinking  no  doubt  that  this  was  not  the  first  young 
gentleman  who  had  announced  that  he  was  going  away  ere  two 
hours  were  over.  "  Well,  if  your  honor  does  stay,  there  is  good 
beef  and  carrot  at  two  o'clock,"  says  the  sceptic,  and  closes  the 
door  on  Mr.  Harry  and  his  solitary  meditations. 

Harry's  messenger  to  ]^Ir.  Sampson  brought  back  a  message 
from  that  gentleman  to  say  that  he  would  be  with  his  patron  as 
soon  as  might  be  :  but  ten  o'clock  came,  eleven  o'clock,  noon, 
and  no  Sampson.  No  Sampson  arrived,  but  about  twelve  Gumbo 
with  a  portmanteau  of  his  master's  clothes,  who  flung  himself, 
roaring  with  grief,  at  Harry's  feet .  and  with  a  thousand  vows 
of  fidelity,  expressed  himself  ready  to  die,  to  sell  himself  into 
slavery  over  again,  to  do  anything  to  rescue  his  beloved  Master 
Harry  from  this  calamitous  position.  Harry  was  touched  with 
the  lad's  expressions  of  affection,  and  told  him  to  get  up  from 
the  ground  where  he  was  grovelling  on  his  knees,  embracing  his 
master's.  "All  you  have  to  do,  sir,  is  to  give  me  my  clothes 
to  dress,  and  to  hold  your  tongue  about  this  business.  Mind 
you,  not  a  word,  sir,  about  it  to  anybody !  "  says  Mr.  \^'arring- 
ton,  severely. 

"Oh,  no,  sir,  never  to  nobody  !  "  says  Gumbo,  looking  most 
solemnly,  and  proceeded  to  dress  his  master  carefully,  who  had 
need  of  a  change  and  a  toilette  after  his  yesterday's  sudden 
capture,  and  night's  dismal  rest.  Accordingly  Gumbo  flung  a 
dash  of  powder  in  Harry's  hair,  and  arrayed  his  master  carefully 
and  elegantly,  so  that  he  made  Mr.  Warrington  look  as  fine  and 
splendid  as  if  he  had  been  stepping  into  his  chair  to  go  to  St. 
James's. 


382  THE   VIRGhYIANS. 

Indeed  all  that  love  and  servility  could  do,  Mr.  Gumbo 
faithfully  did  for  his  master,  for  whom  he  had  an  extreme  re- 
gard and  attachment.  But  there  were  certain  things  beyond 
Gumbo's  power.  He  could  not  undo  things  which  were  done 
already  •  and  he  could  not  help  lying  and  excusing  himself  when 
pressed  upon  points  disagreeable  to  himself. 

As  for  swearing  not  to  say  a  word  about  his  master's  arrest 
— such  an  oath  as  that  was  impossible  to  keep  :  for,  with  a 
heart  full  of  grief  indeed,  but  with  a  tongue  that  never  could 
cease  wagging,  bragging,  joking,  and  lying,  Mr.  Gumbo  had  an- 
nounced the  woeful  circumstance  to  a  prodigious  number  of  his 
acquaintances  already,  chiefly  gendemen  of  the  shoulder-knot 
and  worsted  lace.  We  have  seen  how  he  carried  the  news  to 
Colonel  Lambert's  and  Lord  Wrotham's  servants  :  he  had  pro- 
claimed it  at  the  footmen's  club  to  which  he  belonged,  and 
which  was  frequented  by  the  gentlemen  of  some  of  the  first 
nobility.  He  had  subsequently  condescended  to  partake  of  a 
mug  of  ale  in  Sir  Miles  Warrington's  butler's  room,  and  there 
had  repeated  and  embellished  the  story.  Then  he  had  gone 
off  to  Madame  Bernstein's  people,  with  some  of  whom  he  was 
on  terms  of  affectionate  intercourse,  and  had  informed  that 
domestic  circle  of  his  grief  :  and,  his  master  being  captured,  and 
there  being  no  earthly  call  for  his  personal  services  that  evening, 
Gumbo  had  stepped  up  to  Lord  Castlewood's,  and  informed  the 
gentr)'  there  of  the  incident  which  had  just  come  to  pass.  So 
when,  laying  his  hand  on  his  heart,  and  with  gushing  floods  of 
teais,  Gumbo  says,  in  reply  to  his  master's  injunction,.  "  Oh, 
no,  master  !  nebber  to  nobody  !  "  we  are  in  a  condition  to  judge 
of  the  degree  of  credibility  which  ought  to  be  given  to  the  lad's 
statement. 

The  black  had  long  completed  his  master's  toilet :  the 
dreary  breakfast  was  over  :  slow  as  the  hours  went  to  the  pris- 
oner, still  they  were  passing  one  after  another,  but  no  Sampson 
came  in  accordance  with  the  promise  sent  in  the  morning.  At 
length,  some  time  after  noon,  there  arrived,  not  Sampson,  but 
a  billet  from  him,  sealed  with  a  moist  wafer,  and  with  the  ink 
almost  yet  wet.     The  unlucky  divine's  letter  ran  as  follows  : 

"  Oh,  sir,  dear  sir,  I  have  done  all  that  a  man  can  at  the  command  and  in  the  behalf  of 
his  patron  !  You  did  not  know,  sir,  to  what  5'ou  were  subjecting  me,  did  you  ?  Else,  if  I 
was  to  go  to  prison,  why  did  1  not  share  yours,  and  why  am  I  in  a  lock-up  house  three 
doors  off  ?  ' 

"Yes.  Such  is  the  fact.  As  I  was  hastening  to  you,  knowing  full  well  the  danger  to 
which  I  was  subject : — but  what  danger  will  T  not  affront  at  the  call  of  such  a  benefactor  as 
Mr.  Warrington  hath  been  to  me  ? — I  was  seized  by  two  villains  who  had  a  writ  against  me, 
and  who  have  lodged  me  at  Naboth's  hard  by,  and  so  close  to  your  honor  that  we  could 
almost  hear  each  other  across  the  garden-walls  of  the  respective  houses  where  we  are  con- 
fined. 


THE  VIRGIA'IANS. 


383 

"  I  had  much  and  of  importance  to  say,  which  I  do  not  care  to  write  down  in  paper, 
regardnig  your  affairs.  May  they  mend  !  May  my  cursed  fortunes,  too,  better  themselves, 
IS  the  prayer  of 

"  Your  honor's  afflicted  Chaplain  in  Ordinary, 

"T.  S." 

And  now,  as  Mr.  Sampson  refuses  to  speak,  it  will  be  our 
duty  to  acquaint  the  reader  with  those  matters  whereof  the 
poor  Chaplain  did  not  care  to  discourse  on  paper. 

Gumbo's  loquacity  had  not  reached  so  far  as  Long  Acre, 
and  Mr.  Sampson  was  ignorant  of  the  extent  of  his  patron's 
calamity  until  he  received  Harry's  letter  and  messenger  from 
Chancery  Lane.  The  divine  was  still  ardent  with  gratitude  for 
the  service  ]\Ir.  Warrington  had  just  conferred  on  him,  and 
eager  to  find  some  means  to  succor  his  distressed  patron.  He 
knew  what  a  large  sum  Lord  Castlewood  had  won  from  his 
cousin,  had  dined  in  company  with  his  lordship  on  the  day 
before,  and  now  ran  to  Lord  Castlewood's  house,  with  a  hope 
of  arousing  him  to  some  pity  for  Mr.  Warrington.  Sampson 
made  a  very  eloquent  and  touching  speech  to  Lord  Castlewood 
about  his  kinsman's  misfortune,  and  spoke  with  a  real  kindness 
and  sympathy,  which,  however,  failed  to  touch  the  nobleman  to 
whom  he  addressed  himself. 

My  lord  peevishly  and  curtly  put  a  stop  to  the  Chaplain's 
passionate  pleading.  "Did  I  not  tell  you,  two  days  since, 
when  you  came  for  money,  that  I  was  poor  as  a  beggar,  Samp- 
son," said  his  lordship,  "  and  has  anybody  left  me  a  fortune 
since  .?  "  The  little  sum  I  won  from  my  cousin  was  swallowed 
up  by  others.  I  not  only  can't  help  Mr.  Warrington,  but,  as  I 
pledge  you  my  word,  not  being  in  the  least  aware  of  his  calam- 
ity, I  had  positively  written  to  him  this  morning  to  ask  him  to 
help  7?ier  And  a  letter  to  this  effect  did  actuallv  reach  Mr. 
Warrmgton  from  his  lodgings,  whither  it  had  been'despatched 
by  the  penny  post. 

"  I  must  get  him  money,  my  lord.  I  know  he  had  scarcely 
anythmg  left  in  his  pocket  after  relieving  me.  Were  I  to 
pawn  my  cassock  and  bands,  he  must  have  money,"  cried  the 
Chaplain. 

"  Amen.  Go  and  pawn  your  bands,  your  cassock,  anything 
you  please.  Your  enthusiasm  does  vou  credit,"  said  my  lord; 
and  resumed  the  reading  of  his  paper,  whilst,  in  the  deepest 
despondency,  poor  Sampson  left  him. 

My  Lady  Maria  meanwhile  had  heard  that  the  Chaplain 
was  with  her  brother,  and  conjectured  what  might  be  the  sub- 
ject on  which  they  had  been  talking.  She  seized  upon  the 
parson  as  he  issued  from  out  his  fruitless  interview  v/ith  my  lord. 


384 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


She  drew  him  into  the  dining-room  :  the  strongest  marks  of 
grief  and  sympathy  were  in  her  countenance.  "  Tell  me,  what 
is  this  has  happened  to  Mr.  Warrington  }  "  she  asked. 

"Your  ladyship,  then,  knows?"  asked  the  Chaplain. 

"  Have  I  not  been  in  mortal  anxiety  ever  since  his  servant 
brought  the  dreadful  news  last  night  ?  "  asked  my  lady.  "  We 
had  it  as  we  came  from  the  opera — from  my  Lady  Yarmouth's 
box — my  lord,  my  Lady  Castlewood,  and  L" 

"  His  lordship,  then,  ^/^  know  ?  "  continued  Sampson. 

"  Benson  told  the  news  when  we  came  from  the  playhouse 
to  our  tea,"  repeats  Lady  Maria. 

"  The  Chaplain  lost  all  patience  and  temper  at  such  dupli- 
city. "This  is  too  bad,"  he  said,  with  an  oath  ;  and  he  told 
Lady  Maria  of  the  conversation  which  he  had  just  had  with 
Lord  Castlewood,  and  of  the  latters  refusual  to  succur  his 
cousin,  after  winning  great  sums  of  money  from  him,  and  with 
much  eloquence  and  feeling,  of  Mr.  \\^arrington's  most  gener- 
ous behavior  to  himself. 

Then  my  Lady  Maria  broke  out  with  a  series  of  remarks 
regarding  her  own  family,  which  were  by  no  means  complimen- 
tary to  her  own  kith  and  kin.  Although  not  accustomed  to  tell 
truth  commonly,  yet,  when  certain  families  fall  out,  it  is  won- 
derful what  a  number  of  truths  they  v/ill  tell  about  one  another. 
With  tears,  imprecations,  I  do  not  like  to  think  how  much 
stronger  language.  Lady  Maria  burst  into  a  furious  and  impas- 
sioned tirade,  in  which  she  touched  upon  the  history  of  almost 
all  her  noble  family.  She  complimented  the  men  and  the  ladies 
alike  ;  she  shrieked  out  interrogatories  to  heaven,  inquiring 
why  it  had  made  such — (never  mind  what  names  she  called 
her  brothers,  sisters,  uncles,  aunts,  parents)  ;  and,  emboldened 
with  wrath,  she  dashed  at  her  brother's  library  door,  so  shrill 
in  her  outcries,  so  furious  in  her  demeanor,  that  the  alarmed 
Chaplain,  fearing  the  scene  which  might  ensue,  made  for  the 
street. 

My  lord,  looking  up  from  the  book  or  other  occupation 
which  engaged  him,  regarded  the  furious  woman  with  some 
surprise,  and  selected  a  good  strong  oath  to  fling  at  her,  as  it 
were,  and  check  her  onset. 

But,  when  roused,  we  have  seen  how  courageous  Maria 
could  be.  Afraid  as  she  was  ordinarily  of  her  brother,  she  was 
not  in  a  mood  to  be  frightened  now  by  any  language  of  abuse 
or  sarcasm  at  his  command. 

"  So,  my  lord  !  "  she  called  out ;  "  you  sit  down  with  him 
in  private  to  cards,  and  pigeon  him !     You  get  the  poor  boy's 


THE  VIRGINIANS. 


385 


last  shilling,  and  you  won't  give  him  a  guinea  out  of  his  own 
winnings  now  he  is  penniless  !  " 

"  So  that  infernal  Chaplain  has  been  telling  tales  !  "  says 
my  lord. 

•'Dismiss  him  :  do  !  Pay  him  his  wages,  and  let  him  go, — • 
he  will  be  glad  enough  !  "  cries  Maria. 

"  I  keep  him  to  marry  one  of  my  sisters,  in  case  he  is 
wanted,"  says  Castlewood,  glaring  at  her. 

"  What  can  the  woman  be  in  a  family  where  there  are  such 
men  ?  "  says  the  lady. 

"  Effectivement  ! "'  says  my  lord,  with  a  shrug  of  his 
shoulder. 

"What  can  we  be,  when  our  fathers  and  brothers  are  what 
they  are  ?  We  are  bad  enough,  but  what  are  you  t  I  say,  you 
neither  have  courage — no,  nor  honor,  nor  common  feeling.  As 
your  equals  won't  play  with  you,  my  Lord  Castlewood,  you  must 
take  this  poor  lad  out  of  Virginia,  your  own  kinsman,  and 
pigeon  him  !     Oh,  it's  a  shame — a  shame  !  " 

"  We  are  all  playing  our  own  game,  I  suppose.  Haven't 
you  played  and  won  one,  Maria  ?  Is  it  you  that  are  squeamish 
all  of  a  sudden  about  the  poor  lad  from  Virginia?  Has  Mr. 
Harry  cried  off,  or  has  your  ladyship  got  a  better  offer  ?  "  cried 
my  lord.  "  If  you  won't  have  him,  one  of  the  Warrington  girls 
will,  I  promise  you ;  and  the  old  Methodist  woman  in  Hill 
Street  will  give  him  the  choice  of  either.  Are  you  a  fool,  Maria 
Esmond  ?     A  greater  fool,  I  mean,  than  in  common?  " 

I  should  be  a  fool  if  I  thought  that  either  of  my  brothers 
could  act  like  an  honest  ma;n,  Eugene  !  "  said  Maria.  "  I  am  a 
fool  to  expect  that  you  will  be  other  than  you  are ;  that  if  you 
find  any  relative  in  distress  you  will  help  him  ;  that  if  you  can 
meet  with  a  victim  you  won't  fleece  him." 

"  Fleece  him  !  Psha !  What  folly  are  you  talking  !  Have 
you  not  seen,  from  the  course  which  the  lad  has  been  running 
for  months  past,  how  he  would  end  ?  If  I  had  not  won  his 
money,  some  other  would  ?  I  never  grudged  thee  thy  little 
plans  regarding  him.  Why  shouldst  thou  fly  in  a  passion,  be- 
cause I  have  just  put  out  my  hand  to  take  what  he  was  offering 
to  all  the  world  ?  _  I  reason  with  you,  I  don't  know  why,  Maria. 
You  should  be  old  enough  to  understand  reason,  at  any  rate. 
You  think  this  money  belonged  of  right  to  Lady  Maria  Warring- 
ton and  her  children  ?  I  tell  you  that  in  three  months  more 
every  shilling  would  have  found  its  way  to  White's  macco-table, 
and  that  it  is  much  better  spent  in  paying  my  debts.  So  much 
for  you  ladyship's  anger,  and  tears,  and  menaces,  and  naughty 

25 


386  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

language.  See  !  I  am  a  good  brother,  and  repay  them  with 
reason  and  kind  words." 

"  My  good  brother  might  have  given  a  little  more  than  kind 
words  to  the  lad  from  whom  he  has  just  taken  hundreds,"  in- 
terposed the  sister  of  this  affectionate  brother. 

"  Great  heavens,  Maria  !  Don't  you  see  that  even  out  of 
this  affair,  unpleasant  as  it  seems,  a  clever  woman  may  make 
her  advantage,"  cries  my  lord.  Maria  said  she  failed  to  com- 
prehend. 

"  As  thus.  I  name  no  names  ;  I  meddle  in  no  person's 
business,  having  quite  enough  to  do  to  manage  my  own  cursed 
affairs.  But  suppose  I  happen  to  know  of  a  case  in  another 
family  which  my  be  applicable  to  ours.  It  is  this.  A  green 
young  lad  of  tolerable  expectations,  comes  up  from  the  country 
to  his  friends  in  town — never  mind  from  what  countr}^ ;  never 
mind  to  what  town.  An  elderly  female  relative,  who  has  been 
dragging  her  spinsterhood  about  these — how  many  years  shall 
we  say  ? — extorts  a  promise  of  marriage  from  my  young  gentle- 
man, never  mind  on  what  conditions." 

"  My  lord,  do  you  want  to  insult  your  sister  as  well  as  to  in- 
jure your  cousin  ?  "  asks  Maria. 

"  My  good  child,  did  I  say  a  single  word  about  fleecing  or 
cheating,  or  pigeoning,  or  did  I  fly  into  a  passion  when  you 
insulted  7ne  ?  I  know  the  allowance  that  must  be  made  for 
your  temper,  and  the  natural  folly  of  your  sex.  I  say  I  treated 
you  with  soft  words — I  go  on  with  my  stor)\  The  elderly 
relative  extracts  a  promise  of  marriage  from  the  young  lad, 
which  my  gentleman  is  quite  unwilling  to  keep.  No,  he  won't 
keep  it.  He  is  utterly  tired  of  his  elderly  relative  ;  he  will 
plead  his  mother's  refusal :  he  will  do  anything  to  get  out  of 
his  promise." 

"  Yes ;  if  he  was  one  of  us  Esmonds,  my  Lord  Castlewood. 
But  this  is  a  man  of  honor  we  are  speaking  of,"  cried  Maria, 
who,  I  suppose,  admired  truth  in  others,  however  little  she  saw 
it  in  her  own  family. 

"  I  do  not  contradict  either  of  my  dear  sister's  remarks. 
One  of  us  would  fling  the  promise  to  the  winds,  especially  as  it 
does  not  exist  in  writing," 

"  My  lord  ! "  gasps  out  Maria. 

"  Bah  !  I  know  all.  That  little  coup  of  Tunbridge  was 
played  by  the  Aunt  Bernstein  with  excellent  skill.  The  old 
woman  is  the  best  man  of  our  family.  While  you  were  arrested, 
your  boxes  were  searched  for  the  Mohock's  letters  to  you. 
When  you  were  let  loose,  the  letters  had  disappeared,  and  you 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  387 

said  nothing,  like  a  wise  woman,  as  you  are  sometimes.  You 
still  hanker  after  your  Cherokee.  Soit.  A  woman  of  your 
mature  experience  knows  the  value  of  a  husband.  What  is 
this  little  loss  of  two  or  three  hundred  pounds  ?  " 

"  Not  more  than  three  hundred,  my  lord  ?  "  interposes 
Maria. 

''  Eh  !  never  mind  a  hundred  or  two,  more  or  less.  What 
is  this  loss  at  cards  .''  A  mere  bagatelle  !  You  are  playing 
for  a  principality.  You  want  your  kingdom  in  Virginia  ;  and 
if  you  listen  to  my  opinion,  the  little  misfortune  which  has 
happened  to  your  swain  is  a  piece  of  great  good  fortune  to 
you." 

"  I  don't  understand  you,  my  lord." 

"  C'est  possible ;  but  sit  down,  and  I  will  explain  what  I 
mean  in  a  manner  suited  to  your  capacity."  And  so  Maria 
Esmond,  who  had  advanced  to  her  brother  like  a  raging  lion, 
now  sat  down  at  his  feet  like  a  gentle  lamb. 

Madame  de  Bernstein  was  not  a  little  moved  at  the  news 
of  her  nephew's  arrest,  which  Mr.  Gumbo  brought  to  Clarges 
Street  on  the  night  of  the  calamity.  She  would  have  cross- 
examined  the  black,  and  had  further  particulars  respecting 
Harry's  mishap  :  but  Mr.  Gumbo,  anxious  to  carry  his  intelli- 
gence to  other  quarters,- had  vanished  when  her  ladyship  sent 
for  him.  Her  temper  was  not  improved  by  the  news,  or  by  the 
sleepless  night  which  she  spent.  I  do  not  envy  the  dame  de 
C07npagnie  who  played  cards  with  her,  or  the  servant  who  had 
to  lie  in  her  chamber.  An  arrest  was  an  every  day  occurrence, 
as  she  knew  very  well  as  a  woman  of  the  world.  Into  what 
difficulties  had  her  scapegrace  of  a  nephew  fallen  ?  How  much 
money  should  she  be  called  upon  to  pay  to  release  him  ?  And 
had  he  run  through  all  his  own  ?  Provided  he  had  not  com- 
mitted himself  very  deeply,  she  was  quite  disposed  to  aid  him. 
She  liked  even  his  extravagances  and  follies.  He  was  the  only 
being  in  the  world  on  whom,  for  long,  long  years,  that  weary 
woman  had  been  able  to  bestow  a  little  natural  affection.  So, 
on  their  different  beds,  she  and  Harry  were  lying  wakeful  to- 
gether ;  and  quite  early  in  the  morning  the  messengers  which 
each  sent  forth  on  the  same  business  may  have  crossed  each 
other. 

Madame  Bernstein's  messenger  was  despatched  to  the  cham- 
bers of  her  man  of  business,  Mr.  Draper,  with  an  order  that 
^Ir.  D.  should  ascertain  for  what  sums  Mr.  Warrington  had 
been  arrested,  and  forthwith  repair  to  the  Baroness.     Draper's 


388  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

emissaries  speedily  found  out  that  Mr.  Warrington  was  locked 
up  close  beside  them,  and  the  amount  of  detainers  against  him 
so  far.  Were  there  other  creditors,  as  no  doubt  there  were,  they 
would  certainly  close  upon  him  when  they  were  made  acquainted 
with  his  imprisonment. 

To  Mr.  Sparks,  the  jeweller,  for  those  unlucky  presents,  so 
much  :  to  the  landlord  in  Bond  Street,  for  board,  fire,  lodging, 
so  much  :  these  were  at  present  the  only  claims  against  Mr. 
Warrington,  Mr.  Draper  found.  He  was  ready,  at  a  signal 
from  her  ladyship,  to  settle  them  at  a  moment.  The  jeweller's 
account  ought  especially  to  be  paid,  for  Mr.  Harry  had  acted 
most  imprudently  in  taking  goods  from  Mr.  Sparks  on  credit, 
and  pledging  them  with  a  pawnbroker.  He  must  have  been 
under  some  immediate  pressure  for  money  ;  intended  to  redeem 
the  goods  immediately,  meant  nothing  but  what  was  honorable 
of  course  ;  but  the  affair  would  have  an  ugly  look,  if  made  pub- 
lie,  and  had  better  be  settled  out  of  hand.  "  There  cannot  be 
the  least  difficulty  regarding  a  thousand  pounds  more  or  less, 
for  a  gentleman  of  Mr.  Warrington's  rank  and  expectations," 
aid  Madame  de  Bernstein.  Not  the  least  :  her  ladyship  knew 
very  well  that  there  were  funds  belonging  to  Mr.  Warrington, 
on  which  money  could  be  at  once  raised  with  her  ladyship's 
guarantee. 

Should  he  go  that  instant  and  settle  the  matter  with  Messrs. 
Amos  ?  Mr.  Harry  might  be  back  to  dine  with  her  at  two,  and 
to  confound  the  people  at  the  clubs,  "who  are  no  doubt  rejoic- 
ing over  his  misfortunes,"  said  the  compassionate  Mr.  Draper. 
But  the  Baroness  had  other  views.  "  I  think,  my  good  Mr. 
Draper,"  she  said  "that  my  young  gentleman  has  sown  wild 
oats  enough ;  and  when  he  comes  out  of  prison  I  should  like 
him  to  come  out  clear,  and  without  any  liabilities  at  all.  You 
are  not  aware  of  all  his." 

"  No  gentleman  ever  does  tell  all  his  debts,  Madame,"  says 
Mr.  Draper,  "  no  one  /ever  had  to  deal  with." 

"  There  is  one  which  the  silly  boy  has  contracted,  and  from 
which  he  ought  to  be  released,  Mr.  Draper.  You  remember  a 
little  circumstance  which  occurred  at  Tunbridge  \^'ells  in  the 
autumn  ?     About  which  I  sent  up  my  man  Case  to  you  ?  " 

"  When  you  ladyship  pleases  to  recall  it,  I  remember  it — 
not  otherwise,"  says  Mr.  Draper,  with  a  bow.  "  A  lawyer 
should  be  like  a  Popish  confessor, — what  is  told  him  is  a  secret 
for  ever,  and  for  everybody."  So  we  must  not  whisper  Madame 
Bernstein's  secret  to  Mi.  Draper  ;  but  the  reader  may  perhaps 
guess  it  from  the  lawyer's  conduct  subsequently. 


THE   VIRGINIANS, 


389 


The  lawyer  felt  pretty  certain  that  ere  long  he  would  receive 
a  summons  from  the  poor  young  prisoner  in  Cursitor  Street, 
and  waited  for  that  invitation  before  he  visited  Mr.  Warrington. 
Six-and-thirty  hours  passed  ere  the  invitation  came,  during 
which  period  Harry  passed  the  dreariest  two  days  which  he 
ever  remembered  to  have  spent. 

There  w^as  no  want  of  company  in  the  lock-up  house,  the 
bailiff's  rooms  were  nearly  always  full ;  but  Harry  preferred 
the  dingy  solitude  of  his  own  room  to  the  society  round  his 
lady's  table,  and  it  was  only  on  the  second  day  of  his  arrest, 
and  when  his  purse  was  emptied  by  the  heavy  charges  of  the 
place,  that  he  made  up  his  mind  to  apply  to  Mr.  Draper.  He 
despatched  a  letter  then  to  the  lawyer  at  the  temple  informing 
him  of  his  plight,  and  desiring  him,  in  an  emphatic  postscript, 
not  to  say  one  word  about  the  matter  to  his  aunt,  Madame  de 
Bernstein. 

He  had  made  up  his  mind  not  to  apply  to  the  old  lady 
except  at  the  very  last  extremity.  She  had  treated  him  with 
so  much  kindness,  that  he  revolted  from  the  notion  of  trespas- 
sing on  her  bounty,  and  for  a  while  tried  to  please  himself  with 
the  idea  that  he  might  get  out  of  durance  without  her  even 
knowing  that  any  misfortune  at  all  had  befallen  him.  There 
seemed  to  him  something  humiliating  in  petitioning  a  woman 
for  money.  No  !  He  would  apply  first  to  his  male  friends,  all 
of  whom  "might  help  him  if  they  would.  It  had  been  his  inten- 
tion to  send  Sampson  to  one  or  other  of  them  as  a  negotiator, 
had  not  the  poor  fellow  been  captured  on  his  way  to  succor 
his  friend. 

Sampson  gone,  Harry  was  obliged  to  have  recourse  to  his 
own  negro  servant,  who  was  kept  on  the  trot  all  day  between 
Temple  Bar  and  the  Court  end  of  the  town  with  letters  from  his 
unlucky  master.  Firstly,  then,  Harry  sent  off  a  most  private  and 
confidential  letter  to  his  kinsman,  the  Right  Honorable  the 
Earl  of  Castlewood,  saying  how  he  had  been  cast  into  prison, 
and  begging  Castlewood  to  lend  him  the  amount  of  the  debt. 
"  Please  to  keep  my  application,  and  the  cause  of  it,  a  profound 
secret  from  the  dear  ladies,"  wrote  poor  Harry. 

"  Was  ever  anything  so  unfortunate  ? "  wrote  back  Lord 
Castlewood,  in  reply.  "  I  suppose -you  have  not  got  my  note 
of  yesterday  ?  "  It  must  be  lying  at  your  lodgings,  where — I 
hope  in  heaven  ! — you  will  soon  be,  too.  My  dear  Mr.  War- 
rington, thinking  you  were  as  rich  as  Croesus — otherwise  I 
should  never  have  sat  down  to  cards  with  you — I  wrote  to  you 
yesterday,  begging  you  to   lend   7ne  some  money  to    appease 


39 o  THE  VIRGINIANS. 

some  hungry  duns  whom  I  don't  know  how  else  to  pacify.  My 
poor  fellow,  every  shilling  of  your  money  went  to  them,  and 
but  for  my  peer's  privilege  I  might  be  hob-and-nob  with  you 
now  in  your  dungeon.  May  you  soon  escape  from  it,  is  the 
prayer  of  your  sincere  Castlewood." 

This  was  the  result  of  application  number  one  :  and  we 
may  imagine  that  Mr.  Harry  read  the  reply  to  his  petition  with 
rather  a  blank  face.  Never  mind  !  There  was  kind,  jolly 
Uncle  Warrington.  Only  last  night  his  aunt  had  kissed  him, 
and  loved  him  like  a  son.  His  uncle  had  called  down  bless- 
ings on  his  head,  and  professed  quite  a  paternal  regard  for 
him.  With  a  feeling  of  shyness  and  modesty  in  presence  of 
those  virtuous  parents  and  family,  Harry  had  never  said  a 
word  about  his  wild  doings,  or  his  horse-racings,  or  his  gam- 
blings, or  his  extravagances.  It  must  all  out  now.  He  must 
confess  himself  a  Prodigal  and  a  Sinner,  and  ask  for  their  for- 
giveness and  aid.  So  Prodigal  sat  down  and  composed  a 
penitent  letter  to  Uncle  Warrington,  and  exposed  his  sad  case, 
and  besought  him  to  come  to  the  rescue.  Was  not  that  a  bit- 
ter nut  to  crack  for  our  haughty  young  Virginian  ?  Hours  of 
mortification  and  profound  thought  as  to  the  pathos  of  the 
composition  did  Harry  pass  over  that  letter ;  sheet  after  sheet 
of  Mr.  Amos's  sixpence  a  sheet  letter-paper  did  he  tear  up 
before  the  missive  was  complete,  with  which  poor  blubbering 
Gumbo  (much  vilified  by  the  bailiff's  followers  and  parasites, 
whom  he  was  robbing,  as  they  conceived,  of  their  perquisites) 
went  his  way. 

At  evening  the  faithful  negro  brought  back  a  thick  letter  in 
his  aunt's  handwriting.  Harry  opened  the  letter  with  a  tremb- 
ling hand.  He  thought  it  was  full  of  bank-notes.  Ah,  me  !  it 
contained  a  sermon  (Daniel  in  the  Lions'  Den)  by  Mr.  Whit- 
field, and  a  letter  from  Lady  Warrington  saying  that,  in  Sir 
Miles's  absence  from  London,  she  was  in  the  habit  of  opening 
his  letters,  and  hence,  perforce,  was  become  acquainted  with  a 
fact  which  she  deplored  from  her  inmost  soul  to  learn,  namely, 
that  her  nephew  Warrington  had  been  extravagant  and  was  in 
debt.  Of  course,  in  the  absence  of  Sir  Miles,  she  could  not 
hope  to  hav^e  at  command  such  a  sum  as  that  for  which  Mr. 
Warrington  wrote,  but  she.  sent  him  her  heartfelt  prayers,  her 
deepest  commiseratiofi,  and,  a  discourse  by  dear  Mr.  Whitfield, 
which  would  comfort  him  in  his  present  (alas  !  she  feared  not 
undeserved)  calamity.  She  added  profuse  references  to  par- 
ticular Scriptural  chapters  which  would  do  him  good.  If  she 
might  speak  of  things  worldly  she  said  at  such  a  mo7Jient,  she 


THE  VIRGINIANS.  391 

would  hint  to  Mr.  Warrington  that  his  epistolary  orthograph)^ 
was  anything  but  correct.  She  would  not  fail  for  her  part  to 
comply  with  his  express  desire  that  his  dear  cousins  should 
know  nothing  of  this  iwosi  painful  circumstance,  and  with  every 
wish  for  his  welfare  here  and  elsewhere,  she  subscribed  herself 
his  loving  aunt, 

Margaret  Warrington. 

Poor  Harr}^  hid  his  face  between  his  hands,  and  sat  for  a 
while  with  elbows  on  the  greasy  table  blankly  staring  into  the 
candle  before  him.  The  bailiff's  servant,  who  was  touched  by 
his  handsome  face,  suggested  a  mug  of  beer  for  his  honor,  but 
Harry  could  not  drink,  nor  eat  the  meat  that  was  placed  before 
him.  Gumbo,  however,  could,  whose  grief  did  not  deprive  him 
of  appetite,  and  who,  blubbering  the  while,  finished  all  the  beer, 
and  all  the  bread  and  the  meat.  Meanwhile,  Harry  had  fin- 
ished another  letter,  with  which  Gumbo  was  commissioned  to 
start  again,  and  away  the  faithful  creature  ran  upon  his  errand. 

Gumbo  ran  as  far  as  White's  Club,  to  which  house  he  was 
ordered  in  the  first  instance  to  carr}'  the  letter,  and  where  he 
found  the  person  to  whom  it  was  addressed.  Even  the  prisoner, 
for  whom  time  passed  so  slowly,  was  surprised  at  the  celerity 
with  which  his  negro  had  performed  his  errand. 
*  At  least  the  letter  which  Harry  expected  had  not  taken  long 
to  write.  "  My  lord  wrote  it  at  the  hall-porter's  desk,  while  I 
stood  there  then  with  Mr.  Morris,"  said  Gumbo,  and  the  letter 
was  to  this  effect : — 

"  Dear  Sir, — I  am  sorry  I  cannot  comply  with  your  wish,  as  I'm  short  of  money  at 
present,  having  paid  large  sums  to  you  as  well  as  to  other  gentlemen. 
"  Yours  obediently, 

"  March  and  R. 
"  Henry  Warrington,   Esq." 

"  Did  Lord  March  say  anything  ? "  asked  Mr.  Warrington, 
looking  very  pale. 

"  He  say  it  was  the  coolest  thing  he  ever  knew.  So  did  Mr. 
Morris.  He  showed  him  your  letter.  Master  Harr}-.  Yes,  and 
Mr.  Morris  say,  '  Dam  his  imperence  ! '  "  added  Gumbo. 

Harry  burst  into  such  a  yell  of  laughter  that  his  landlord 
thought  he  had  good  news,  and  ran  in  in  alarm  lest  he  was 
about  to  lose  his  tenant.  But  by  this  time  poor  Harry's  laugh- 
ter was  over,  and  he  was  flung  down  in  his  chair  gazing  dis- 
mally in  the  fire. 

"  I — I  should  like  to  smoke  a  pipe  of  Virginia,"  he  groaned. 
Gumbo  burst  into  tears  :   he  flung  himself  at   Harry's  knees. 


392 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


He  kissed  his  knees  and  his  hands.  "  Oh,  master,  my  dear 
master,  what  will  they  say  at  home  ?  "  he  sobbed  out. 

The  jailer  was  touched  at  the  sight  of  the  black's  grief  and 
fidelity  and  at  Harry's  pale  face  as  he  sank  back  in  his  chair, 
quite  overcome  and  beaten  by  his  calamity. 

"Your  honor  ain't  eat  anything  these  two  days,"  the  man 
said,  in  a  voice  of  rough  pity.  "  Pluck  up  a  little,  sir.  You 
aren't  the  first  gentleman  who  has  been  in  and  out  of  grief  be- 
fore this.  Let  me  go  down  and  get  you  a  glass  of  punch  and  a 
little  supper." 

''My  good  friend,"  said  Harry,  a  sickly  smile  playing  over  his 
white  face,  "  you  pay  ready  money  for  everything  in  this  house, 
don't  you  ?  I  must  tell  you  that  I  haven't  a  shilling  left  to  buy 
a  dish  of  meat.     All  the  money  I  have  I  w^ant  for  letter-paper." 

"  Oh,  master,  my  master  !  "  roared  out  Gumbo.  "  Look 
here,  my  dear  Master  Harry !  Here's  plenty  of  money — here's 
twenty-three  five-guineas.  Here's  gold  moidore  from  Virginia 
— here — no,  not  that — that's  keepsakes  the  girls  gave  me. 
Take  everything — everjlhing.  I  go  sell  myself  to-morrow 
morning  ;  but  here's  plenty  for  to-night,  master  !  " 

"  God  bless  you.  Gumbo  !  "  Harry  said,  laying  his  hands  on 
the  lad's  woolly  head.  "  You  are  free  if  I  am  not,  and  heaven 
forbid  I  should  not  take  the  offered  help  of  such  a  friend  as 
you.  Bring  me  some  supper  :  but  the  pipe  too,  mind — the  pipe 
too  !  "  And  Harry  ate  his  supper  with  a  relish  :  and  even  the 
turnkeys  and  bailiff's  followers,  when  Gumbo  went  out  of  the 
house  that  night,  shook  hands  with  him,  and  ever  after  treated 
him  well. 


CHAPTER  XLVn. 

VISITORS    IN    TROUBLE 


Mr.  Gumbo's  generous  and  feeling  conduct  soothed  and 
softened  the  angry  heart  of  his  master,  and  Harry's  second 
night  in  the  sponging-house  was  passed  more  pleasantly  than 
the  first.  Somebody  at  least  there  was  to  help  and  compas- 
sionate with  him.  Still,  though  softened  in  that  one  particular 
spot,  Harry's  heart  was  hard  and  proud  towards  almost  all  the 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  ^t^^, 

rest  of  the  world.  They  were  selfish  and  ungenerous,  he 
thought.  His  pious  Aunt  Warrington,  his  lordly  friend  March, 
his  cynical  cousin  Castlewood, — all  had  been  tried,  and  were 
found  wanting.  Not  to  avoid  twenty  years  of  prison  would  he 
stoop  to  ask  a  favor  of  one  of  them  again.  Fool  that  he  had 
been,  to  believe  in  their  promises^  and  confide  in  their  friend- 
ship !  There  was  no  friendship  in  this  cursed,  cold,  selfish 
country.  He  would  leave  it.  He  would  trust  no  Englishman, 
great  or  small.  Pie  would  go  to  Germany,  and  make  a  cam- 
paign with  the  king  ;  or  he  would  go  home  to  Virginia,  bury 
himself  in  the  woods  there,  and  hunt  all  day ;  become  his 
mother's  factor  and  land-steward  ;  marry  Polly  Broadbent,  or 
Fanny  Mountain  :  turn  regular  tobacco-grower  and  farmer  ;  do 
anything,  rather  than  remain  amongst  these  English  fine  gen- 
tlemen. So  he  arose  with  an  outwardly  cheerful  countenance, 
but  an  angry  spirit ;  and  at  an  early  hour  in  the  morning  the 
faithful  Gumbo  was  in  attendance  in  his  master's  chamber, 
having  come  from  Bond  Street,  and  brought  Mr.  Harry's  letters 
thence.  ''  I  wanted  to  bring  some  more  clothes,"  honest  Gumbo 
said  ;  "  but  Mr.  Ruff,  the  landlord,  he  wouldn't  let  me  bring  no 
more." 

Harry  did  not  care  to  look  at  the  letters  :  he  opened  one, 
two,  three  ;  they  were  all  bills.  He  opened  a  fourth  ;  it  was 
from  the  landlord,  to  say  that  he  would  allow  no  more  of  Mr. 
Warrington's  things  to  go  out  of  the  house, — that  unless  his  bill 
was  paid  he  should  sell  Mr.  W.'s  goods  and  pay  himself  ;  and 
that  his  blackman  must  go  and  sleep  elsewhere.  He  would 
hardly  let  Gumbo  take  his  own  clothes  and  portmanteau  away. 
The  black  said  he  had  found  refuge  elsewhere — with  some 
friends  at  Lord  Wrotham's  house,  "  With  Colonel  Lambert's 
people,"  says  Mr.  Gumbo,  looking  very  hard  at  his  master. 
"  And  Miss  Hetty  she  fall  down  in  a  faint,  when  she  hear  you 
taken  up  ;  and  Mr.  Lambert,  he  very  good  man,  and  he  say  to 
me  this  morning,  he  say,  '  Gumbo,  you  tell  your  master  if  he 
want  me  he  send  to  me,  and  I  come  to  him.'  " 

Harry  was  touched  when  he  heard  that  Hetty  had  been 
afflicted  by  his  misfortune.  He  did  not  believe  Gumbo's  story 
about  her  fainting ;  he  was  accustomed  to  translate  his  black's 
language  and  to  allow  for  exaggeration.  But  when  Gumbo 
spoke  of  the  Colonel  the  young  Virginian's  spirit  was  darkened 
again,  "/send  to  Lambert,"  he  thought,  grinding  his  teeth, 
"  the  man  who  insulted  me,  and  flung  my  presents  back  in  my 
face  !  If  I  were  starving  I  would  not  ask  him  for  a  crust  !  " 
And  presently,  being  dressed,  Mr.  Warrington   called   for  his 


394  ^-^^  VIRGINIANS. 

breakfast,  and   despatched   Gumbo  with   a  brief  note  to   Mr. 
Draper  in  the  Temple  requiring  that  gentleman's  attendance. 

"  The  note  was  as  haughty  as  if  he  was  writing  to  one  of  his 
negroes,  and  not  to  a  free-born  English  gentleman,"  Draper 
said ;  whom  indeed  Harry  had  always  treated  with  insufferable 
condescension.  "  It's  all  very  well  for  a  fine  gentleman  to  give 
himself  airs  ;  but  for  a  fellow  in  a  sponging-house  !  Hang 
him  !  "  says  Draper,  "  I've  a  great  mind  not  to  go  !  "  Never- 
theless, Mr.  Draper  did  go,  and  found  Mr.  Warrington  in  his 
misfortune  even  more  arrogant  than  he  had  ever  been  in  the 
days  of  his  utmost  prosperity.  Mr.  W.  sat  on  his  bed,  like  a 
lord,  in  a  splendid  gown  with  his  hair  dressed.  He  motioned 
his  black  man  to  fetch  him  a  chair. 

"  Excuse  me.  Madam,  but  such  haughtiness  and  airs  I  ain't 
accustomed  to  ! ''  said  the  outraged  attorney. 

''  Take  a  chair  and  go  on  with  your  story,  my  good  Mr. 
Draper !  "  said  Madan:e  de  Bernstein,  smiling,  to  whom  he 
went  to  report  proceedings.  She  w^as  amused  at  the  lawyer's 
anger.     She  liked  her  nephew  for  being  insolent  in  adversity. 

The  course  w^hich  Draper  was  to  pursue  in  his  interview 
w^ith  Harry  had  been  arranged  between  the  Baroness  and  her 
man  of  business  on  the  previous  day.  Draper  was  an  able 
man,  and  likely  in  most  cases  to  do  a  client  good  service ;  he 
failed  in  the  present  instance  because  he  was  piqued  and 
angry,  or,  more  likely  still,  because  he  could  not  understand 
the  gentleman  w^th  whom  he  had  to  deal.  I  presume  that  he 
who  casts  his  eye  on  the  present  page  is  the  most  gentle  of 
readers.  Gentleman,  as  you  unquestionably  are  then,  my  dear 
sir,  have  you  not  remarked  in  your  dealings  with  people  who 
are  no  gentlemen,  that  you  offend  them  not  knowing  the  how 
or  the  why  ?  So  the  man  who  is  no  gentleman  offends  you  in 
a  thousand  ways  of  which  the  poor  creature  has  no  idea  him- 
self. He  does  or  says  something  which  provokes  your  scorn, 
he  perceives  that  scorn  (being  always  on  the  watch,  and  uneasy 
about  himself,  his  manners  and  behavior)  and  he  rages.  You 
speak  to  him  naturally,  and  he  fancies  still  that  you  are  sneer- 
ing at  him.  You  have  indifference  towards  him,  but  he  hates 
you  and  hates  you  the  worse  because  you  don't  care.  "  Gumbo, 
a  chair  to  Mr.  Draper !  "  says  Mr.  Warrington,  folding  his 
brocaded  dressing-gown  round  his  legs  as  he  sits  on  the  dingy  bed 

"  Sit  down,  if  you  please,  and  let  us  talk  my  business  over. 
Much  obliged  for  your  coming  so  soon  in  reply  to  my  message. 
Had  you  heard  of  this  piece  of  ill  luck  before  ?  " 

Mr.  Draper  had  heard   of  the  circumstance.      "  Bad  news 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


395 


travel  quick,  Mr.  Warrington,"  he  said;  "and  I  was  eager  to 
offer  my  humble  services  as  soon  as  ever  you  should  require 
them.  Your  friends,  your  family,  will  be  much  pained  that  a 
gentleman  of  your  rank  should  be  in  such  a  position." 

"  I  have  been  very  imprudent,  Mr.  Drapen  I  have  lived 
beyond  my  means."  (Mr.  Draper  bowed.)  "  I  played  in  com- 
pany with  gentlemen  who  were  much  richer  than  myself,  and  a 
cursed  run  of  ill  luck  has  carried  away  all  my  ready-money, 
leaving  me  with  liabilities  to  the  amount  of  five  hundred  pounds, 
and  more." 

"  Five  hundred  now  in  the  office,"  says  Mr.  Draper. 

"  Well,  this  is  such  a  trifle  that  I  thought  by  sending  to  one 
or  two  friends,  yesterday,  I  could  have  paid  my  debt  and  gone 
home  without  farther  to  do.  I  have  been  mistaken  ;  and  will 
thank  you  to  have  the  kindness  to  put  me  in  the  way  of  raising 
the  money  as  soon  as  may  be." 

Mr.  Draper  said  "  Hm  !  "  and  pulled  a  very  grave  and  long 
face. 

"  Why,  sir,  it  can  be  done  !  "  says  Mr.  Warrington,  staring 
at  the  lawyer. 

It  not  only  could  be  done,  but  Mr.  Draper  had  proposed  to 
Madame  Bernstein  on  the  day  before  instantly  to  pay  the 
money,  and  release  Mr.  Warrington.  That  lady  had  declared 
she  intended  to  make  the  young  gentleman  her  heir.  In  com- 
mon with  the  rest  of  the  world.  Draper  believed  Harry's  heredi- 
tary property  in  Virginia  to  be  as  great  in  money-value  as  in 
extent.  He  had  notes  in  his  pockets,  and  Madame  Bernstein's 
order  to  pay  them  under  certain  conditions  :  nevertheless  when 
Harry  said,  "  It  can  be  done  !  "  Draper  pulled  his  long  face, 
and  said,  "  It  can  be  done  in  time,  sir ;  but  it  will  require  a 
considerable  time.  To  touch  the  property  in  England  w^hich  is 
yours  on  Mr.  George  Warrington's  death  we  must  have  the 
event  proved,  the  trustees  released  :  and  who  is  to  do  either  ? 
Lady  Esmond  Warrington  in  Virginia,  of  course,  will  not  allow 
her  son  to  remain  in  prison,  but  we  must  wait  six  months  before 
we  hear  from  her.  Has  your  Bristol  agent  any  authority  to 
honor  your  drafts  }  " 

"  He  is  only  authorized  to  pay  me  two  hundred  pounds  a 
year,"  says  Warrington.  "  I  suppose  I  have  no  resource,  then, 
but  to  apply  to  my  aunt,  Madame  de  Bernstein  ?  She  will  be 
my  security." 

"  Her  ladyship  will  do  anything  for  you  sir ;  she  has  said  so 
to  me,  often  and  often,"  said  the  lawyer  ;  "  and,  if  she  gives  the 
word,  at  that  moment  you  can  walk  out  of  this  place." 


396  THE  VIRGINIANS. 

"  Go  to  her,  then,  from  me,  Mr.  Draper,  I  did  not  want  to 
have  troubled  my  relations  :  but  rather  than  continue  in  this 
horrible  needless  imprisonment,  I  must  speak  to  her.  Say 
where  I  am,  and  what  has  befallen  me.  Disguise  nothing  ! 
And  tell  her,  that  I  confide  in  her  affection  and  kindness  for 
me  to  release  me  from  this — this  disgrace,"  and  Mr.  Warring- 
ton's voice  shook  a  little,  and  he  passed  his  hand  across  hise  yes. 

"  Sir,"  says  Mr.  Draper,  eyeing  the  young  man,  "  I  was  with 
her  ladyship  yesterday,  when  we  talked  over  the  whole  of  this 
here  most  unpleasant — I  won't  say  as  you  do,  disgraceful 
business." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  sir  ?  Does  Madame  de  Bernstein 
know  of  my  misfortune  t  "  asked  Harry. 

"  Every  circumstance,  sir  ;  the  pawning  the  watches  and  all" 

Harry  turned  burning  red.  "It  is  an  unfortunate  business, 
the  pawning  them  watches  and  things  which  you  had  never 
paid  for,"  continued  the  lawyer.  The  young  man  started  up 
from  the  bed,  looking  so  fierce  that  Draper  felt  a  little  alarmed. 

"  It  may  lead  to  litigation  and  unpleasant  remarks  being 
made  in  court,  sir.  Them  barristers  respect  nothing ;  and 
when  they  get  a  feller  in  the  box " 

"  Great  heaven,  sir,  you  don't  suppose  a  gentleman  of  my 
rank  can't  take  a  watch  upon  credit  without  intending  to  cheat 
the  tradesman  ?"  cried  Harry,  in  the  greatest  agitation. 

"  Of  course  you  meant  everything  that's  honorable  ;  only, 
you  see,  the  law  mayn't  happen  to  think  so,"  says  Mr.  Draper, 
winking  his  eye.  "  (Hang  the  supercilious  beast !  I  touch  him 
there  !)  Your  aunt  says  it  's  the  most  imprudent  thing  ever 
she  heard  of — to  call  it  by  no  worse  name." 

"You  call  it  by  no  worse  name  yourself,  Mr.  Draper  ?  "  says 
Harry,  speaking  each  word  very  slow,  and  evidently  trying  to 
keep  a  command  of  himself. 

Draper  did  not  like  his  looks.  "  Heaven  forbid  that  I  should 
say  anything  as  between  gentleman  and  gentleman, — but  be- 
tween me  and  my  client,  it's  my  duty  to  say,  '  Sir,  you  are  in  a 
very  unpleasant  scrape,'  just  as  a  doctor  would  have  to  tell  his 
patient,  '  Sir,  you  are  very  ill.'  " 

"And  you  can't  help  me  to  pay  this  debt  off, — and  you  have 
come  only  to  tell  me  that  I  may  be  accused  of  roguery?  "  says 
Harry. 

"  Of  obtaining  goods  under  false  pretences  ?  Most 
undoubtedly,  yes.  I  can't  help  it,  sir.  Don't  look  as  if  you 
would  knock  me  down.  (Curse  him,  I  am  making  him  wince, 
though.)     A  young  gentleman,  who  has   only  two  hundred  a 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


397 


year  from  his  Ma',  orders  diamonds  and  watches,  and  takes  *em 
to  a  pawnbroker.  You  ask  me  what  people  will  think  of  such 
behavior,  and  I  tell  you  honestly.  Don't  be  angry  with  w<f, 
Mr.  Warrington," 

"  Go  on,  sir ! "  says  Harry,  with  a  groan. 

The  lawyer  thought  the  day  was  his  own.  "  But  you  ask  if 
I  can't  help  to  pay  this  debt  off  ?  And  I  say  Yes — and  that  here 
is  the  money  in  my  pocket  to  do  it  now,  if  you  like — not  mine, 
sir,  my  honored  client's,  your  aunt.  Lady  Bernstein.  But  she 
has  a  right  to  impose  her  conditions,  and  I've  brought  'em  with 
me." 

"  Tell  them,  sir,"  sa3^s  Mr.  Harry. 

'*  They  are  not  hard.  They  are  only  for  your  own  good  ; 
and  if  you  say  Yes,  we  can  call  a  hackney-coach,  and  go  to 
Clarges  Street  together,  v.-hich  I  have  promised  to  go  there, 
whether  you  will  or  no.  Mr.  Warrington,  I  name  no  names, 
but  there  was  a  question  of  marriage  between  you  and  a  certain 
party." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Harry  ;  and  his  countenance  looked  more 
cheerful  than  it  had  yet  done. 

"  To  that  marriage  my  noble  client  the  Baroness,  is  most 
averse — having  other  views  for  you,  and  thinking  it  will  be  your 
ruin  to  marry  a  party, — of  noble  birth  and  title  it  is  true  :  but 
excuse  me,  not  of  first-rate  character,  and  so  much  older  than 
yourself.    '  You  had  given  an  imprudent  promise  to  that  party." 

"Yes;  and  she  has  it  still,"  says  Mr.  Warrington. 

"  It  has  been  recovered.  She  dropped  it  by  an  accident  at 
Tunbridge,"  says  Mr.  Draper.  "  So  my  client  informed  me  ; 
indeed  her  ladyship  showed  it  me,  for  the  matter  of  that.  It 
was  wrote  in  bl " 

"  Never  mind,  sir  !  "  cries  Henry,  turning  almost  as  red  as 
the  ink  which  he  had  used  to  write  his  absurd  promise,  of  which 
the  madness  and  folly  had  smote  him  with  shame  a  thousand 
times  over. 

"  At  the  same  time  letters,  wrote  to  you,  and  compromising 
a  noble  family,  were  recovered,"  continues  the  lawyer.  "You 
had  lost  'em.  It  was  no  fault  of  yours.  You  were  away  when 
they  were  found  again.  You  may  say  that  that  noble  family, 
that  you  yourself,  have  a  friend  such  as  few  young  men  have. 
Well,  sir,  there's  no  earthly  promise  to  bind  you — only  so  many 
idle  words  said  over  a  bottle,  which  ver}-'  likely  any  gentleman 
may  forget.  Say  you  won't  go  on  with  this  marriage — give  me 
and  my  noble  friend  your  word  of  honor.  Qrj  off,  I  say,  Mr. 
W. !     Don't  be  such   a  d fool,  saving  your  presence,  as  to 


398  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

marry  an  old  woman  wlxo  has  jilted  scores  of  men  in  her  time. 
Say  the  word,  and  I  step  down  stairs,  pay  every  shilling  against 
you  in  the  office,  and  put  you  down  in  my  coach,  either  at  your 
aunt's  or  at  White's  Club,  if  you  like,  wdth  a  couple  of  hundred 
in  your  pocket.  Say  yes  ;  and  give  us  your  hand  !  There's  no 
use  in  sitting  grinning  behind  these  bars  all  day  !  " 

So  far  Mr.  Draper  had  had  the  best  of  the  talk.  Harry 
only  longed  himself  to  be  rid  of  the  engagement  from  which  his 
aunt  wanted  to  free  him.  His  foolish  flame  for  Maria  Esmond 
had  died  out  long  since.  If  she  would  release  him,  how 
thankful  would  he  be  !  ''  Come  !  give  us  your  hand,  and  say 
done  !  "  says  the  lawyer,  with  a  knowing  wink.  "  Don't  stand 
shilly-shallying,  sir.  Law  bless  you,  Mr.  W.,  if  I  had  married 
ever3-body  I  promised,  I  should  be  like  the  Grand  Turk,  or 
Captain  Macheath  in  the  play  !  " 

The  lawyer's  familiarity  disgusted  Harry,  who  shrank  from 
Draper,  scarcely  knowing  that  he  did  so.  He  folded  his 
dressing-gown  round  him,  and  stepped  back  from  the  other's 
proffered  hand.  "  Give  me  a  little  time  to  think  of  the  matter, 
if  you  please,  Mr.  Draper,"  he  said,  "  and  have  the  goodness  to 
come  to  me  again  in  an  hour." 

"  Very  good,  sir,  very  good,  sir ! "  says  the  lawyer,  biting 
his  lips,  and,  as  he  seized  up  his  hat,  turning  very  red.  "  Most 
parties  would  not  want  an  hour  to  consider  about  such  an  offer 
as  I  make  you  :  but  I  suppose  my  time  must  be  yours,  and  I'll 
come  again,  and  see  whether  you  are  to  go  or  to  stay.  Good 
morning,  sir — good  morning."  And  he  ^vent  his  way,  growling 
curses  down  the  stairs.  "  Won't  take  my  hand,  won't  he  ? 
Will  tell  me  in  an  hour's  time  !  Hang  his  impudence  !  I'll 
show  him  what  an  hour  is  !  " 

"  Mr.  Draper  went  to  his  chambers  in  dudgeon  then  ;  bullied 
his  clerks  all  round,  sent  off  a  messenger  to  the  Baroness,  to 
say  that  he  had  w^aited  on  the  young  gentleman,  who  had 
demanded  a  little  time  for  consideration,  which  was  for  form's 
sake,  as  he  had  no  doubt.  The  lawyer  then  saw  clients,  trans- 
acted business,  w^ent  out  to  his  dinner  in  the  most  leisurely 
manner  ;  and  then  finally  turned  his  steps  towards  the  neigh- 
boring Cursitor  Street.  "  He'll  be  at  home  when  I  call,  the 
haughty  beast !  "  says  Draper,  with  a  sneer.  "The  Fortunate 
Youth  in  his  room  }  "  the  lawyer  asked  of  the  sheriff's  officer's 
aide-de-camp  who  came  to  open  the  double  doors. 

"Mr.  Warrington  is  in  his  apartment,''  said  the  gentleman  ; 

"but "  and  here  the  gentleman  winked  at  Mr.  Draper,  and 

laid  his  hand  on  his  nose. 


THE   VFRGIXIANS. 


399 


"  But  what,  Mr.  Paddy  from  Cork  ?  "  said  the  lawyer. 

"  My  name  is  Costigan  ;  me  familee  is  noble,  and  me  neetive 
place  is  the  Irish  methrawpolis,  Mr.  Six-and-Eightpence  !  "  said 
the  Janitor,  scowling  at  Draper.  A  rich  odor  of  spirituous 
liquors  filled  the  little  space  between  the  double  doors  where 
he  held  the  attorney  in  conversation. 

"  Confound  you,  sir,  let  me  pass  !  "  bawled  out  Mr.  Draper. 

"  I  can  hear  you  perfectly  well,  Six-and-Eightpence,  except 
your  /^'s,  which  you  dthrop  out  of  your  conversation.  I'll  thank 
ye  not  to  call  neems,  me  good  friend,  or  me  fingers  and  your 
nose  will  have  to  make  an  intimate  hic-quaintance.  Walk  in, 
sir  !  "  Be  polite  for  the  future  to  your  shupariors  in  birth  and 
manners,  though  they  me  be  your  infariors  in  temporary  station. 

Confound  the  kay  !     Walk  in,  sir,  I   say  ! Madam,  I  have 

the  honor  of  saluting  ye  most  respectfully  !  " 

A  lady  with  her  face  covered  with  a  capuchin,  and  further 
hidden  by  her  handkerchief,  uttered  a  little  exclamation  as  of 
alarm  as  she  came  down  the  stairs  at  this  instant  and  hurried 
past  the  lawyer.  He  was  pressing  forward  to  look  at  her — for 
Mr.  Draper  was  very  cavalier  in  his  manners  to  women — but 
the  bailiff's  follower  thrust  his  leg  between  Draper  and  the  re- 
treating lady,  crying,  "  Keep  your  own  distance,  if  you  plaise  ! 

This  way.   Madam !     I  at  once   recognized  your  ladysh " 

Here  he  closed  the  door  on  Draper's  nose,  and  left  that 
attorney  to  find  his  own  way  to  his  client  up  stairs. 

At  six  o'clock  that  evening  the  old  Baroness  de  Bernstein 
was  pacing  up  and  down  her  drawing  room,  and  for  ever  run- 
ning to  the  window  when  the  noise  of  a  coach  w^as  heard  pass- 
ing Clarges  Street.  She  had  delayed  her  dinner  from  hour  to 
hour  :  she  who  scolded  so  fierceh^  on  ordinary  occasions,  if 
her  cook  was  five  minutes  after  his  time.  She  had  ordered  two 
covers  to  be  laid,  plate  to  be  set  out,  and  some  extra  dishes  to 
be  prepared  as  if  for  a  \\X\\Qfete.  Four — five  o'clock  passed, 
and  at  six  she  looked  from  the  window,  and  a  coach  actually 
stopped  at  her  door. 

"  J^Ir.  Draper  "  was  announced,  and  entered,  bowing  pro- 
foundly. 

The  old  lady  trembled  on  her  stick.  "  Where  is  the  boy  ? " 
she  said  quickly.  "  I  told  you  to  bring  him,  sir  !  How  dare 
you  come  without  him  ?  " 

"  It  is  not  my  fault,  Madam,  that  Mr.  Warrington  refuses 
to  come."  And  Draper  gave  his  version  of  the  interview 
which  had  just  taken  place  between  himself  and  the  young 
Virginian. 


400  THE  VIRGINIANS. 

CHAPTER  XLVIII. 

AN     APPARITION, 

Going  off  in  his  wrath  from  his  morning's  conversation  with 
Harry,  Mr.  Draper  thought  he  heard  the  young  prisoner  speak 
behind  him  :  and,  indeed,  Harry  had  risen,  and  uttered  a  half- 
exclamation  to  call  the  lawyer  back.  But  he  was  proud,  and 
the  other  offended  :  Harry  checked  his  words,  and  Draper  did 
not  choose  to  stop.  It  wounded  Harry's  pride  to  be  obliged  to 
humble  himself  before  the  lawyer,  and  to  have  to  yield  from 
mere  lack  and  desire  of  money.  "  An  hour  hence  will  do  as 
well,"  thought  Harry,  and  lapsed  sulkily  on  to  the  bed  again. 
No,  he  did  not  care  for  Maria  Esmond.  No  :  he  was  ashamed 
of  the  way  in  which  he  had  been  entrapped  into  that  engage- 
ment. A  wily  and  experienced  woman,  she  had  cheated  his 
boyish  ardor.  She  had  taken  unfair  advantage  of  him,  as  her 
brother  had  at  play.  They  were  his  own  flesh  and  blood,  and 
they  ought  to  have  spared  him.  Instead,  one  and  the  other 
had  made  a  prey  of  him,  and  had  used  him  for  their  selfish 
ends.  He  thought  how  they  had  betrayed  the  rights  of  hospi- 
tality :  how  they  had  made  a  victim  of  the  young  kinsman  who 
came  confiding  within  their  gates.  His  heart  was  sore  wounded  : 
his  head  sank  back  on  his  pillow  :  bitter  tears  wetted  it.  "  Had 
they  come  to  Virginia,"  he  thought  "  I  had  given  them  a 
different  welcome  !  " 

He  was  roused  from  this  mood  of  despondency  by  Gumbo's 
grinning  face  at  his  door,  who  said  a  lady  was  come  to  see 
Master  Harry,  and  behind  the  lad  came  the  lady  in  the  ca- 
puchin, of  whom  we  have  just  made  mention.  Harry  sat  up, 
pale  and  haggard,  on  his  bed  The  lady,  with  a  sob,  and  almost 
ere  the  servant-man  withdrew,  ran  towards  the  young  prisoner, 
put  her  arms  round  his  neck  with  real  emotion  and  a  mc^ternal 
tenderness,  sobbed  over  his  pale  cheek  and  kissed  it  in  the 
midst  of  plentiful  tears,  and  cried  out — 

"  Oh,  my  Harry  !     Did  I  ever,  ever  think  to  see  thee  here  ?  " 

He  started  back,  scared  as  it  seemed  at  her  presence,  but 
she  sank  down  at  the  bedside,  and  seized  his  feverish  hand, 
and  embraced  his  knees.  She  had  a  real  regard  and  tenderness 
for  him.  The  wretched  place  in  which  she  found  him,  his 
wretched  look,  filled  her  heart  with  a  sincere  love  and  joity. 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


401 


"  I — I  thought  none  of  you  would  come  !  "  said  poor  Harry, 
with  a  groan. 

More  tears,  more  kisses  of  the  hot  young  hand,  more  clasps 
and  pressure  with  hers,were  the  lady's  reply  fo  ra  moment  or  two. 

"  Oh,  my  dear  !  my  dear  !  I  cannot  bear  to  think  of  thee 
in  misery,"  she  sobbed  out. 

Hardened  though  it  might  be,  that  heart  was  not  all  marble 
— that  dreary  life  not  all  desert.  Harry's  mother  could  not 
have  been  fonder,  nor  her  tones  more  tender  than  those  of  his 
kinswoman  now  kneeling  at  his  feet. 

"  Some  of  the  debts,  I  fear,  were  owing  to  my  extravagance  !  " 
she  said  (and  this  was  true).  "  You  bought  trinkets  and  jewels 
in  order  to  give  me  pleasure.  Oh,  how  I  hate  them  now  !  I 
liitle  thought  I  ever  could  !  I  have  brought  them  all  with  me, 
and  more  trinkets — here  !  and  here  !  and  all  the  money  I  have 
in  the  world  !  " 

And  she  poured  brooches,  rings,  a  watch,  and  a  score  or  so 
of  guineas  into  Harry's  lap.  The  sight  of  which  strangely 
agitated  and  immensely  touched  the  young  man. 

"  Dearest,  kindest  cousin  !  "  he  sobbed  out. 

His  lips  found  no  more  words  to  utter,  but  yet,  no  doubt, 
they  served  to  express  his  gratitude,  his  affection,  his  emotion. 

He  became  quite  gay  presently,  and  smiled  as  he  put  away 
some  of  the  trinkets,  his  presents  to  Maria,  and  told  her  into 
what  danger  he  had  fallen  by  selling  other  goods  which  he  had 
purchased  on  credit ;  and  how  a  lawyer  had  insulted  him  just 
now  upon  this  very  point.  He  would  not  have  his  dear  Maria's 
money — he  had  enough,  quite  enough  for  the  present :  but  he 
valued  her  twenty  guineas  as  much  as  if  they  had  been  twenty 
thousand.  He  would  never  forget  her  love  and  kindness  ;  no, 
by  all  that  was  sacred  he  would  not!  His  mother  should  know 
of  all  her  goodness.  It  had  cheered  him  when  he  was  just  on 
the  point  of  breaking  down  under  his  disgrace  and  miser}^ 
Might  heaven  bless  her  for  it  !  There  is  no  need  to  pursue 
beyond  this,  the  cousins'  conversation.  The  dark  day  seemed 
brighter  to  Harry  after  Maria's  visit :  the  imprisonment  not  so 
hard  to  bear.  The  world  was  not  all  selfish  and  cold.  Here 
was  a  fond  creature  who  really  and  truly  loved  him.  Even 
Castlewood  was  not  so  bad  as  he  had  thought.  He  had  ex- 
pressed the  deepest  grief  at  not  being  able  to  assist  his  kinsman. 
He  was  hopelessly  in  debt.  Every  shilling  he  had  won  from 
Harry  he  had  lost  on  the  next  day  to  others.  Anything  that 
lay  in  his  power  he  would  do.  He  would  come  soon  and  see 
Mr.  Warrington  :    he  was  in  waiting  to-day,   and  as  much  a 

26 


402 


THE  VIRGINIANS. 


prisoner  as  Harry  himself.  So  the  pair  talked  on  cheerfully 
and  affectionately  until  the  darkness  begun  to  close  in,  when 
Maria,  with  a  sigh,  bade  Harry  farewell. 

The  door  scarcely  closed  upon  her,  when  it  opened  to  ad- 
mit Draper. 

"  Your  humble  servant,  sir,"'  says  the  attorney.  His  voice 
jarred  upon  Harry's  ear,  and  his  presence  offended  the  young 
man. 

"  I  had  expected  you  some  hours  ago,  sir,"  he  curtly  said. 

"A  lawyer's  time  is  not  always  his  own,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Dra- 
per, who  had  just  been  in  consultation  with  a  bottle  of  port  at 
the  "  Grecian."  "  Never  mind,  Tm  at  your  orders  now.  Pre- 
sume it's  all  right,  Mr.  Warrington.  Packed  your  trunk? 
Why,  now,  there  you  are  in  your  bed-gown  still.  Let  me  go 
down  and  settle  whilst  you  call  in  your  black  man  and  titivate 
a  bit.  I've  a  coach  at  the  door,  and  we'll  be  off  and  dine  with 
the  old  lady." 

"  Are  you  going  to  dine  wdth  the  Baroness  de  Bernstein, 
pray  ?  " 

"  Not  me — no  such  honor.  Had  my  dinner  already.  It's 
you  are  a-going  to  dine  with  3'our  aunt,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Draper,  you  suppose  a  great  deal  more  than  you 
know,"  says  Mr.  Warrington,  looking  very  fierce  and  tall,  as  he 
folds  his  brocade  dressing-gown  round  him. 

"  Great  goodness,  sir,  what  do  you  mean  ?  "  asks  Draper. 

"  I  mean,  sir,  that  I  have  considered,  and,  that  having  given 
my  word  to  a  faithful  and  honorable  lady,  it  does  not  become 
me  to  withdraw  it." 

"  Confound  it,  sir !  "  shrieks  the  lawyer.  "  I  tell  you  she 
has  lost  the  paper.  There's  nothing  to  bind  you — nothing. 
Why  she's  old  enough  to  be " 

''  Enough,  sir,"  says  Mr.  Warrington,  with  a  stamp  of  his 
foot.  "  You  seem  to  think  you  are  talking  to  some  other  petti- 
fogger. I  take  it,  Mr.  Draper,  you  are  not  accustomed  to  have 
dealings  with  men  of  honor." 

"Pettifogger,  indeed,"  cries  Draper  in  a  fury.  "  ]\Ien  of 
honor,  indeed  !  I'd  have  you  to  know,  Mr.  Warrington,  that 
I'm  as  good  a  man  of  honor  as  you.  I  don't  know  so  many 
gamblers  and  horse-jockeys,  perhaps.  I  haven't  gambled  away 
my  patrimony,  and  lived  as  if  I  was  a  nobleman  on  two  hun- 
dred a  year.  I  haven't  bought  watches  on  credit,  and  pawned 
— touch  me  if  you  dare,  sir,"  and  the  lawyer  sprang  to  the  door. 

"  That  is  the  way  out,  sir.  You  can't  go  through  the  win- 
dow, because  it  is  barred,"  says  Mr.  Warrington. 


AN   APPARITION. 


THE   ]'[RGINIANS.  403 

"  And  the  answer  I  take  to  my  client  is  No,  then !  "  screamed 
out  Draper. 

Harry  stepped  forward,  with  his  two  hands  clenched.     "  If 

you  utter  another  w^ord,"  he  said,  "  I'll "     The  door  w^as 

shut  rapidly — the  sentence  was  never  finished,  and  Draper 
went  away  furious  to  Madame  de  Bernstein,  from  whom,  though 
he  gave  her  the  best  version  of  his  story,  he  got  still  fiercer 
language  than  he  had  received  from  Mr.  Warrington  himself. 

"  What  ?  Shall  she  trust  me,  and  I  desert  her  ?  "  says 
Harry,  stalking  up  and  down  his  room  in  his  flowing,  rustling 
brocade.  "  Dei  r  faithful,  generous  woman  !  If  I  lie  in  prison 
for  years,  I'll  be  true  to  her." 

Her  lawyer  dismissed  after  a  stormy  interview^,  the  desolate 
old  w^oman  w^as  fain  to  sit  down  to  the  meal  w^iich  she  had 
hoped  to  share  wdth  her  nephew.  The  chair  was  before  her 
which  he  was  to  have  filled,  the  glasses  shining  by  the  silver. 
One  dish  after  another  was  laid  before  her  by  the  silent  major- 
domo,  and  tasted  and  pushed  away.  The  man  pressed  his 
mistress  at  last.  "  It  is  eight  o'clock,"  he  said.  "  You  have 
had  nothing  all  day.  It  is  good  for  you  to  eat."  She  could 
not  eat.  She  would  have  her  coffee.  Let  Case  go  get  her  her 
coffee.  The  lacqueys  bore  the  dishes  off  the  table,  leaving 
their  mistress  sitting  at  it  before  the  vacant  chair. 

Presently  the  old  servant  re-entered  the  room  without  his 
lady's  coffee  and  with  a  strange  scared  face,  and  said,  "  Mr. 
Warringtox  !  " 

The  old  w^oman  uttered  an  exclamation,  got  up  from  her 
arm-chair,  but  sank  back  in  it  trembling  very  much.  "  So  you 
are  come,  sir,  are  you  ?  "  she   said,  with  a  fond  shaking  voice. 

"  Bring   back    the Ah  !  "   here    she    screamed.     "  Gracious 

God,  w^ho  is  it  ?  "  Her  eyes  stared  wildly  :  her  v/hite  face 
looked  ghastly  through  her  rouge.  She  clung  to  the  arms  of 
her  chair  for  support,  as  the  visitor  approached  her. 

A  gentleman  whose  face  and  figure  exactly  resembled  Harry 
Warrington,  and  whose  voice,  when  he  spoke,  had  tones 
strangely  similar,  had  followed  the  servant  into  the  room.  He 
bowed  low  towards  the  baroness. 

"  You  expect  my  brother.  Madam  ?  "  he  said.  "  I  am  but 
now  arrived  in  London.  I  w^ent  to  his  house.  I  met  his  serv- 
ant at  your  door,  who  was  bearing  this  letter  for  you.  I  thought 
I  would  bring  it  to  your  ladyship  before  going  to  him."  And 
the  stranger  laid  dowm  a  letter  before  Madame  Bernstein. 

"Are  you" — gasped  out  the  Baroness — "are  you  my 
nephew,  that  we  supposed  was " 


404  '^^^E   VIRG1X7ANS. 

"  Was  killed — and  is  alive  !  I  am  George  Warrington, 
Madam,  and  I  ask  his  kinsfolk,  What  have  you  done  with  my 
brother  ?  " 

"  Look,  George  !  "  said  the  bewildered  old  lady.  "  I  ex- 
pected him  here  to-night — that  chair  was  set  for  him — I  have 

been  waiting  for  him,  sir,  till  now — till  I  am  quite  faint 1 

don't  like — I  don't  like  being  alone.  Do  stay  and  sup  with 
me  !  " 

"  Pardon  me.  Madam.  Please  God,  my  supper  will  be  with 
Harry  to-night  !  " 

"  Bring  him  back.  Bring  him  back  here  on  any  conditions  ! 
It  is  but  five  hundred  pounds  !  Here  is  the  money,  sir,  if  you 
need  it  !  " 

''  I  have  no  want.  Madam.  I  have  money  with  me  that  can't 
be  better  employed  than  in  my  brother's  service." 

"  And  you  will  bring  him  to  me,  sir  !  Say  you  will  bring 
him  to  me  !  " 

Mr.  Warrington  made  a  very  stately  bow  for  answer,  and 
quitted  the  room,  passing  by  the  amazed  domestics,  and  calling 
with  an  air  of  authority  to  Gumbo  to  follow. 

Had  Mr.  Harry  received  no  letters  from  home  ?  Master 
Harry  had  not  opened  all  his  letters  the  last  day  or  two.  Had 
he  received  no  letter  announcing  his  brother's  escape  from  the 
French  settlements  and  return  to  Virginia  ?  Oh,  no  !  No  such 
letter  had  come,  else  Master  Harry  certainly  tell  Gumbo. 
Quick,  horses  !  Quick  by  Strand  to  Temple  Bar  !  Here  is 
the  house  of  Captivity  and  the  Deliverer  come  to  the  rescue  ! 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 

FRIENDS       IN       NEED 


Quick,  hackney-coach  steeds,  and  bear  George  Warrington 
through  Strand  and  Fleet  Street  to  his  imprisoned  brother's 
rescue  !  Any  one  who  remembers  Hogarth's  picture  of  a  Lon- 
don hackney-coach  and  a  London  street  road  at  that  period, 
may  fancy  how  weary  the  quick  time  was,  and  how  long  seemed 
the  journey  ; — scarce  any  lights,  save  those  carried  by  link-boys  ; 
badly  hung  coaches  ;  bad  pavements  ;  great  holes  in  the  road, 
and  vast  quagmires  of  winter  mud.  That  drive  from  Piccadilly 
to  Fleet  Street  seemed  almost  as  long  to  our  young  man,  as  the 


THE   VIRGIXIANS.  405 

journey  from  ^Marlborough  to  London  which  he  had  performed 
in  the  morning. 

He  had  written  to  Harr}^  announcing  his  arrival  at  Bristol. 
He  had  previously  written  to  his  brother,  giving  the  great  news 
of  his  existence  and  his  return  from  captivity.  There  was  war 
between  England  and  France  at  that  time ;  the  French  priva- 
teers were  for  ever  on  the  look-out  for  British  merchant-ships, 
and  seized  them  often  within  sight  of  port.  The  letter  bearing 
the  intelligence  of  George's  restoration  must  have  been  on 
board  one  of  the  many  American  ships  of  which  the  French 
took  possession.  The  letter  telling  of  George's  arrival  in 
England  was  never  opened  by  poor  Harry ;  it  was  lying  at  the 
latter's  apartments,  which  it  reached  on  the  third  morning  after 
Harry's  capti\-ity,  when  the  angry  Mr.  Ruff  had  refused  to  give 
up  any  single  item  more  of  his  lodger's  property. 

To  these  apartments  George  first  went  on  his  arrival  in 
London,  and  asked  for  his  brother.  Scared  at  the  likeness 
between  them,  the  maid-servant  who  opened  the  door  screamed, 
and  ran  back  to  her  mistress.  The  mistress  not  liking  to  tell 
the  truth,  or  to  Own  that  poor  Harry  was  actually  a  prisoner  at 
her  husband's  suit,  said  Mr.  Warrington  had  left  his  lodgings ; 
she  did  not  know  where  Mr.  Warrington  was.  George  knew 
that  Clarges  Street  was  close  to  Bond  Street.  Often  and  often 
had  he  looked  over  the  London  map.  Aunt  Bernstein  would 
tell  him  where  Harry  w^as.  He  might  be  with  her  at  that  very 
moment.  George  had  read  in  Harry's  letters  to  Virginia  about 
Aunt  Bernstein's  kindness  to  Harn,'.  Even  Madam  Esmond 
was  softened  by  it  (and  especially  touched  by  a  letter  which  the 
Baroness  wrote — the  letter  which  caused  George  to  pack  off 
post  haste  for  Europe,  indeed.)  She  heartily  hoped  and 
trusted  that  Madam  Beatrix  had  found  occasion  to  repent  of 
her  former  bad  ways.  It  was  time,  indeed,  at  her  age  ;  and 
heaven  knows  that  she  had  plenty  to  repent  of  !  I  have  known 
a  harmless,  good  old  soul  of  eighty,  still  bepommelled  and 
stoned  by  irreproachable  ladies  of  the  straitest  sect  of  the 
Pharisees,  for  a  little  slip  which  occurred  long  before  the  pres- 
ent century  was  born,  or  she  herself  was  twenty  years  old. 
Rachel  Esmond  never  mentioned  her  eldest  daughter  :  Madam 
Esmond  Warrington  never  mentioned  her  sister.  No.  In 
spite  of  the  order  for  remission  of  the  sentence — in  spite  of  the 
hand-writing  on  the  floor  of  the  Temple — there  is  a  crime  which 
some  folks  never  will  pardon,  and  regarding  which  female  virtue 
especially  is  inexorable. 

I  suppose  the  Virginians'  agent  at  Bristol  had  told  George 


4o6  THE   VIRGINIAXS. 

fearful  stories  of  his  brother's  doings.  Gumbo,  whom  he  met 
at  his  aunt's  door,  as  soon  as  the  lad  recovered  from  his  terror 
at  the  sudden  reappearance  of  the  master  whom  he  supposed 
dead,  had  leisure  to  stammer  out  a  w^ord  or  two  respecting  his 
young  master's  whereabouts,  and  present  pitiable  condition  ; 
and  hence  Mr.  George's  sternness  of  demeanor  w^hen  he  pre- 
sented himself  to  the  old  lady.  It  seemed  to  him  a  matter  of 
course  that  his  brother  in  difficulty  should  be  rescued  by  his 
relations.  Oh,  George,  how  little  you  know  about  London  and 
London  ways.  Whene'er  you  take  your  walks  abroad  how 
many  poor  you  meet  : — if  a  philanthropist  were  for  rescuing  all 
of  them,  not  all  the  wealth  of  all  the  provinces  of  America 
would  suffice  him  ! 

But  the  feeling  and  agitation  displayed  by  the  old  lady 
touched  her  nephew's  heart,  when,  jolting  through  the  dark 
streets  towards  the  house  of  his  brother's  captivity,  George 
came  to  think  of  his  aunt's  behavior.  "  She  does  feel  my  poor 
Harry's  misfortune,"  he  thought  to  himself.  "  I  have  been  too 
hasty  in  judging  her."  Again  and  again,  in  the  course  of  his 
life,  Mr.  George  had  to  rebuke  himself  wdth  the  same  crime  of 
being  too  hast}*.  How  many  of  us  have  not  ?  And,  alas,  the 
mischief  done,  there's  no  repentance  will  mend  it.  Quick, 
coachman  !  \A^e  are  almost  as  slow  as  you  are  in  getting  from 
Clarges  Street  to  the  Temple.  Poor  Gumbo  knows  the  way  to 
the  bailiff's  house  well  enough.  Again  the  bell  is  set  ringing. 
The  first  door  is  opened  to  George  and  his  negro ;  then  that 
first  door  is  locked  warily  upon  them,  and  they  find  themselves 
in  a  little  passage  with  a  little  Jewish  janitor  ;  then  a  second 
door  is  unlocked,  and  they  enter  into  the  house.  The  Jewish 
janitor  stares,  as  by  his  flaring  tallow-torch  he  sees  a  second 
Mr.  Warrington  before  him.  Come  to  see  that  gentleman  ? 
Yes.  But  wait  a  moment.  This  is  Mr.  Warrington's  brother 
from  America.  Gumbo  must  go  and  prepare  his  master  first. 
Step  into  this  room.  There's  a  gentleman  already  there  about 
Mr.  W.'s  business  (the  porter  says),  and  another  up  stairs  with 
him  now.     There's  no  end  of  people  have  been  about  him. 

The  room  into  which  George  was  introduced  was  a  small 
apartment  which  went  by  the  name  of  Mr.  Amos's  office,  and 
wdiere,  by  a  guttering  candle,  and  talking  to  the  bailiff,  sat  a 
stout  gentleman  in  a  cloak  and  a  laced  hat.  The  young  porter 
carried  his  candle  too,  preceding  I\Ir.  George,  so  there  was  a 
sufficiency  of  light  in  the  apartment. 

"  We  are  not  angry  any  more,  Harry  !  "  says  the  stout  gentle- 
man,  in  a  cheery  voice,  getting  up  and  advancing  with  an  out- 


fc> 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  ^.07 

Stretched  hand  to  the  new  comer.  "  Thank  God,  my  boy  !  Mr. 
Amos  here  says,  there  will  be  no  difficulty  about  James  and  me 
being  your  bail,  and  we  will  do  your  business  by  breakfast-time 
in  the  morning.  Why  *  *  *  Angels  and  ministers  of  grace  ! 
who  are  you  t "  And  he  started  back  as  the  other  had  hold  of 
his  hand. 

But  the  stranger  grasped  it  only  the  more  strongly.  "  God 
bless  you,  sir!  "  he  said.  "  I  know  who  you  are.  You  must 
be  Colonel  Lambert  of  whose  kindness  to  him  my  poor  Harry 
wrote.  And  I  am  the  brother  whom  you  have  heard  of,  sir  ; 
and  \\\\Q  was  left  for  dead  in  Mr.  Braddock's  action  ;  and  came 
to  life  again  after  eighteen  months  amongst  the  French  ;  and 
live  to  thank  God  and  thank  you  for  your  kindness  to  my  Harry," 
continued  the  lad  with  a  faltering  voice. 

"  James  !  James  !  here  is  news  !  "  cries  Mr.  Lambert  to  a 
gentleman  in  red,  who  now  entered  the  room.  "  Here  are  the 
dead  come  alive  !  Here  is  Harry  Scapegrace's  brother  come 
back,  and  with  his  scalp  on  his  head,  too  !  "  (George  had  taken 
his  hat  off,  and  was  standing  by  the  light.)  "  This  is  my  brother 
bail,  Mr.  Warrington  !  This  is  Lieutenant-Colonel  James  Wolfe, 
at  your  service.  You  must  know  there  has  been  a  little  differ- 
ence between  Harry  and  me,  Mr.  George.  He  is  pacified,  is 
he,  James  ? " 

"  He  is  full  of  gratitude,"  says  Mr.  Wolfe,  after  making  his 
bow  to  Mr.  Warrington. 

"  Harry  wrote  home  about  Mr.  Wolfe,  too,  sir,"  said  the 
young  man,  ''  and  I  hope  my  brother's  friends  will  be  so  kind 
as  to  be  mine." 

''I  wish  he  had  none  other  but  us,  Mr.  Warrington.  Poor 
Harry's  fine  folks  have  been  too  fine  for  him,  and  have  ended 
by  landing  him  here." 

"  Nay,  your  honors,  I  have  done  my  best  to  make  the  young 
gentleman  comfortable ;  and,  knowing  your  honor  before,  when 
you  came  to  bail  Captain  Watkins,  and  that  your  security  is 
perfectly  good, — if  your  honor  wishes,  the  young  gentleman  can 
go  out  this  very  night,  and  I  will  make  it  all  right  with  the  law- 
yer in  the  morning,"  says  Harry's  landlord,  who  knew  the  rank 
and  respectability  of  the  two  gentlemen  who  had  come  to  offer 
bail  for  his  young  prisoner. 

"  The  debt  is  five  hundred  and  odd  pounds,  I  think  ? "  said 
Mr.  Warrington.  "  With  a  hundred  thanks  to  these  gentlemen, 
I  can  pay  the  amount  at  this  moment  into  the  officer's  hands, 
taking  the  usual  acknowledgment  and  caution.  But  I  can 
never  forget,  gentlemen,  that  you  helped  my  brother  at  his 


4o8 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


need,  and,  for  doing  so,  I  say  thank  you,  and  God  bless  you, 
in  my  mother's  name  and  mine." 

Gumbo  had,  meanwhile,  gone  up  stairs  to  his  master's  apart- 
ment, where  Harry  would  probably  have  scolded  the  negro  for 
returning  that  night,  but  that  the  young  gentleman  was  very 
much  soothed  and  touched  by  the  conversation  he  had  had 
with  the  friend  who  had  just  left  him.  He  was  sitting  over  his 
pipe  of  Virginia  in  a  sad  mood  (for,  somehow,  even  Maria's 
goodness  and  affection,  as  she  had  just  exhibited  them,  had  not 
altogether  consoled  him  ;  and  he  had  thought  with  a  little  dismay, 
of  certain  consequences  to  which  that  very  kindness  and  fidelity 
bound  him,)  when  Mr.  Wolfe's  homely  features  and  eager  out- 
stretched hand  came  to  cheer  the  prisoner,  and  he  heard  how 
Mr.  Lambert  was  below,  and  the  errand  upon  which  the  two 
officers  had  come.  In  spite  of  himself,  Lambert  would  be  kind 
to  him.  In  spite  of  Harry's  ill-temper,  and  needless  suspicion 
and  anger,  the  good  gentleman  was  determined  to  help  him  if 
he  might — to  help  him  even  against  Mr.  Wolfe's  own  advice, 
as  the  latter  frankly  told  Harry.  "  For  you  were  wrong,  Mr. 
W^arrington,"  said  the  Colonel,  "  and  you  wouldn't  be  set  right ; 
and  you,  a  young  man,  used  hard  words  and  unkind  behavior 
to  your  senior,  and  what  is  more,  one  of  the  best  gentlemen 
who  walk's  God's  earth.  You  see,  sir,  what  his  answer  hath 
been  to  your  wayward  temper.  You  will  bear  with  a  friend 
who  speaks  frankly  with  you  ?  Martin  Lambert  hath  acted  in 
this  as  he  always  doth,  as  the  best  Christian,  the  best  friend, 
the  most  kind  and  generous  of  men.  Nay,  if  you  want  another 
proof  of  his  goodness,  here  it  is  :  He  has  converted  me,  who, 
as  I  don't  care  to  disguise,  was  angry  with  you  for  your  treat- 
ment of  him,  and  has  absolutely  brought  me  down  here  to  be 
your  bail.  Let  us  both  cry  Peccavimus  !  Harry,  and  shake  our 
friend  by  the  hand  !  He  is  sitting  in  the  room  below.  He 
would  not  come  here  till  he  knew  how  you  would  receive  him." 

"  I  think  he  is  a  good  man  !  "  groaned  out  Harry.  "  I  was 
very  angry  and  wild  at  the  time  when  he  and  I  met  last, 
Colonel  Wolfe.  Nay,  perhaps  he  was  right  in  sending  back 
those  trinkets,  hurt  as  I  was  at  his  doing  so.  Go  down  to  him, 
will  you  be  so  kind,  sir  ?  and  tell  him  I  am  sony.  and  ask  his 
pardon,  and — and,  God  bless  him  for  his  generous  behavior." 
And  here  the  young  gentleman  turned  his  head  away,  and 
rubbed  his  hand  across  his  eyes. 

"  Tell  him  all  this  thyself,  Harry  !  "  cries  the  Colonel,  tak- 
ing the  young  fellow's  hand.  "  No  deputy  will  ever  say  it  half 
so  well.     Come  with  me  now." 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  409 

"You  go  first,  and  I'll — I'll  follow, — on  my  word  I  will. 
See  !  I  am  in  my  morning  gown  1  I  will  but  put  on  a  coat  and 
come  to  him.  Give  him  my  message  first.  Just — just  prepare 
him  for  me  !  "  says  poor  Harry,  who  knew  he  must  do  it,  but  yet 
did  not  much  like  that  process  of  eating  of  humble  pie. 

Wolfe  went  out  smiling — understanding  the  lad's  scruples 
well  enough,  perhaps.  As  he  opened  the  door,  Mr.  Gumbo 
entered  it ;  almost  forgetting  to  bow  to  the  gentleman,  pro- 
fusely courteous  as  he  was  on  ordinary  occasions, — his  eyes 
glared  round,  his  great  mouth  grinning — himself  in  a  state  of 
such  high  excitement  and  delight  that  his  master  remarked  his 
condition.  • 

"  What,  Gum  ?  What  has  happened  to  thee  ?  Hast  thou 
got  a  new  sweetheart  ?  " 

No,  Gum  had  not  got  no  new  sweetheart,  Master. 

"  Give  me  my  coat.     What  has  brought  thee  back  .''  " 

Gum  grinned  prodigiously.  "  I  have  seen  a  ghost,  Mas'r  !  " 
he  said. 

"'  A  ghost  !  and  whose,  and  where  ?  " 

"  V/har  1  Saw  him  at  Madame  Bernstein's  house.  Come 
with  him  here  in  the  coach  !  He  down  stairs  now  vvith  Colonel 
Lambert  !  "  Whilst  Gumbo  is  speaking,  as  he  is  putting  on 
his  master's  coat,  his  eyes  are  rolling,  his  head  is  wagging,  his 
hands  are  trembling,  his  lips  are  grinding. 

"  Ghost — what  ghost  ?  "  says  Harry,  in  a  strange  agitation. 
"  Is  anybody — is — my  mother  come  ?  " 

"  No,  sir ;  no.  Master  Harry  !  "  Gumbo's  head  rolls  nearly 
off  in  its  violent  convolutions,  and  his  master,  looking  oddly  at 
him,  flings  the  door  open  and  goes  rapidly  down  the  stair. 

He  is  at  the  foot  of  it,  just  as.  a  voice  within  the  little  office, 
of  which  the  door  is  open,  is  saying,  ^''  and  for  doing  so,  I  say 
thank  you,  and  God  bless  you  in  7?iy  inothei'' s  name  and  miney 

"  Whose  voice  is  that  ?  "  calls  out  Harr}-  Warrington,  with 
a  strange  cxy  in  his  own  voice. 

"It's  the  ghosfs,  Mas'r!"'  says  Gumbo,  from  behind  ;  and 
Harry  runs  forward  to  the  room, — where,  if  you  please,  we  will 
pause  a  little  minute  before  we  enter.  The  two  gentlemen  who 
were  there,  turned  their  heads  away.  The  lost  was  found 
again.  The  dead  was  alive.  The  prodigal  was  on  his  brother's 
heart, — his  own  full  of  love,  gratitude,  repentance. 

"  Come  away,  James  !  I  think  we  are  not  wanted  any  more 
here,"  says  the  Colonel.  "  Good-night,  boys.  Some  ladies  in 
Hill  Street  won't  be  able  to  sleep  for  this  strange  news.  Or 
will  you  go  home  and  sup  with  'em,  and  tell  them  the  stor)-  ?  " 


41  o  THE  VIRGINIANS. 

No,  with  many  thanks,  the  boys  would  not  go  and  sup 
to-night.  They  had  stories  of  their  own  to  tell,  "  Quick, 
Gumbo,  with  the  trunks  !  Good-by,  Mr.  Amos !  "  Harry  felt 
almost  unhappy  when  he  went  away. 


CHAPTER    L. 

CONTAINS    A    GREAT    DEAL    OF    THE    FINEST    MORALITY. 

When  first  we  had  the  honor  to  be  presented  to  Sir  Miles 
Warrington  at  the  King's  drawing-room,  in  St.  James's  Palace, 
I  confess  that  I,  for  one — looking  at  his  jolly  round  face,  his 
broad  round  waistcoat,  his  hearty  country  manner — expected 
that  I  had  lighted  ujDon  a  most  eligible  and  agreeable  acquaint- 
ance at  last,  and  was  about  to  become  intimate  with  that 
noblest  specimen  of  the  human  race,  the  bepraised  of  songs 
and  men,  the  good  old  English  country  gentleman.  In  fact,  to 
be  a  good  old  country  gentleman  is  to  hold  a  position  nearest 
the  gods,  and  at  the  summit  of  earthly  felicity.  To  have  a 
large  unencumbered  rent-roll,  and  the  rents  regularly  paid  by 
adoring  farmers,  who  bless  their  stars  at  having  such  a  landlord 
as  his  honor ;  to  have  no  tenant  holding  back  with  his  money, 
excepting  just  one,  perhaps,  who  does  so  in  order  to  give 
occasion  to  the  Good  Old  Country  Gentleman  to  show  his 
sublime  charity  and  universal  benevolence  of  soul — to  hunt 
three  days  a  week,  love  the  sport  of  all  things,  and  have  perfect 
good  health  and  a  good  appetite  in  consequence — to  have  not 
only  a  good  appetite,  but  a  good  dinner ;  to  sit  down  at  church 
in  the  midst  of  a  chorus  of  blessings  from  the  villagers,  the 
first  man  in  the  parish,  the  benefactor  of  the  parish,  with 
a  consciousness  of  consummate  desert,  saying,  "  Have  mercy 
upon  us  miserable  sinners,"  to  be  sure,  but  only  for  form's 
sake,  because  the  words  are  written  in  the  book,  and  to 
give  other  folks  an  example  :  —  a  G.  O.  C.  G.  a  miserable 
sinner !  So  healthy,  so  wealthy,  so  jolly,  so  much  respected 
by  the  vicar,  so  much  honored  by  the  tenants,  so  much 
beloved  and  admired  by  his  family,  amongst  whom  his  story 
of  grouse  in  the  gun-room  causes  laughter  from  generation 
to  generation  ; — this  perfect  being  a  miserable  sinner!  Allons 
done  !  Give  any  man  good  health  and  temper,  five  thousand  a 
year,  the  adoration  of  his  parish,  and  the  love  and  worship  of 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  411 

his  family,  and  I'll  defy  you  to  make  him  so  heartily  dissatisfied 
with  his  spiritual  condition  as  to  set  himself  down  a  miserable 
anything.  If  you  were  a  royal  highness,  and  went  to  church 
in  the  most  perfect  health  and  comfort,  the  parson  waiting  to 
begin  the  service  until  Your  R.  H.  came  in,  would  you  believe 
yourself  to  be  a  miserable  &:c.  ?  You  might  when  racked  with 
gout,  in  solitude,  the  fear  of  death  before  your  eyes,  the  doctor 
having  cut  off  your  bottle  of  claret,  and  ordered  arrowroot  and 
a  little  sherry, — you  might  then  be  humiliated,  and  acknowledge 
your  own  short-comings,  and  the  vanity  of  things  in  general ; 
but,  in  high  health,  sunshine,  spirits,  that  word  miserable  is 
only  a  form.  You  can't  think  in  3'our  heart  that  you  are  to  be 
pitied  much  for  the  present.  If  you  are  to  be  miserable,  what 
is  Colin  Ploughman,  with  the  ague,  seven  children,  two  pounds 
a  year  rent  to  pay  for  his  cottage,  and  eight  shillings  a  week  ? 
No  :  a  healthy,  rich,  jolly,  country  gentleman,  if  miserable,  has 
a  very  supportable  misery  :  if  a  sinner,  has  verv'  few  people  to 
tell  him  so. 

It  may  be  he  becomes  somewhat  selfish ;  but  at  least  he  is 
satisfied  with  himself.  Except  my  lord  at  the  castle,  there  is 
nobody  for  miles  and  miles  round  so  good  or  so  great.  His 
admirable  wife  ministers  to  him,  and  to  the  whole  parish, 
indeed  :  his  children  bow  before  him  :  the  vicar  of  the  parish 
reverences  him :  he  is  respected  at  quarter  sessions  :  he  causes 
poachers  to  tremble :  off  go  all  hats  before  him  at  market :  and 
round  about  his  great  coach,  in  which  his  spotless  daughters  and 
sublime  lady  sit,  all  the  country-town  tradesmen  cringe,  bare- 
headed, and  the  farmers'  women  drop  innumerable  curtseys. 
From  their  cushions  in  the  great  coach  the  ladies  look  do\vn 
beneficently,  and  smile  on  the  poorer  folk.  They  buy  a  yard 
of  ribbon  with  affability  :  they  condescend  to  purchase  an  ounce 
of  salts,  or  a  packet  of  flower-seeds  :  they  deign  to  cheapen  a 
goose  :  their  drive  is  like  a  royal  progress  ;  a  happy  people  is 
supposed  to  press  round  them  and  bless  them.  Tradesmen 
bow,  farmers'  wives  bob,  town-boys,  waving  their  ragged  hats, 
cheer  the  red-faced  coachman  as  he  drives  the  fat  bays,  and 
cry,  "  Sir  Miles  for  ever !     Tnrow  us  a  halfpenny,  my  lady  !  " 

But  suppose  the  market-woman  should  hide  her  fat  goose 
when  Sir  Miles's  coach  comes,  out  of  terror  lest  my  lady,  spying 
the  bird,  should  insist  on  purchasing  it  a  bargain  '^.  Suppose 
no  coppers  ever  were  known  to  come  out  of  the  royal  coach 
window  ?  Suppose  Sir  Miles  regaled  his  tenants  with  noto- 
riously small  beer,  and  his  poor  with  especially  thin  broth  ? 
This   may  be   our  fine   old   English  gentleman's  way.     There 


412  THE    VIRGINIANS. 

have  not  been  a  few  fine  English  gentlemen  and  ladies  of  this 
sort;  who  patronized  the  poor  without  ever  relieving  them, 
who  called  out  "  Amen  !  "  at  church  as  loud  as  the  clerk ; 
who  went  through  all  the  forms  of  piety,  and  discharged  all  the 
etiquette  of  old  English  gentlemanhood  ;  who  bought  virtue  a 
bargain,  as  it  were,  and  had  no  doubt  they  were  honoring  her 
by  the  purchase.  Poor  Harr\',  in  his  distress,  asked  help  from 
his  relations  :  his  aunt  sent  him  a  tract  and  her  blessing  ;  his 
uncle  had  business  out  of  town,  and  could  not,  of  course,  answer 
the  poor  boy's  pettition.  How  much  of  this  behavior  goes  on 
daily  in  respectable  life,  think  you  ?  You  can  fancy  Lord  and 
Lady  Macbeth  concocting  a  murder,  and  coming  together  with 
some  little  awkwardness,  perhaps,  when  the  transaction  was 
done  and  over ;  but  my  Lord  and  Lady  Skinflint,  when  they 
consult  in  their  bedroom  about  giving  their  luckless  nephew  a 
helping  hand,  and  determine  to  refuse,  and  go  down  to  family 
prayers,  and  meet  their  children  and  domestics,  and  discourse 
virtuously  before  them,  and  then  remain  together,  and  talk  nose 
to  nose, — what  can  they  think  of  one  another  ?  and  of  the  poor 
kinsman  fallen  among  the  thieves,  and  groaning  for  help  un- 
heeded ?  How  can  they  go  on  with  those  virtuous  airs  ?  How 
can  they  dare  look  each  other  in  the  face  ? 

Dare  ?  Do  you  suppose  they  think  they  have  done  wrong  ? 
Do  you  suppose  Skinflint  is  tortured  with  remorse  at  the  idea 
of  the  distress  which  called  to  him  in  vain,  and  of  the  hunger 
which  he  sent  empty  away  ?  Not  he.  He  is  indignant  with 
Prodi2:al  for  beino;  a  fool  :  he  is  not  ashamed  of  himself  for 
being  a  curmudgeon.  What  ?  A  young  man  with  such  oppor- 
tunities throw  them  away  ?  A  fortune  spent  amongst  gamblers 
and  spendthrifts  ?  Horrible,  horrible  !  Take  warning,  my 
child,  by  this  unfortunate  young  man's  behavior,  and  see  the 
consequences  of  extravagance.  According  to  the  great  and 
always  established  Church  of  the  Pharisees,  here  is  an  admi- 
rable opportunity  for  a  moral  discourse,  and  an  assertion  of 
virtue.  "  And  to  think  of  his  deceiving  us  so  !  "  cries  out  Lady 
Warrington. 

"Very  sad,  very  sad,  my  dear  !  "  says  Sir  Miles,  wagging  his 
head. 

"  To  think  of  so  much  extravagance  in  one  so  young  !  " 
cries  Lady  Warrington.  "  Cards,  bets,  feasts  at  taverns  of  the 
most  wicked  profusion,  carriage  and  riding  horses,  the  company 
of  the  wealthy  and  the  profligate  of  his  own  sex,  and,  I  fear,  of 
the  most  iniquitous  persons  of  ours." 

"  Hush,  my  Lady  Warrington  !  "  cries  her  husband,  glanc- 


A  YOUNG   reprobate! 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


413 


ing  towards  the  spotless  Dora  and  Flora,  who  held  down  their 
blushing  heads  at  the  mention  of  the  last  naughty  persons. 

"  No  wonder  my  poor  children  hide  their  faces  !  "  Mamma 
continues.  "  My  dears^  I  wish  even  the  existence  of  such 
creatures  could  be  kept  from  you  !  " 

"  They  can't  go  to  an  opera  or  the  park,  without  seeing  'em, 
to  be  sure,"  says  Sir  Miles. 

"  To  think  we  should  have  introduced  such  a  young  serpent 
into  the  bosom  of  our  family !  and  have  left  him  in  the  com- 
pany of  that  guileless  darling  !  "  and  she  points  to  Master 
Miles. 

"  Who's  a  serpent.  Mamma  ?  "  inquires  that  youth.  "  First 
you  said  Cousin  Harry  was  bad  :  then  he  was  good  :  now  he  is 
bad  again.     Which  is  he,  Sir  Miles  ?  " 

"  He  has  faults,  like  all  of  us,  Miley,  my  dear.  Your  cousin 
has  been  wild,  and  you  must  take  warning  by  him." 

"  Was  not  my  elder  brother,  who  died — my  naughty  brother 
— was  not  he  wild  too  ?  He  was  not  kind  to  me  when  I  was 
quite  a  little  boy.  He  never  gave  me  money,  nor  toys,  nor 
rode  with  me,  nor — why  do  you  cr}^,  mamma.?  Sure  I  remem- 
ber how  Hugh  and  you  were  always  fight " 

"  Silence,  sir !  "  cry  out  papa  and  the  girls  in  a  breath. 
"  Don't  you  know  you  are  never  to  mention  that  name }  " 

"  I  know  I  love  Harry,  and  I  didn't  love  Hugh,"  says  the 
sturdy  little  rebel.  "  And  if  Cousin  Harry  is  in  prison,  I'll  give 
him  my  half-guinea  that  my  godpapa  gave  me,  and  anything  I 
have — yes,  anything,  except — except  my  little  horse — and  my 
silver  waistcoat — and — and  Snowball  and  Sweetlips  at  home — 
and — and,  yes,  my  custard  after  dinner."  This  was  in  reply  to 
a  hint  of  sister  Dora.  "  But  I'd  give  him  someoi  it,"  continues 
Miles  after  a  pause. 

"  Shut  thy  mouth  with  it,  child,  and  then  go  about  thy  busi- 
ness," says  papa,  amused.  Sir  Miles  Warrington  had  a  con- 
siderable fund  of  easy  humor. 

"  Who  would  have  thought  he  should  ever  be  so  wild  t " 
mamma  goes  on. 

"  Nay.     Youth  is  the  season  for  wild  oats,  my  dear.'' 

"  That  we  should  be  so  misled  in  him  !  "  sighed  the  girls. 

"  That  he  should  kiss  us  both !  "  cries  papa. 
"  Sir  Miles  Warrington,  I  have  no  patience  with  that  sort  of 
vulgarity  !  "  says  the  majestic  matron. 

"  Which  of  you  was  the  favorite  yesterday,  girls  ?  "  continues 
t'le  father. 

"  Favorite,  indeed !     I  told  him  over  and  over  again  of  my 


414  THE   VIRGINIAXS. 

engagement  to  clear  Tom — I  did,  Dora, — why  do  you  sneer,  if 
you  please  ?  "  says  the  handsome  sister. 

"  Nay,  to  do  her  justice,  so  did  Dora  too,"  said  papa. 

*•  Because  Flora  seemed  to  wish  to  forget  her  engagement 
with  dear  Tom  sometimes,"  remarks  her  sister. 

"  I  never  never  never  wished  to  break  with  Tom  !  It's 
wicked  of  you  to  say  so,  Dora  !  It  is  you  who  were  for  ever 
sneering  at  him  :  it  is  you  who  are  always  envious  because  I 
happen — at  least,  because  gentlemen  imagine  that  I  am  not  ill 
looking,  and  prefer  me  to  some  folks,  in  spite  of  all  their  learn- 
ing and  wit !  "  cries  Flora,  tossing  her  head  over  her  shoulder, 
and  looking  at  the  glass. 

"  Why  are  you  always  looking  there,  sister  ?  "  says  the  art- 
less Miles  junior.  "  Sure,  you  must  know  your  face  well 
enough  !  " 

"  Some  people  look  at  it  just  as  often,  child,  who  haven't 
near  such  good  reason,"  says  papa,  gallantly. 

"  If  you  mean  w^,  Sir  Miles,  I  thank  you,"  cries  Dora.  "  My 
face  is  as  heaven  made  it,  and  my  father  and  mother  gave  it 
me.  'Tis  not  my  fault  if  I  resemble  my  papa's  family.  If  my 
head  is  homely,  at  least  I  have  got  some  brains  in  it.  I  en- 
vious of  Flora,  indeed,  because  she  has  found  favor  in  the  sight 
of  poor  Tom  Claypool  !  I  should  as  soon  be  proud  of  captiva- 
ting a  ploughboy  !  " 

"  Pray,  Miss,  was  your  ]Mr.  Harry,  of  Virginia,  much  wiser 
than  Tom  Claypool  ?  You  would  have  had  him  for  the  asking  !  " 
exclaims  Flora. 

"And  so  would  j'^//'.  Miss,  and  have  dropped  Tom  Claypool 
into  the  sea  !  "  cries  Dora. 

"  I  wouldn't." 

"  You  would." 

"  I  wouldn't ;  " — and  da  capo  goes  the  conversation — the 
shuttlecock  of  wrath  being  briskly  battled  from  one  sister  to 
another, 

"  Oh,  my  children  !  Is  this  the  way  you  dwell  together  in 
unity  ?  "  exclaims  their  excellent  female  parent,  laying  down  her 
embroidery.     "What  an  example  you  set  to  this  Innocent." 

"  Like  to  see  'em  fight,  my  lady  ! "  cries  the  Innocent,  rub- 
bing his  hands. 

"  At  her.  Flora !  Worry  her,  Dora  !  To  it  again,  you 
little  rogues  !  "  savs  facetious  papa.  "  'Tis  good  sport,  aint  it, 
Miley  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Sir  Miles  !  Oh,  my  children  !  These  disputes  are 
unseemly.     They  tear  a  fond  mother's   heart,"  says  mamma, 


THE   VIRGIXIAXS,  .jh 

with  majestic  action,  though  bearing  the  laceration  of  her  bosom 
with  much  seeming  equanimity.  "  What  cause  for  thankfuhiess 
ought  we  to  have,  that  watchful  parents  have  prevented  any  idle 
engagements  between  you  and  your  misguided  cousin.  If  we 
have  been  mistaken  in  him,  is  it  not  a  mercy  that  we  have 
found  out  our  error  in  time  }  If  either  of  you  had  any  prefer- 
ence for  him,  your  excellent  good  sense,  my  loves,  will  teach 
you  to  overcome,  to  eradicate,  the  vain  feeling.  That  we 
cherished  and  were  kind  to  him  can  7ieverh^  a  source  of  regret. 
'Tis  a  proof  of  our  good  nature.  What  we  have  to  regret,  I 
fear,  is,  that  your  cousin  should  have  proved  unworthy  of  our 
kindness,  and,  coming  away  from  the  society  of  gamblers,  play- 
actors, and  the  like,  should  have  brought  contamination— pol^ 
lution,  I  had  almost  said — into  this  pure  family  !  " 

"  Oh,  bother  mamma's  sermons  .?  "  says  Flora,  as  my  lady 
pursues  a  harangue  of  which  we  only  give  the  commencement 
here,  but  during  which  papa,  whistling,  gently  quits  the  room 
on  tiptoe,  while  the  artless  Miles  junior  winds  his  top  and  pegs 
it  under  the  robes  of  his  sisters.  It  has  done  humming,  and 
staggered  and  tumbled  over,  and  expired  in  its  usual  tipsy 
manner,  long  ere  Lady  ^^^arrington  has  finished  her  sermon. 

"  Were  you  listening  to  me,  my  child  1 ''  she  asks,  laying  her 
hand  on  her  darling's  head. 

"Yes,  mother,"  says  he,  with  the  whipcord  in  his  mouth, 
and  proceeding  to  wind  up  his  sportive  engine.  "  You  was  a 
saying  that  Harry  was  very  poor  now,  and  that  we  oughtn't  to 
help  him.     That's  what  you  was  saying  :  wasn't  it.  Madam  ?  " 

"  My  poor  child,  thou  wilt  understand  me  better  when  thou 
art  older  !  "  says  mamma,  turning  towards  that  ceiling  to  which 
her  eyes  always  have  recourse. 

"  Get  out,  you  little  wretch  !  "  cries  one  of  the  sisters.  The 
artless  one  has  pegged  his  top  at  Dora's  toes,  and  laughs  with 
the  glee  of  merry  boyhood  at  his  sister's  discomfiture.  " 

But  what  is  this  .?  Who  comes  here .?  Why  does  Sir  Miles 
return  to  the  drawing-room,  and  why  does  Tom  Claypool,  who 
strides  after  the  Baronet,  wear  a  countenance  so  disturbed  ? 

Here's  a  pretty  business,  my  Lady  Warrington  !  "  cries  Sir 
Miles.     "  Here's  a  wonderful  wonder  of  wonders,  girls  !  " 

"  For  goodness'  sake,  gentlemen,  what  is  your  intelligence  t  " 
asks  the  virtuous  matron. 

"  The  whole  town's  talking  about  it,  my  lady  !  "  says  Tom 
Claypool,  puffing  for  breath. 

"  Tom  has  seen  him,"  continued  Sir  Miles. 

"  Seen  both  of  them,  my  Lady  Warrington,     They  were  at 


4i6 


THE   VIRGINJAA^S. 


Ranelagh  last  night,  with  a  regular  mob  after  'em.  And  so  like, 
that  but  for  their  different  ribbons  you  would  hardly  have  told 
one  from  the  other.  One  was  in  blue,  the  other  in  brown  ;  but 
I'm  certain  he  has  worn  both  the  suits  here." 

"  What  suits  ?  ' 

"  What  one, — what  other  ?  "  call  the  girls. 

"  Why,  your  fortunate  youth,  to  be  sure." 

"  Our  precious  Virginian,  and  heir  to  the  principality  !  "  says 
Sir  iMiles. 

"  Is  my  nephew,  then,  released  from  his  incarceration  ?  " 
asks  her  ladyship.  "  And  is  he  again  plunged  in  the  vortex  of 
dissip  *  *  =*  " 

"  Confound  him  !  "  roars  out  the  Baronet,  with  an  expression 
which  I  fear  was  even  stronger.  "  What  should  you  think,  my 
Lady  Warrington,  if  this  precious  nephew  of  mine  should  turn 
out  to  be  an  impostor ;  by  George  !  no  better  than  an  adven- 
turer ?  " 

"  An  inward  monitor  whispered  me  as  much  !  "  cried  the 
lady  ;  "  but  I  dashed  from  me  the  unworthy  suspicion.  Speak, 
Sir^Miles,  we  burn  with  impatience  to  listen  to  your  intelli- 
gence." 

"  I'll  speak,  my  love,  when  you've  done,"  says  Sir  Miles. 
"  Well,  what  do  you  think  of  my  gentleman,  who  comes  into 
my  house,  dines  at  my  table,  is  treated  as  one  of  my  family, 
kisses  my " 

"  What  ?  "  asks  Tom  Claypool,  firing  as  red  as  his  waist- 
coat. 

"  — Hem  !  Kisses  my  wife's  hand,  and  is  treated  in  the 
fondest  manner,  by  George  !  What  do  you  think  of  this  fellow, 
who  talks  of  his  property  and  his  principality,  by  Jupiter  ! — 
turning  out  to  be  a  beggarly  second  son  !  A  beggar,  my  Lady 
Warrington,  by " 

"Sir  Mile's  Warrington,  no  violence  of  language  before 
these  dear  ones  !  I  sink  to  the  earth,  confounded  by  this  unut- 
terable hypocrisy.  And  did  I  entrust  thee  to  a  pretender,  my 
blessed  boy  ?  Did  I  leave  thee  with  an  impostor,  my  innocent 
one  ?  "  the  matron  cries,  fondling  her  son. 

"  Who's  an  impostor,  my  lady  ?  "  asks  the  child. 

"  That  confounded  young  scamp  of  a  Harry  Warrington  ! " 
bawls  out  papa;  on  which  "the  little  Tvliles,  after  wearing  a 
puzzled  look  for  a  moment,  and  yielding  to  I  know  not  what 
hidden  emotion,  bursts  out  crying. 

His  admirable  mother  proposes  to  clutch  him  to  her  heart, 
but  he   rejects   the   pure  caress,  bawling  only  the  louder,  and 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  ^^^ 

417 

kicking  frantically  about  the  maternal  gremium.  As  the  butler 
announces  "  Mr.  George  Warrington,  Mr.  Henr\-  Warrington  1  " 
Miles  IS  dropped  from  his  mother's  lap.  Sir  Miles's  face  emu- 
lates Mr.  Claypoors  waistcoat.  The  three  ladies  rise  up,  and 
make  three  most  frigid  curtse3'-s,  as  our  two  young  men  enter 
the  room. 

-Little  Miles  runs  towards  them.  He  holds  out  a  little  hand 
Oh,  Harry  !  No  !  which  is  Harry  ?  You're  my  Harry  "  and 
he  chooses  rightly  this  time.  "  Oh,  vou  dear  Harry  !  I'm  so 
glad  you  are  come  !  and  they've  been  abusing  you  so  !  " 

"I  am  come  to  pay  my  duty  to  my  uncle,"  says  the  dark- 
haired  Mr.  Warrington  ;  "  and  to  thank  him  for  his  hospitali- 
ties to  my  brother  Henry." 

"  What,  Nephew  George  .?  My  brother's  face  and  eyes  ' 
Boys  both,  I  am  delighted  to  see  you  !  "  cries  their  uncle,  grasp- 
ing affectionately  a  hand  of  each,  as  his  honest  face  radiates 
with  pleasure. 

I'/This  indeed  hath  been  a  most  mysterious  and  a  most 
providential  resuscitation,"  says  Lady  Warrington  "  Only  I 
wonder  that  my  nephew  Henry  concealed  the  circumstance 
until  now,  she  adds,  with  a  sidelong  glance  at  both  vouno- 
gentlemen.  •'       t> 

_  "  He  knew  it  no  more  than  your  ladvship,"  says  Mr  War- 
rington. The  young  ladies  looked  at  ea6h  other  with  downcast 
eyes. 

^  "  Indeed,  sir!  a  most  singular  circumstance,"  says  mamma 
with  another  curtsey.  -W^e  had  heard  of  it,  sir;  and  Mr! 
Claypool,  our  county  neighbor,  had  just  brought  us  the  intelli- 
gence, and  It  even  now  formed  the  subject  of  my  conversation 
wath  my  daughters." 

"  Yes,"  cries  out  a  little  voice,  -  and  do  you  know,  Harry, 
lather  and  mother  said  you  was— a  imp " 

';  Silence,  my  child  !  Screwby,  convey  Master  Warrincrton 
to  his  own  apartment !  These,  Mr.  Warrington~or,  I  suppose 
I  should  say  Nephew  George— are  your  cousins."  Two  curt- 
seys—two cheeses  are  made— two  hands  are  held  out  Mr 
Esmond  Warrington  makes  a  profound  low  bow,  which  em- 
braces (and  It  is  the  only  embrace  which  the  gentleman  offers) 
all  three  ladies.  He  lays  his  hat  to  his  heart.  He  savs,  -  It 
It  my  duty  Madam,  to  pay  my  respects  to  mv  uncle  and 
cousins,  and  to  thank  your  ladyship  for  such  hospitality  as  you 
Have  been  enabled  to  show  to  my  brother." 

"  It  was  not  much,  nephew^  but  it  was  our  best.  Ods  bobs  '  " 
cries  the  hearty  Sir  Miles,  "  it  was  our  best !  " 

27 


4ic 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


"  And  I  appreciate  it,  sir,"  says  Mr.  Warringtons,  looking 
gravely  rouncl  at  the  family. 

"  Give  us  thy  hand.  Not  a  word  more,"  says  Sir  Miles. 
"What.?  do  you  think  I'm  a  cannibal,  and  won't  extend  the 
hand  of  hospitality  to  my  dear  brother's  son  ?  What  say  you, 
lads  ?  Will  you  eat  our  mutton  at  three  ?  This  is  my  neighbor, 
Tom  Claypool,  son  to  Sir  Thomas  Claypool,  Baronet,  and  my 
very  good  friend.  Hey,  Tom  !  Thou  wilt  be  of  the  party, 
Tom  .?     Thou  knowest  our  brew,  hey,  my  boy  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  know  it.  Sir  Miles,"  replies  Tom,  with  no  peculiar 
expression  of  rapture  on  his  face. 

"And  thou  shalt  taste  it,  my  boy,  thou  shalt taste  it!  What 
is  there  for  dinner,  my  Lady  Warrington  }  Our  food  is  plain, 
but  plenty,  lads — plain,  but  plenty  !  " 

"  We  cannot  partake  of  it  to-day,  sir.  We  dine  with  a 
friend  who  occupies  my  Lord  Wroth  am 's  house,  your  neighbor. 
Colonel  Lambert — Major-General  Lambert  he  has  just  been 
made."  • 

"  With  two  daughters,  I  think — countryfied-looking  girls — 
are  they  not  ?  "  asked  Flora. 

"  I  think  I  have  remarked  two  little  rather  dowdy  things," 
says  Dora. 

"  They  are  as  good  girls  as  any  in  England  !  "  breaks  in 
Harry,  to  whom  no  one  had  thought  of  saying  a  single  word. 
His  r^ign  was  over,  you  see.  He  was  nobody.  What  wonder, 
then,  that  he  should  not  be  visible  ? 

"  Oh,  indeed,  cousin  !  "  says  Dora,  with  a  glance  at  the 
young  man,  who  sat  with  burning  cheeks,  chaffing  at  the 
humiliation  put  upon  him,  but  not  knowing  how  or  whether  he 
should  notice  it.  "  Oh,  indeed,  cousin  !  You  are  very  charit- 
able— or  very  lucky,  I'm  sure  !  You  see  angels  where  we  only 
see  ordinary  little  persons.  I'm  sure  I  could  not  imagine  who 
were  those  odd-looking  people  in  Lord  Wrotham's  coach,  with 
his  handsome  liveries.  But  if  they  were  three  angels.^  I  have 
nothing  to  say." 

"  My  brother  is  an  enthusiast,"  interposes  George.  "  He 
is  often  mistaken  about  women." 

"  Oh,  really  !  "  says  Dora,  looking  a  little  uneasy. 

"  I  fear  my  nephew  Henry  has  indeed  met  with  some  un- 
favorable specimens  of  our  sex,"  the  matron  remarks,  with  a 
groan. 

"  We  are  so  easily  taken  in.  Madam — we  are  both  ver}^  young 
yet — we  shall  grow  older  and  learn  better." 

"  Most  sincerely.  Nephew  George,  I  trust  you  may.      You 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


419 


have  my  best  wishes,  my  prayers,  for  your  brother's  welfare  and 
your  own.  No  efforts  Of  ours  have  been  wanting.  At  a  pain- 
ful moment,  to  which  I  will  not  further  allude " 

"  And  when  my  uncle  Sir  Miles  was  out  of  town,"  says 
George,  looking  towards  the  baronet,  who  smiles  at  him  with 
affectionate  approval. 

"  — I  sent  your  brother  a  work  which  I  thought  might  com- 
for  him,  and  I  know  might  improve  him.  Nay,  do  not  thank 
me  ;  I  claim  no  credit ;  I  did  but  my  duty — a  humble  woman's 
duty — for  what  are  this  world's  goods,  nephew,  compared  to  the 
welfare  of  a  soul  1  If  I  did  good,  I  am  thankful.  If  I  was 
useful,  I  rejoice.  If,  through  my  means,  you  have  been  brought, 
Harry,  to  consider " 

"  Oh  !  the  sermon,  is  it  ?  "  breaks  in  downright  Harry.  "I 
hadn't  time  to  read  a  single  syllable  of  it,  aunt — thank  you. 
You  see  I  don't  care  muCh  about  that  kind  of  thing — but  thank 
you  all  the  same." 

"The  intention  is  everything,"  says  Mr.  Warr-ington,  "and 
we  are  both  grateful.  Our  dear  friend.  General  Lambert,  in- 
tended to  give  bail  for  Harry  ;  but,  happily,  I  had  funds  of 
Harry's  with  me  to  meet  any  demands  upon  us.  But  the  kind- 
ness is  the  same,  and  I  am  grateful  to  the  friend  who  hastened 
to  my  brother's  rescue  when  he  had  most  need  of  aid,  and 
when  his  own  relations  happened — so  unfortunately — to  be  out 
of  town." 

"  Anything  I  could  do,  my  dear  boy,  I'm  sure — my  brother's 
son — my  own  nephew — ods  bobs  ! — you  know — that  is  any- 
thing— anythifig,  you  know  !  "  cries  Sir  Miles,  bringing  his  own 
hand  into  George's  with  a  generous  smack.  "  You  can't  stay 
and  dine  with  us  ?  Put  off  the  Colonel — the  General — do, 
now !  Or  name  a  day.  My  Lady  Warrington,  make  my 
nephew  name  a  day  when  he  will  sit  under  his  grandfather's 
picture,  and  drink  some  of  his  wine  !  " 

"  His  intellectual  faculties  seem  more  developed  than  those 
of  his  unlucky  3^ounger  brother,"  remarked  my  lady,  when  the 
young  gentlemen  had  taken  their  leave.  "  The  younger  must 
be  reckless  and  extravagant  about  money  indeed,  for  did  you 
remark.  Sir  Miles,  the  loss  of  his  reversion  of  Virginia — the 
amount  of  which  has,  no  doubt,  been  grossly  exaggerated,  but, 
nevertheless,  must  be  something  considerable — did  you,  I  say, 
remark  that  the  ruin  of  Harry's  prospects  scarcely  seemed  to 
affect  him  ? " 

"  I  should't  be  at  all  surprised  that  the  elder  turns  out  to 
be  as  poor  as  the  young  one,"  says  Dora,  tossing  her  head. 


42  o  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

"  He  !  he  !  Did  you  see  that  Cousin  George  had  one  of 
Cousin  Harry's  suits  of  clothes  on — the  brown  and  gold — that 
one  he  wore  when  he  went  with  you  to  the  oratorio,  Flora  ?  " 

''  Did  he  take  Flora  to  an  oratorio  ?  "  asks  Mr.  Claypool, 
fiercely. 

"  I  was  ill  and  couldn't  go,  and  my  cousin  went  with  her," 
says  Dora. 

"  Far  be  it  from  77ie  to  object  to  any  innocent  amusement, 
much  less  to  the  music  of  Mr.  Handel,  dear  Mr.  Clay- 
pool,"  says  Mamma.  "  Music  refines  the  soul,  elevates  the 
understanding,  is  heard  in  our  churches,  and  'tis  well  known 
was  practised  by  King  David.  Your  operas  I  shun  as  delete- 
rious ;  your  ballets  I  would  forbid  to  my  children  as  most 
immoral ;  but  music,  my  dears  !  May  we  enjoy  it,  like  every- 
thing else  in  reason — may  we " 

"There's  the  music  of  the  dinner-bell,"  says  papa,  rubbing 
his  hands.  "  Come,  girls.  Screwby,  go  and  fetch  Master 
Miley.     Tom,  take  down  my  lady." 

"  Nay,  dear  Thomas,  I  walk  but  slowly.  Go  you  with 
dearest  Flora  down  stairs,"  says  Virtue. 

But  Dora  took  care  to  make  the  evening  pleasant  by  talk- 
ing of  Handel  and  oratorios  constantly  during  dinner. 


CHAPTER  LI. 

CONTICUERE   OMNES. 


Across  the  way,  if  the  gracious  reader  will  please  to  step 
over  with  us,  he  will  find  our  young  gentlemen  at  Lord 
Wrotham's  house,  which  his  lordship  has  lent  to  his  friend  the 
General,  and  that  little  family  party  assembled,  with  which  we 
made  acquaintance  at  Oakhurst  and  Tunbridge  Wells.  James 
Wolfe  has  promised  to  come  to  dinner  ;  but  J-ames  is  dancing 
attendance  upon  Miss  Lowther,  and  would  rather  have  a  glance 
from  her  eyes  than  the  finest  kickshaws  dressed  by  Lord 
Wrotham's  cook,  or  the  dessert  which  is  promised  for  the 
entertainment  at  which  you  are  just  going  to  sit  down.  You 
will  make  the  sixth.  You  may  take  Mr.  Wolfe's  place.  You 
may  be  sure  he  won't  come.  As  for  me,  I  will  stand  at  the 
sideboard  and  report  the  conversation. 

Note  first,  how   happy    the   women    look  !     When    Harry 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  421 

Warrington  was  taken  by  those  bailiffs,  I  had  intended  to  tell 
you  how  the  good  Mrs.  Lambert,  liearing  of  the  boy's  mishap, 
had  flown  to  her  husband,  and  had  begged,  implored,  insisted, 
that  her  Martin  should  help  him.  "  Never  mind  his  rebeldom 
of  the  other  day  ;  never  mind  about  his  being  angry  that  his 
presents  were  returned — of  course  anybody  would  be  angry, 
much  more  such  a  high-spirited  lad  as  Harry  !  Never  m.incl 
about  our  being  so  poor,  and  wanting  all  our  sjDare  money  for 
the  boys  at  college  ;  there  7?iust  be  some  way  of  getting  him  out 
of  the  scrape.  Did  you  not  get  Charles  Watkins  out  of  the 
scrape  two  years  ago  ;  and  did  he  not  pay  you  back  every  half-- 
penny  ?  Yes  ;  and  you  made  a  whole  family  happy,  blessed  be 
God  !  and  Mrs.  Watkins  prays  for  you  and  blesses  you  to  this 
very  day,  and  I  think  everything  has  prospered  with  us  since. 
And  I  have  no  doubt  it  has  made  you  a  major-general — no 
earthly  doubt,"  says  the  fond  wife. 

Now,  as  Martin  Lambert  requires  very  little  persuasion  to 
do  a  kind  action,  he  in  this  instance  lets  himself  be  persuaded 
easily  enough,  and  having  made  up  his  mind  to  seek  for.  friend 
James  Wolfe,  and  give  bail  for  Harry,  he  takes  his  leave  and 
his  hat,  and  squeezes  Theo's  hand,  who  seems  to  divine  his 
errand  (or  perhaps  that  silly  mamma  has  blabbed  it),  and 
kisses  little  Hetty's  flushed  cheek,  and  away  he  goes  out  of 
the  apartment  where  the  girls  and  their  mother  are  sitting, 
though  he  is  followed  out  of  the  room  by  the  latter. 

When  she  is  alone  with  him,  that  enthusiastic  matron  can- 
not control  her  feelings  any  longer.  She  flings  her  arms  round 
her  husband's  neck,  kisses  him  a  hundred  and  twenty-five  times 
in  an  instant — calls  God  to  bless  him — cries  plentifully  on  his 
shoulder ;  and  in  this  sentimental  attitude  is  discovered  by  old 
Mrs.  Quiggett,  my  lord's  housekeeper,  who  is  bustling  about 
the  house,  and,  I  suppose,  is  quite  astounded  at  the  conjugal 
phenomenon. 

"We  have  had  a  tiff,  and  we  are  making  it  up  !  Don't  tell 
tales  out  of  school,  Mrs.  Quiggett !  "  says  the  gentleman, 
walking  oft'. 

"Well,  I  never!  "  says  Mrs.  Quiggett,  with  a  shrill,  strident 
laugh,  like  a  venerable  old  cockatoo — which  white,  hook-nosed, 
long-lived  bird  Mrs.  Quiggett  strongly  resembles.  "  Well,  I 
never !  "  says  Quiggett,  laughing  and  shaking  her  old  sides  till 
all  her  keys,  and,  as  one  may  fancy,  her  old  ribs  clatter  and 
jingle. 

"  Oh,  Quiggett  I  "  sobs  out  Mrs.  Lambert,  "  what  a  man 
that  is ! " 


42  2 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


"  You've  been  a  quarrelling,  have  yoU;  mum,  and  making  it 
up  ?     That's  right." 

"  Quarrel  with  hhn  ?  He  never  told  a  greater  story.  My 
General  is  an  angel,  Quiggett.  I  should  like  to  worship  him. 
I  should  like  to  fall  down  at  his  boots  and  kiss  'em,  I  should ! 
There  never  was  a  man  so  good  as  my  General.  What  have  I 
done  to  have  such  a  man  ?  How  da?-e  I  have  such  a  good 
husband  ?  " 

''  My  dear,  I  think  there's  a  pair  of  you,"  says  the  old 
cockatoo  ;  "  and  what  would  you  like  for  your  supper  ?  " 

''  When  Lambert  comes  back  very  late  to  that  meal,  and 
tells  what  has  happened,  how  Harry  is  free,  and  how  his 
brother  has  come  to  life,  and  rescued  him,  you  may  fancy  what 
a  commotion  the  whole  of  those  people  are  in  !  If  Mrs.  Lam- 
bert's General  was  an  angel  before,  what  is  he  now  !  If  she 
wanted  to  embrace  his  boots  in  the  morning,  pray  what  further 
office  of  wallowing  degradation  would  she  prefer  in  the  even- 
ing.?  Little  Hetty  comes  and  nestles  up  to  her  father  quite 
silent,  and  drinks  a  little  drop  out  of  his  glass.  Theo's  and 
mamma's  faces  beam  with  happiness,  like  two  moons  of  bright- 
ness. =*  *  *  *  After  supper,  those  four  at  a  certain  signal  fall 
down  on  their  knees — glad  homage  paying  in  awful  mirth — 
rejoicing,  and  with  such  pure  joy  as  angels  do,  we  read,  for  the 
sinner  that  repents.  There  comes  a  great  knocking  at  the 
door  whilst  they  are  so  gathered  together.  Who  can  be  there  .? 
My  lord  is  in  the  country  miles  off.  It  is  past  midnight  now ; 
so  late  have  they  been,  so  long  have  they  been  talking  !  I 
think  Mrs.  Lambert  guesses  who  is  there. 

"This  is  George,"  says  a  young  gentleman,  leading  in 
another.  "  We  have  been  to  Aunt  Bernstein.  We  couldn't 
go  to  bed.  Aunt  Lambert,  without  coming  to   thank  you  too. 

You  dear,  dear,  good "     There  is  no  more  speech  audible. 

Aunt  Lambert  is  kissing  Harry,  Theo  has  snatched  up  Hetty, 
who  is  as  pale  as  death,  and  is  hugging  her  into  life  again. 
George  Warrington  stands  with  his  hat  off,  and  then  (when 
Harry's  transaction  is  concluded)  goes  up  and  kisses  Mrs. 
Lambert's  hand :  the  General  passes  his  across  his  eyes.  I 
protest  they  are  all  in  a  ver}- tender  and  happy  state.  Generous 
hearts  sometimes  feel  it,  when  Wrong  is  forgiven,  when  Peace 
is  restored,  when  Love  returns  that  had  been  thought  lost. 

"  We  came  from  Aunt  Bernstein's  ;  we  saw  lights  here,  you 
see  :  we  couldn't  go  to  sleep  without  saying  good-night  to  you 
all,"  says  Harry.     ''  Could  we,  George  .?  " 


THE    VIRGINIANS. 


423 


"  'Tis  certainly  a  famous  nightcap  you  have  brought  us, 
boys,"  says  the  General.  "  When  are  you  to  come  and  dine 
with  us  ?  To-morrow  ?  "  No,  they  must  go  to  Madame  Bern- 
stein's to-morrow.  The  next  day,  then  ?  Yes,  they  would  come 
the  next  day — and  that  is  the  very  day  we  are  writing  about  : 
and  this  is  the  very  dinner  at  which,  in  the  room  of  Lieutenant- 
Colonel  James  Wolfe,  absent  on  private  affairs,  my  gracious 
reader  has  just  been  invited  to  sit  down. 

To  sit  down,  and  why,  if  you  please  ?  Not  to  a  mere  Barme- 
cide dinner — no,  no — but  to  hear  Mr.  George  Esmond  War- 
rington's Statement,  which  of  course  he  is  going  to  make. 
Here  they  all  sit — not  in  my  lord's  grand  dining-room,  you 
know,  but  in  the  snug  study  or  parlor  in  front.  The  cloth  has 
been  withdrawn,  the  General  has  given  the  King's  health,  the 
servants  have  left  the  room,  the  guests  sit  conticent,  and  so, 
after  a  little  hemming  and  blushing,  Mr.  George  proceeds  : — 

"  I  remember,  at  the  table  of  our  General,  how  the  little 
Philadelphia  agent,  whose  wit  and  shrewdness  we  had  remarked 
at  home,  made  the  very  objections  to  the  conduct  of  the  cam- 
paign of  which  its  disastrous  issue  showed  the  justice.  '  Of 
course,'  says  he,  '  your  Excellency's  troops  once  before  Fort 
Duquesne,  such  a  weak  little  place  will  never  be  able  to  resist 
such  a  general,  such  an  army,  such  artillery,  as  will  there  be 
found  attacking  it.  But  do  you  calculate,  sir,  on  the  difficulty 
of  reaching  the  place  ?  Your  Excellency's  march  will  be 
through  woods  almost  untrodden,  over  roads  which  you  will 
have  to  make  yourself,  and  your  line  will  be  some  four  miles 
long.  This  slender  line  having  to  make  its  way  through  the 
forest,  will  be  subject  to  endless  attacks  in  front,  in  rear,  in 
fiank,  by  enemies  whom  you  will  never  see,  and  whose  constant 
practice  in  war  is  the  dexterous  laying  of  ambuscades.' — '  Psha, 
sir !  '  says  the  General,  '  the  savages  may  frighten  your  raw 
American  militia  '  (Thank  your  Excellency  for  the  compliment, 
Mr.  Washington  seems  to  say,  who  is  sitting  at  the  table),  'but 
the  Indians  will  never  make  any  impression  on  his  Majesty's 
regular  troops.' — '  I  heartily  hope  not,  sir,'  says  Mr.  Franklin, 
with  a  sigh ;  and  of  course  the  gentlemen  of  the  General's 
family  sneered  at  the  jDostmaster,  as  at  a  pert  civilian  who  had 
no  call  to  be  giving  his  opinion  on  matters  entirely  beyond  his 
comprehension. 

"We  despised  the  Indians  on  our  own  side,  and  our  com- 
mander made  light  of  them  and  their  service.  Our  officers  dis- 
gusted the  chiefs  who  were  with  us  by  outrageous  behavior  to  their 
women.     There  were  not  above  seven  or  eight  who  remained 


424 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


with  our  force.  Had  we  had  a  couple  of  hundred  in  our  front 
on  that  fatal  9th  of  July,  the  event  of  the  day  must  have  been 
very  different.  They  would  have  flung  off  the  attack  of  the 
French  Indians ;  they  would  have  prevented  the  surprise  and 
panic  which  ensued.  'Tis  known  now  that  the  French  had  even 
got  ready  to  gi\e  up  their  fort,  never  dreaming  of  the  possi- 
bility of  a  defence,  and  that  the  French  Indians  themselves 
remonstrated  against  the  audacity  of  attacking  such  an  over- 
whelming force  as  ours. 

"  I  was  with  our  General  with  the  main  body  of  the  troops 
when  the  firing  began  in  front  of  us,  and  one  aide-de-camp  after 
another  was  sent  forwards.  At  first  the  enemy's  attack  was 
answered  briskly  by  our  own  advanced  people,  and  our  men 
huzzaed  and  cheered  with  good  heart.  But  very  soon  our  fire 
grew  slacker,  whilst  from  behind  every  tree  and  bush  round 
about  us  came  single  shots,  which  laid  man  after  man  low.  We 
were  marching  in  orderly  line,  the  skirmishers  in  front,  the 
colors  and  two  of  our  small  guns  in  the  centre,  the  baggage 
well  guarded  bringing  up  the  rear,  and  were  moving  over  a 
ground  which  was  open  and  clear  for  a  mile  or  two,  and  for 
some  half  mile  in  breadth,  a  thick  tangled  covert  of  brushwood 
and  trees  on  either  side  of  us.  After  the  firing  had  continued 
for  some  brief  time  in  front,  it  opened  from  both  sides  of  the 
environing  wood  on  our  advancing  column.  The  men  dropped 
rapidly,  the  ofircers  in  greater  number  than  the  men.  At  first, 
as  I  said,  these  cheered  and  answered  the  enemy's  fire,  our  guns 
even  opening  on  the  wood,  and  seeming  to  silence  the  French 
in  ambuscade  there.  But  the  hidden  rifle-firing  began  again. 
Our  men  halted,  huddled  up  together,  in  spite  of  the  shouts 
and  orders  of  the  General  and  officers  to  advance,  and  fired 
wildly  into  the  brushwood — of  course  making  no  impression. 
Those  in  advance  came  running  back  on  the  main  body  fright- 
ened, and  many  of  them  wounded.  They  reported  there  were 
five  thousand  Frenchmen  and  a  legion  of  yelling  Indian  devils 
in  front,  who  were  scalping  our  people  as  they  fell.  We  could 
hear  their  cries  from  the  wood  around  as  our  men  dropped 
under  their  rifles.  There  was  no  inducing  the  people  to  go  for- 
ward now.  One  aide-de-camp  after  another  was  sent  forv/ard, 
and  never  returned.  At  last  it  came  to  be  my  turn,  and  I  was 
sent  with  a  message  to  Captain  Fraser  of  Halkett's  in  front, 
which  he  was  never  to  recei\e  nor  I  to  deliver. 

"  I  had  not  gone  thirty  yards  in  advance  when  a  rifle-ball 
struck  my  leg,  and  I  fell  straightway  to  the  ground.  I  recol- 
lect a  rush  forward  of  Indians  and  Frenchmen  after  that,  the 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  425 

former  crying  their  fiendish  war-cries,  the  latter  as  fierce  as 
their  savage  alUes.  I  was  amazed  and  mortified  to  see  how  few 
of  the  white-coats  there  were.  Not  above  a  score  passed  me ; 
indeed  there  were  not  fifty  in  the  accursed  action  in  which  two 
of  the  bravest  regiments  of  the  British  arr^iy  were  put  to  rout. 

"  One  of  tliem,  who  was  half  Indian  half  Frenchman,  with 
moccasins  and  a  white  uniform  coat  and  cockade,  seeing  me 
prostrate  on  the  ground,  turned  back  and  ran  towards  me,  his 
musket  clubbed  over  his  head  to  dash  my  brains  out  and  plun- 
der me  as  I  lay.  I  had  my  little  fusil  which  my  Harry  gave 
me  when  I  went  on  the  campaign ;  it  had  fallen  by  me  and 
within  my  reach,  luckily  :  I  seized  it  and  down  fell  the  French- 
man dead  at  six  yards  before  me.  I  was  saved  for  that  time, 
but  bleeding  from  my  wound  and  very  faint.  I  swooned  almost 
in  trying  to  load  my  piece,  and  it  dropped  from  my  hand,  and 
the  hand  itself  sank  lifeless  to  the  ground. 

"  I  was  scarcely  in  my  senses,  the  yells  and  shots  ringing 
dimly  in  my  ears,  when  I  saw  an  Indian  before  me,  busied  over 
the  iDody  of  the  Frenchman  I  had  just  shot,  but  glancing  to- 
wards me  as  I  lay  on  the  ground  bleeding.  He  first  rifled  the 
Frenchman,  tearing  open  his  coat,  and  feeling  in  his  pockets  : 
he  then  scalped  him,  and  with  his  bleeding  knife  in  his  mouth 
advanced  towards  me.  I  saw  him  coming  as  through  a  film,  as 
in  a  dream — I  was  powerless  to  move,  or  to  resist  him. 

"  He  put  his  knee  upon  my  chest :  with  one  bloody  hand 
he  seized  my  long  hair  and  lifted  my  head  from  the  ground, 
and  as  he  lifted  it,  he  enabled  me  to  see  a  French  officer  rap- 
idly advancing  behind  him. 

"  Good  God  !  It  was  young  Florae,  who  was  my  second  in 
the  duel  at  Quebec.  'A  moi.  Florae!'  I  cried  out.  '  C'est 
Georges  !  aide  moi ! ' 

"  He  started  ;  ran  up  to  me  at  the  cry,  laid  his  hand  on  the 
Indian's  shoulder,  and  called  him  to  hold.  But  the  savage 
did  not  understand  French,  or  choose  to  understand  it.  He 
clutched  my  hair  firmer,  and  waving  his  dripping  knife  round 
it,  motioned  to  the  French  lad  to  leave  him  to  his  prey.  I 
could  only  cry  out  again  and  piteously,  *  h.  moi  ! ' 

"  '  Ah,  canaille,  tu  veux  du  sang  ?  Prends  ! '  said  Florae, 
with  a  curse  ;  and  the  next  moment,  and  with  an  ugh.,  the  In- 
dian fell  over  my  chest  dead,  with  Florae's  sword  through  his 
body. 

"  My  friend  looked  round  him.  '  Eh  !  '  says  he,  '  la  belle 
affaire  !  Where  art  thou  v/ounded,  in  the  leg  ? '  He  bound  my 
leg  tight  ro^nd  with  his  sash.     '  The  others  will  kill  thee  if  they 


42  6  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

find  thee  here.  Ah,  tiens !  Put  me  on  this  coat,  and  this  hat 
with  the  white  cockade.  Call  out  in  French  if  any  of  our  peo- 
ple pass.  They  will  take  thee  for  one  of  us.  Thou  art  Brunet 
of  the  Quebec  Volunteers.  God  guard  thee,  Brunet !  I  must 
go  forward.  'Tis  a  general  de'bacle,  and  the  whole  of  your  red- 
coats are  on  the  run,  my  poor  boy.'  Ah,  what  a  rout  it  was  ! 
What  a  day  of  disgrace  for  England  ! 

"  Florae's  rough  application  stopped  the  bleeding  of  my  leg, 
and  the  kind  creature  helped  me  to  rest  against  a  tree,  and  to 
load  my  fusil,  which  he  placed  within  reach  of  me,  to  protect 
me  in  case  any  other  marauder  should  have  a  mind  to  attack 
me.  And  he  gave  me  the  gourd  of  that  unlucky  French  sol- 
dier, who  had  lost  his  own  life  in  the  deadly  game  which  he 
had  just  played  against  me,  and  the  drink  the  gourd  contained 
served  greatly  to  refresh  and  invigorate  me.  Taking  a  mark 
of  the  tree  against  which  I  lay,  and  noting  the  various  bearing 
of  the  country,  so  as  to  be  able  again  to  find  me,  the  young  lad 
hastened  on  to  the  front.  '  Thou  seest  how  much  I  love  thee, 
George,'  he  said,  'that  I  stay  behind  in  a  moment  like  this.'  I 
forget  whether  I  told  thee,  Harry,  that  Florae  was  under  some 
obligation  to  me.  I  had  won  money  of  him  at  cards,  at  Quebec 
— only  playing  at  his  repeated  entreaty — and  there  was  a  diffi- 
culty about  paying,  and  I  remitted  his  debt  to  me,  and  lighted 
my  pipe  with  his  note-of-hand.  You  see,  sir,  that  you  are  not 
the  only  gambler  in  the  family. 

"  At  evening,  when  the  dismal  pursuit  was  over,  the  faithful 
fellow  came  back  to  me,  with  a  couple  of  Indians,  who  had 
each  reeking  scalps  at  their  belts,  and  whom  he  informed  that 
I  was  a  Frenchman,  his  brother,  who  had  been  wounded  early 
in  the  day,  and  must  be  carried  back  to  the  fort.  They  laid  me 
in  one  of  their  blankets,  and  carried  me,  groaning,  with  the 
trusty  Florae  by  my  side.  Had  he  left  me,  they  would  assur- 
edly have  laid  me  down,  plundered  me,  and  added  my  hair  to 
that  of  the  wretches  whose  bleeding  spoils  hung  at  their  girdles. 
He  promised  them  brandy  at  the  fort,  if  they  brought  me  safely 
there.  I  have  but  a  dim  recollection  of  the  journey :  the  an- 
guish of  my  wound  was  extreme  :  I  fainted  more  than  once. 
We  came  to  the  end  of  our  march  at  last.  I  was  taken  into  the 
fort,  and  carried  to  the  officer's  log-house,  and  laid  upon 
Florae's  own  bed. 

"  Happy  for  me  was  my  insensibility.  I  had  been  brought 
into  the  fort  as  a  wounded  French  soldier  of  the  garrison.  I 
heard  afterwards,  that,  during  my  delirium,  the  few  prisoners 
who  had  been  made  on  the  day  of  our  disaster,  had  been  brought 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  427 

under  the  walls  of  Duquesne  by  their  savage  captors,  and  there 
horribly  burned,  tortured,  and  butchered  by  the  Indians,  under 
the  eyes  of  the  garrison." 

As  George  speaks,  one  may  fancy  a  thrill  of  horror  running 
through  his  sympathizing  audience.  Theo  takes  Hetty's  hand, 
and  looks  at  George  in  a  very  alarmed  manner.  Harry  strikes 
his  fist  upon  the  table,  and  cries,  "  The  bloody,  murderous,  red- 
skinned  villains  !  There  will  never  be  peace  for  us  imtil  they 
are  all  hunted  down  !  " 

"  They  were  offering  a  hundred  and  thirty  dollars  a-piece 
for  Indian  scalps  in  Pennsylvania  when  I  left  home,"  says 
George,  demurely,  "  and  fifty  for  women." 

"  Fifty  for  women,  my  love  !  Do  you  hear  that,  Mrs.  Lam- 
bert ?  "  cries  the  Colonel,  lifting  up  his  wife's  hair. 

"  The  murderous  villains  !  "  cries  Harry,  again,  ''  Hunt  'em 
down,  sir  !     Hunt  'em  down  !  " 

"I  know  not  how  long  I  lay  in  my  fever,"  George  resumed. 
"  When  I  awoke  to  my  senses,  my  dear  Florae  was  gone.  He 
and  his  company  had  been  despatched  on  an  enterprise  against 
an  English  fort  on  the  Pennsylvanian  territory,  which  the  French 
claimed,  too.  In  Duquesne,  when  I  came  to  be  able  to  ask  and 
understand  what  was  said  to  me,  there  were  not  above  thirty 
Europeans  left.  The  place  might  have  been  taken  over  and 
over  again,  had  any  of  our  people  had  the  courage  to  return 
after  their  disaster. 

"  My  old  enemy  the  ague-fever  set  in  again  upon  me  as  I  lay 
here  by  the  river-side.  'Tis  a  wonder  how  I  ever  survived. 
But  for  the  goodness  of  a  half-breed  woman  in  the  fort,  who  took 
pity  on  me,  and  tended  me,  I  never  should  have  recovered,  and 
my  poor  Harry  would  be  what  he  fancied  himself  yesterday, 
our  grandfather's  heir,  our  mother's  only  son. 

"  I  remembered  how,  when  Florae  laid  me  in  his  bed,  he  put 
under  my  pillow  my  money,  my  watch,  and  a  trinket  or  two 
which  I  had.  When  I  woke  to  myself  these  were  all  gone  ;  and 
a  surly  old  sergeant,  the  only  officer  left  in  the  quarter,  told 
me,  with  a  curse,  that  I  was  lucky  enough  to  be  left  with  my 
life  at  all  ;  that  it  was  only  my  white  cockade  and  coat  had 
saved  me  from  the  fate  which  the  other  canaille  of  Rosbifs  had 
deservedly  met  with. 

"  At  the  time  of  my  recovery  the  fort  was  almost  emptied  of 
the  garrison.  The  Indians  had  retired  enriched  with  British 
plunder,  and  the  chief  part  of  the  French  regulars  were  gone 
upon  expeditions  northward.  My  good  Florae  had  left  me  upon 
his  service,  consigning  me  to  the  care  of  an  invalided  sergeant. 


428  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

Monsieur  de  Contrecoeur  had  accompanied  one  of  tliese  expedi- 
tions, leaving  an  old  lieutenant,  Aluseau  by  name,  in  command 
at  Duquesne. 

"  This  man  had  long  been  out  of  France,  and  serving  in  the 
colonies.  His  character,  doubtless,  had  been  indifferent  at 
home ;  and  he  knew  that,  according  to  the  system  pursued  in 
France,  where  almost  all  promotion  is  given  to  the  noblesse,  he 
never  woyld  advance  in  rank.  And  he  had  made  free  with  my 
guineas,  I  supjDose,  as  he  had  with  my  watch,  for  I  saw  it  one 
day  on  his  chest  when  I  was  sitting  with  him  in  his  quarter. 

"  Monsieur  Museau  and  I  managed  to  be  pretty  good  friends. 
If  I  could  be  exchanged  or  sent  home,  I  told  him  that  my 
mother  would  pay  liberally  for  my  ransom  ;  and  I  suppose  this 
idea  excited  the  cupidity  of  the  commandant,  for  a  trapper 
coming  in  the  winter,  whilst  I  still  lay  very  ill  with  fever,  Museau 
consented  that  I  should  write  home  to  my  mother,  but  that  the 
letter  should  be  in  French,  that  he  should  see  it^  and  that  I 
should  say  I  was  in  the  hands  of  the  Indians,  and  should  not 
be  ransomed  under  ten  thousand  livres. 

"  In  vain  I  said  I  was  a  prisoner  to  the  troops  of  His  Most 
Christian  Majesty,  that  I  expected  the  treatment  of  a  gentleman 
and  an  officer.  Museau  swore  that  letter  should  go,  and  no 
other;  that  if  I  hesitated,  he  would  fling  me  out  of  the  fort,  or 
hand  me  over  to  the  tender  mercies  of  his  ruffian  Indian  allies. 
He  would  not  let  the  trapper  communicate  with  me  except  in  his 
presence.  Life  and  liberty  are  sweet.  I  resisted  for  a  while, 
but  I  was  pulled  down  with  weakness,  and  shuddering  with 
fever  ;  I  wrote  such  a  letter  as  the  rascal  consented  to  let  pass, 
and  the  trapper  went  away  with  my  missive,  which  he  promised, 
in  three  weeks,  to  deliver  to  my  mother  in  Virginia. 

"  Three  wrecks,  six,  twelve,  passed.  The  messenger  never 
returned.  The  winter  came  and  went,  and  all  our  little  plan- 
tations round  the  fort,  where  the  French  soldiers  had  cleared 
corn-ground,  and  planted  gardens  and  peach  and  apple-trees 
down  to  the  Monongahela,  were  in  full  blossom.  Heaven 
knows  how  I  crept  through  the  weary  time  !  When  I  was 
pretty  well,  I  made  drawings  of  the  soldiers  of  the  garrison, 
and  of  the  half-breed  and  her  child  (Museau's  child),  and  of 
Museau  himself,  whom,  I  am  ashamed  to  say,  I  flattered  out- 
rageously;  and  there  was  an  old  guitar  le^t  in  the  fort,  and  I 
sang  to  it,  and  played  on  it  some  French  airs  which  I  knew, 
and  ingratiated  myself  as  best  I  could  with  my  jailers  ;  and 
so  the  w^eary  months  passed,  but  the  messenger  never  re- 
turned. 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  429 

*'  At  last  news  arrived  that  he  had  been  shot  by  some 
British  Indians  in  Maryland  ;  so  there  was  an  end  of  my  hope 
of  ransom  for  some  months  more.  This  made  Museau  very 
savage  and  surly  towards  me  ;  the  more  so  as  his  sergeant 
inflamed  his  rage  by  telling  him  that  the  Indian  woman  was 
partial  to  me — as  I  believe,  poor  thing,  she  was.  I  was  always 
gentle  with  her  and  grateful  to  her.  My  small  accomplish- 
ments  seemed  wonders  in  her  eyes  ;  I  was  ill  and  unhappy, 
too,  and  these  are  always  claims  to  a  woman's  affection. 

"  A  captive  pulled  down  by  malady,  a  ferocious  jailer,  and 
a  young  woman  touched  by  the  prisoner's  misfortunes — sure 
you  expect  that,  with  these  three  prime  characters  in  a  piece, 
some  pathetic  tragedy  is  going  to  be  enacted  ?  You,  Miss 
Hetty,  are  about  to  guess  that  the  woman  saved  me  ? " 

"  Why,  of  course,  she  did  !  "  cries  mamma. 

"  What  else  is  she  good  for  ?  "  says  Hett}^ 

"  You,  Miss  Theo,  have  painted  her  already  as  a  dark 
beauty — is  it  not  so  ?     A  swift  huntress —  .''  " 

"  Diana  with  a  baby,"  says  the  Colonel. 

"  Who  scours  the  plains  with  her  nymphs,  who  brings  down 
the  game  with  her  unerring  bow,  who  is  Queen  of  the  forest — 
and  I  see  by  your  looks  that  you  think  I  am  madly  in  love  with 
her  ? " 

"  Well,  I  suppose  she  is  an  interesting  creature,  Mr. 
George  ?  "  says  Theo,  with  a  blush! 

"  What  think  you  of  a  dark  beauty  the  color  of  new 
mahogany  ?  with  long  straight  black-  hair,  which  was  usually 
dressed  with  a  hair-oil  or  pomade  by  no  means  pleasant  to 
approach,  with  little  eyes,  with  high  cheek-bones,  with  a  flat 
nose,  sometimes  ornamented  with  a  ring,  with  rows  of  glass 
beads  round  her  tawny  throat,  her  cheeks  and  forehead  grace- 
fully tatooed,  a  great  love  of  flnery,  and  inordinate  passion  for 
— oh  !  must  I  own  it  ?  " 

"  For  coquetr}\  I  know  you  are  going  to  say  that !  "  says 
Miss  Hetty. 

"  For  whiskey,  my  dear  Miss  Hester — in  which  appetite  my 
jailer  partook  ;  so  that  I  have  often  sat  by,  on  the  nights 
when  I  was  in  favor  with  Monsieur  Museau,  and  seen  him  and 
his  poor  companion  hob-and-nobbing  together  until  they  could 
scarce  hold  the  noggin  out  of  which  they  drank.  In  these 
evening  entertainments,  they  would  sing,  they  would  dance, 
they  would  fondle,  they  would  quarrel,  and  knock  the  cans  and 
furniture  about ;  and,  when  I  was  in  favor,  I  was  admitted  to 
share  their    society,  for  Mouseau,    jealous  of    his  dignity,    01 


43 o  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

not  willing  that  bis  men  should  witness  his  behavior,   would 
allow  none  of  them  to  be  familiar  with  him. 

"  Whilst  the  result  of  the  trapper's  mission  to  my  home  was 
yet  uncertain,  and  Museau  and  I  myself  expected  the  pay- 
ment of  my  ransom,  I  was  treated  kindly  enough,  allowed  to 
crawl  about  the  fort,  and  even  to  go  into  the  adjoining  fields 
and  gardens,  always  keeping  my  parole,  and  duly  returning 
before  gun-fire.  And  I  exercised  a  piece  of  hypocrisy,  for 
which,  I  hope,  you  will  hold  me  excused.  When  my  leg  was 
sound  (the  ball  came  out  in  the  winter,  after  some  pain  and 
inflammation,  and  the  wound  healed  up  presently),  I  yet  chose 
to  walk  as  if  I  was  disabled  and  a  cripple  ;  I  hobbled  on  two 
sticks,  and  cried  Ah !  and  Oh !  at  every  minute,  hoping  that  a 
day  might  come  when  I  might  treat  my  limbs  to  a  run. 

"  Museau  was  very  savage  when  he  began  to  give  up  all 
hopes  of  the  first  messenger.  He  fancied  that  the  man  might 
have  got  the  ransom-money  and  fled  with  it  himself.  Of 
course  he  was  prepared  to  disown  any  part  in  the  transaction, 
should  my  letter  be  discovered.  His  treatment  of  me  varied 
according  to  his  hopes  or  fears,  or  even  his  mood  for  the  time 
being.  He  would  have  me  confined  to  m}^  quarters  for  several 
days  at  a  time ;  then  invite  me  to  his  tipsy  supper-table,  quarrel 
with  me  there  and  abuse  my  nation  ;  or  again  break  out  into 
maudlin  sentimentalities  about  his  native  country  of  Normandy, 
where  he  longed  to  spend  his  old  age,  to  buy  a  field  or  two, 
and  to  die  happy. 

"  '  Eh,  Monsieur  Museau  !  '  says  I,  '  ten  thousand  livres  of 
your  money  would  buy  a  pretty  field  or  two  in  your  native 
country  ?  You  can  have  it  for  a  ransom  of  me,  if  you  will  but 
let  me  go.  In  a  few  months  you  must  be  superseded  in  your 
command  here,  and  then  adieu  the  crowns  and  the  fields  in 
Normandy  !  You  had  better  trust  a  gentleman  and  a  man  of 
honor.  Let  me  go  home,  and  I  give  you  my  word  the  ten 
thousand  livres  shall  be  paid  to  any  agent  you  may  appoint  in 
France  or  in  Quebec' 

"  '  Ah,  young  traitor  ! '  roars  he,  '  do  you  wish  to  tamper 
with  my  honor  ?  Do  you  believe  an  officer  of  France  will  take 
a  bribe  ?  I  have  a  mind  to  consign  thee  to  my  black-hole,  and 
to  have  thee  shot  in  the  morning.' 

"  '  My  poor  body  will  never  fetch  ten  thousand  livres,'  says 
I ;  '  and  a  pretty  field  in  Normandy  with  a  cottage  *  =*^  *  ' 

"  '  And  an  orchard.     Ah,  sacre  bleu  !  '  says  Museau,  whim- 
pering, '  and  a  dish  of  tripe  a  la  mode  du  pays  t  *  *  *  *  ' 
"  This   talk   happened  between   us    again  and  again,   and 


THE   VIRGIN-TANS. 

43  T 

Museau  would  order  me  to  my  quarters,  and  then  ask  me  to 
supper  the  next  night,  and  return  to  the  subject  of  Normandy 
and  cider,  and  tripes  a  la  mode  de  Caen.  My  friend  is  dead 
now —  -^ 

;^'  He  was  hung,  I  trust  ?  "  breaks  in  Colonel  Lambert 
,  ,  —^^^"-^  ^  "^^,^^  keep  no  secret  about  him.  Ladies,  I  wish  I 
had  to  offer  you  the  account  of  a  dreadful  and  tragical  escape  • 
how  I  slew  all  the  sentinels  of  the  fort ;  filed  through  the  prison 
windows,  destroyed  a  score  or  so  of  watchful  d?agons,  over- 
came a  million  of  dangers,  and  finally  effected  mv  freedom 
Bu  ,  in  regard  of  tnat  matter,  I  have  no  heroic  deeds  to  tell  of' 
and  own  that,  by  bribery  and  no  other  means,  I  am  where  I 
am. 

„J'^"' 7°".  """"'"'  l'^?  /°"ght.  Georgy,  if  need  were,"  says 
Harry;  "and  you  couldn't  conquer  a  whole  garrison,  you 
know?"     And  herewith  Mr.  Harry  blushed  very  much     ^ 

bee  the  women,  how  disappointed  they  are  i  "  savs  Lam- 
Z\    ^'f-.^r*^?''  '™"  "^'""d-thirsty  woman,  own  that  you 
are  baulked  of  a  battle  ;  and  look  at  Hetty,  quite  angry  because 
Mr.  George  did  not  shoot  the  commandant" 
Hett7°lTff   ''"   7^'?""g   yourself,  papa  .."cries  Miss 
<h      T  ,       I  '"'■''  ^  "■'"''  anything  my  papa  wishes." 
Nay,  ladies,    says   George,  turning  a  little   red,  "  to  wink 
at  a  prisoners  escape  was  not  a  very  monstrous  crime  :  and  to 
take  money?     Sure  other  folks  besides  Frenchmen  have  con 
descended  to  a  bribe  before  now.     Although  Monsieur  Museau 
set  me  free,  I  am  inclined,  for  my  part,  to  forgive  him      WilTk 
please  you   to  hear  how  that  business  was^'done?     You  see 
Miss  Hetty,  I  cannot  help  being  alive  to  tell  it  " 

"  Oh    George  !— that  is,  I  mean,  Mr.  Warrington  !— that  is 

I  mean,  I  beg  your  pardon  !  "  cries  Hester  ' 

"  No  pardon,  my  dear  !     I  never  uas  angry  yet  or  surprised 

erves'TlMhel-?""  ';,'"  "^^  "^^'"^  better%L'n  me.  S"  le 
serves  all  the  hking  that  any  man  or  woman  can  give  him 
See,  It  IS  !m  turn  to  blush  now,"  says  Geor<.e 

"Go  on  Georgy,  and  tell  them  about"  the  escape  out  of 
Duquesne!"  cries  Harry,  and  he  said  to  Mrs.  Lamb'lrt  after- 
ward ,n  confidence,  "  You  know  he  is  always  going  on  savin, 
ha  I  am°bf  ;  T'' ,'°  '^"^^  ^°"'^  '°  ''f<=  4,^^^,  A  declarinl 
GeorL  Mrf  r  "?'" 'f  ''•  ^"'^^  '^^^  °^  '">■  ^ei".?  better  than 
absurf  1 "  ^  P"""  ^"t'-^^'^'g^nt  fellow  li'ke  me  i     It's 


THE   VIRGINIAN'S. 


CHAPTER   LII. 

INTENTIQUE    ORA    TENEBANT, 

We  continued  for  months  our  weary  life  at  the  fort,  and  the 
commandant  and  I  had  our  quarrels  and  reconciliations,  our 
greasy  games  at  cards,  our  dismal  duets  with  his  asthmatic 
flute  and  my  cracked  guitar.  The  poor  Fawn  took  her  beatings 
and  her  cans  of  liquor  as  her  lord  and  master  chose  to  ad- 
minister them  ;  and  she  nursed  her  papoose,  or  her  master  in 
the  gout,  or  her  prisoner  in  the  ague';  and  so  matters  went  on 
until  the  beginning  of  the  fall  of  last  year,  when  we  were  visited 
by  a  hunter  who  had  important  news  to  deliver  to  the  comman- 
dant and  such  as  set  the  little  garrison  in  no  little  excitement. 
The  Marquis  de  Montcalm  had  sent  a  considerable  detachment 
to  garrison  the  forts  already  in  the  French  hands,  and  to  take 
up  farther  positions  in  the  enemy's — that  is,  in  the  British — 
possessions.  The  troops  had  left  Quebec  and  Montreal,  and 
were  coming  up  the  St.  Lawrence  and  the  lakes  in  bateaux, 
with  artillery  and  large  provisions  of  warlike  and  other  stores. 
Museau  would  be  superseded  in  his  command  by  an  officer  of 
superior  rank,  who  might  exchange  me,  or  who  might  give  me 
up  to  the  Indians  in  reprisal  for  cruelties  practised  by  our  own 
people  on  many  and  many  an  officer  and  soldier  of  the  enemy. 
The  men  of  the  fort  were  eager  for  the  reinforcements ;  they 
would  advance  into  Pennsylvania  and  New  York ;  they  would 
seize  upon  Albany  and  Philadelphia  ;  they  would  drive  the 
Rosbifs  into  the  sea,  and  all  America  should  be  theirs  from  the 
Mississippi  to  Newfoundland. 

"  This  was  all  very  triumphant  :  but  yet,  somehow,  the 
prospect  of  the  French  conquest  did  not  add  to  IMr.  Museau's 
satisfaction. 

"  '  Eh,  Commandant ! '  says  I,  '  'tis  fort  bien,  but  meanwhile 
your  farm  in  Normandy,  the  pot  of  cider,  and  the  tripes  a  la 
mode  de  Caen,  where  are  they  ?  ' 

'• '  Yes  ;  'tis  all  very  well,  my  gargon,'  says  he.  '  But  where 
will  you  be  when  poor  old  Museau  is  superseded  ?  Other 
officers  are  not  good  companions  like  me.  Yery  few  men  in 
the  world  have  my  humanity.  \Mien  there  is  a  great  garrison 
here,  will  mv  successors  give  thee  the  indulgences  which  honest 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 

433 

Museau  has  omnted  thee  ?  Thou  will  l^e  kept  in  a  sty  hke  a 
pig  ready  for  kilhng-.  As  sure  as  one  of  our  officers  falls  into 
into  the  hands  of  your  brigands  of  frontiermen,  and  evil  comes 
to  hnn,.  so  surely  wilt  thou  have  to  pay  with  thy  skin  for  his 
rhou  wilt  be  given  up  to  our  red  allies— to  the  brethern  of  La 
Biche  yonder.  Didst  thou  see,  last  year,  what  they  did  to  thy 
countrymen  whom  we  took  in  the  action  with  Braddock  ?  Roast- 
B^hT^  ^^'^  ''^"^^  smallest  punishment,  ma  foi— was  it  not,  La 

"  And  he   entered  into   a  variety  of  jocular  descriptions   of 
tortures  mflicted,  eyes  burned  out  of  their  sockets,  teeth   and 

nails  wrenched  out,  limbs  and  bodies  gashed You  turn 

pale,  dear  Miss  Theo  !  Well,  I  will  have  pit)^  and  will  spare 
you  the  tortures  which  honest  Musseau  recounted  in  his  pleasant 
way  as  likely  to  befall  me. 

/'  La  Biche  was  by  no  means  so  affected  as  you  seem  to  be 
ladies,  by  the  recital  of  these  horrors.  She  had  witnessed  them 
in  her  time.  She  came  from  the  Senecas,  whose  villacres  lie 
near  the  great  cataract  between  Ontario  and  Erie  :  her  people 
made  war  for  the  English  and  against  them  :  they  had  fouHit 
widi  other  tribes  ;  and,  in  the  battles  between  us  and  them,  it  is 
difficult  to  say  whether  white-skin  or  red-skin  is  most  savage. 

Ihey  may  chop  me  into  cutlets  and  broil  me,  'tis  true 
Commandant,'  say  I  coolly.  '  But  again,  I  say,  you  will  never 
have  the  farm  m  Normandy.' 

II I  Go  get  the  whiskey-bottle.  La  Biche,  says  Museau. 

And  It  is  not  too  late,  even  now.  I  will  give  the  guide 
who  takes  me  home  a  large  reward.  And  again  I  say  I  promise 
as  a  man  of  honor,  ten  thousand  livres  to— whom  shall  I  sav  ? 
to  any  one  who  shall  bring  me  any  token— who  shall  brino-  me 
say,  my  watch  and  seal  with  my  grandfather's  arms— whTch  I 
have  seen  in  a  chest  somewhere  in  this  fort.' 

"  'Ah,  scelerat ! '  roars  out  the  commandant,  with  a  hoarse 
yell  of  laughter.  '  Thou  hast  eyes,  thou  !  All  is  good  prize  in 
w  ar. 

vi"  '  T^'?^^°^  ^  ^'"'"^^   "'  ^"^  Vi\\2.g^,  of  a  fine  field  hard  by 
fruit  ^  '        cows-of  a  fine  orchard  all  covered  with 

"  '  And  Javotte   at  the  door  with  her  wheel,  and  rascal  of  a 
child    or  two,   with  cheeks    as    red   as  the    apples!     Oh,   my 
countr>'!    Oh,  my  mother!'   whimpers   out  the   commandant. 
Quick,  La  Biche,  the  whiskey ! ' 

"All  that  night  the  commandant  was  deep  in  thought,  and 
La  Biche,  too,  silent  and  melancholy.     She  sat  away  from  us 

28  ^ 


434  'r^^E   VIRGLVIANS. 

nursing  her  child,  and  whenever  my  eyes  turned  towards  her  I 
saw  hers  were  fixed  on  me.  The  poor  Httle  infant  began  to 
cry,  and  was  ordered  away  by  Museau,  with  his  usual  foul 
language,  to  the  building  which  the  luckless  Biche  occupied 
with  her  child.  When  she  was  gone,  we  both  of  us  spoke  our 
minds  freely ;  and  I  put  such  reasons  before  Monsieur  as  his 
cupidity  could  not  resist. 

"  '  How  do  you  know,'  he  asked,  'that  this  hunter  will  serve 
you  ? '  " 

"  '  That  is  my  secret,'  says  I.  But  here,  if  you  like,  as  we 
are  not  on  honor,  I  may  tell  it.  When  they  come  into  the  set- 
tlements for  their  bargains,  the  hunters  often  stop  a  day  or  two 
for  rest  and  drink  and  company,  and  our  new  friend  loved  all 
these.  He  played  at  cards  with  the  men  :  he  set  his  furs  against 
their  liquor  :  he  enjoyed  himself  at  the  fort,  singing,  dancing, 
and  gambling  with  them.  I  think  I  said  they  liked  to  listen 
to  my  songs,  and  for  want  of  better  things  to  do,  I  was  often 
singing  and  guitar-scraping  :  and  we  would  have  many  a  concert, 
the  men  joined  in  chorus,  or  dancing  to  my  homely  music,  until 
it  was  interrupted  by  the  drums  and  the  retraite. 

"  Our  guest  the  hunter  was  present  at  one  or  two  of  these 
concerts,  and  I  thought  I  would  try  if  possibly  he  understood 
English.  After  we  had  had  our  little  stock  of  French  songs,  I 
said,  '  My  lads,  I  will  give  you  an  English  song,'  and  to  the 
tune  of  '  Over  the  hills  and  far  away,'  which  my  good  old  grand- 
father used  to  hum  as  a  favorite  air  in  Marlborough's  camp,  I 
made  some  doggerel  words  : — '  This  long,  long  year,  a  prisc?iier 
drear  ;  Ah,  me  !  I'm  tired  of  lingering  here  :  I'll  give  a  hundred 
guineas  gay.  To  be  over  the  hills  and  far  away.' 

What  is  it  ?  '  says  the  hunter.      '  I  don't  understand.' 
'Tis  a  girl  to  her  lover,'  I  answered  ;  but  I  saw  by  the 
twinkle  in  the  man's  eye  that  he  understood  me. 

"The  next  day,  when  there  were  no  men  within  hearing, 
the  trapper  showed  that  I  was  right  in  my  conjecture,  for  as  he 
passed  me  he  hummed  in  a  low  tone,  but  in  perfectly  good 
English,  '  Over  the  hills  and  faraway,'  the  burden  of  my  yester- 
day's doggerel. 

"  '  If  you  are  ready,'  says  he,  '  I  am  ready.  I  know  who 
your  people  are,  and  the  way  to  them.  Talk  to  the  Fawn,  and 
she  will  tell  you  what  to  do.  What !  You  will  not  play  with 
me  t '  Here  he  pulled  out  some  cards,  and  spoke  in  French  as 
two  soldiers  came  up.  '  Milor  est  trop  grand  seigneur  .''  Bon- 
jour,  my  lord  !  ' 

"  And  the  man  made  me  a  mock  bow,  and  walked  aw^ay 


THE    ITRGINIAXS.  ^^^ 

shrugging  up  his   shoulders,  to   offer  to   play  and   drink  else- 
where. 

"  I  knew  now  that  the  Biche  was  to  be  the  agent  in  the  af- 
fair, and  that  my  offer  to  Museau  was  accepted.  The  poor  Fawn 
performed  her  part  very  faithfully  and  dexterously.  I  had  not 
need  of  a  word  more  with  Museau  ;  the  matter  was  understood 
between  us.  The  Fawn  had  long  been  allowed  free  communica- 
tion with  me.  She  had  tended  me  during  my  wound  and  in  my 
illness,  helped  to  do  the  work  of  my  little  chamber,  my  cooking, 
and  so  forth.  She  was  free  to  go  out  of  the  fort,  as  I  have 
said,  and  to  the  river  and  the  fields  whence  the  corn  and  garden- 
stuff  of  the  little  srarrison  were  broudit  in. 

"  Having  gambled  away  most  of  the  money  which  he  re- 
ceived for  his  peltries,  the  trapper  now  got  together  his  store  of 
flints,  powder,  and  blankets,  and  took  his  leave.  And,  three 
days  after  his  departure,  the  Fawn  gave  me  the  signal  that  the 
time  was  come  for  me  to  make  my  little  trial  for  freedom. 

"  When  first  wounded,  I  had  been  taken  by  my  kind  Florae 
and  placed  on  his  bed  in  the  officer's  room.  When  the  fort 
was  emptied  of  all  officers  except  the  old  lieutenant  left  in  com- 
mand, I  had  been  allowed  to  remain  in  my  quarters,  sometimes 
being  left  pretty  free,  sometimes  being  locked  up  and  fed  on 
prisoners'  rations,  sometimes  invited  to  share  his  mess  by  my 
tipsy  jailer.  This  officer's  house,  or  room,  was  of  logs  like  the 
half-dozen  others  within  the  fort,  which  mounted  only  four  guns 
of  small  calibre,  of  which  one  was  on  the  bastion  behind  my 
cabin.  Looking  westward  over  this  gun,  you  could  see  a  small 
island  at  the  confluence  of  the  two  rivers  Ohio  and  jMonon- 
gahela  whereon  Duquesne  is  situated.  On  the  shore  opposite 
this  island  were  some  trees. 

"  '  You  see  those  trees  ?  "  my  poor  Biche  said  to  me  the  day 
before,  in  her  French  jargon.  '  He  wait  for  you  behind  those 
trees.' 

"  In  the  daytime  the  door  of  my  quarters  was  open,  and  the 
Biche  free  to  come  and  go.  On  the  day  before,  she  came  in 
from  the  fields  with  a  pick  in  her  hand  and  a  basketful  of 
vegetables  and  potherbs  for  soup.  She  sat  down  on  a  bench 
at  my  door,  the  pick  resting  against  it,  and  the  basket  at  her 
side.  I  stood  talking  to  her  for  a  while :  but  I  believe  I  was 
so  idiotic  that  I  never  should  have  thought  of  putting  the  pick 
to  any  use  had  she  not  actually  pushed  it  into  my  open  door, 
so  that  it  fell  into  my  room.  '  Hide  it,'  she  said  ;  '  want  it 
soon.'   And  that  afternoon  it  was,  she  pointed  out  the  trees  to  me 

''  On  the  next  day,  she  comes,  pretending  to  be  ver)-  angry, 


436  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

and  calls  out,  '  My  lord  !  my  lord  !  why  you  not  come  to  com- 
mandant's dinner  ?  He  very  bad  !  Entendez-vous  ? '  And 
she  peeps  into  the  room  as  she  speaks,  and  flings  a  coil  of  rope 
at  me. 

"  '  I  am  coming,  La  Biche,'  say  I,  and  hobbled  after  her  on 
my  crutch.  As  I  went  in  to  the  commandant's  quarters  she 
says,   '  Pour  ce  soir!'     And  then  I  knew  the  time  was  come. 

"  As  for  Museau,  he  knew  nothing  about  the  matter.  Not 
he  \  He  growled  at  me.  and  said  the  soup  was  cold.  He 
looked  me  steadily  in  the  face,  and  talked  of  this  and  that ;  not 
only  whilst  his  servant  was  present,  but  afterwards  when  we 
smoked  our  pipes  and  played  our  game  at  picquet ;  whilst, 
according  to  her  wont,  the  poor  Biche  sat  cowering  in  a  corner. 

"  My  friend's  whiskey-bottle  was  empty ;  and  he  said,  with 
rather  a  knowing  look,  he  must  have  another  glass — we  must 
both  have  a  glass  that  night.  And,  rising  from  the  table,  he 
stumped  to  the  inner  room,  where  he  kept  his  iire-water  under 
lock  and  key,  and  away  from  the  jDoor  Biche,  who  could  not 
resist  that  temptation. 

"  As  he  turned  his  back  the  Biche  raised  herself  j  and  he 
was  no  sooner  gone  but  she  was  at  my  feet,  kissing  my  hand, 
pressing  it  to  her  heart,  and  bursting  into  tears  over  my  knees. 
I  confess  I  was  so  troubled  by  this  testimony  of  the  poor 
creature's  silent  attachment  and  fondness,  the  extent  of  which 
I  scarce  had  suspected  before,  that  when  Museau  returned,  I 
had  not  recovered  my  equanimity,  though  the  poor  Fawn  was 
back  in  her  corner  again  and  shrouded  in  her  blanket. 

He  did  not  appear  to  remark  anything  strange  in  the  be- 
havior of  either.  We  sat  down  to  our  game,  though  my  thoughts 
were  so  pre-occupied  that  I  scarcely  knew  what  cards  were  be- 
fore me. 

"  '  I  gain  everything  from  you  to-night,  milor,'  says  he, 
grimly.     '  We  play  upon  parole.'  " 

'*  '  And  you  may  count  upon  mine,'  I  replied. 

"  '  Eh  !  'tis  all  that  you  have ! '  says  he. 

"  '  Monsieur,"  says  I,  '  my  w^ord  is  good  for  ten  thousand 
livres  ; '  and  we  continued  our  game. 

"  At  last  he  said  he  had  a  headache,  and  would  go  to  bed, 
and  I  understood  the  orders  too,  that  I  was  to  retire.  '  I  wish 
you  a  good-night,  mon  petit  milor,'  says  he, — '  stay,  you  will 
fall  without  your  crutch,' — and  his  eyes  twinkled  at  me,  and  his 
face  wore  a  sarcastic  grin.  In  the  agitation  of  the  moment  I 
had  quite  forgotten  that  I  was  lame,  and  was  walking  away  at 
a  pace  as  good  as  a  grenadier's. 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


437 


"  '  What  a  villain  night !  '  says  he  looking  out.  In  fact  there 
was  a  tempest  abroad,  and  a  great  roaring,  and  wind.  '  Bring 
a  lanthorn,  La  Tiilipe,  and  lock  my  lord  comfortably  into  his 
quarters  !  '  He  stood  a  moment  looking  at  me  from  his  own 
door,  and  I  saw  a  glimpse  of  the  poor  Biche  behind  him, 

"  The  night  w^as  so  rainy  that  the  sentries  preferred  their 
boxes,  and  did  not  disturb  me  in  my  work.  The  log-house  w^as 
built  with  upright  posts,  deeply  fixed  in  the  ground,  and  hori- 
zontal logs  laid  upon  it.  I  had  to  dig  under  these,  and  work  a 
hole  sufficient  to  admit  my  body  to  pass.  I  began  in  the  dark, 
soon  after  tattoo.  It  was  some  while  after  midnight  before  my 
work  was  done,  when  I  lifted  my  hand  up  under  the  log  and 
felt  the  rain  from  without  falling  upon  it.  I  had  to  work  very 
cautiously  for  two  hours  after  that,  and  then  crept  through  to  the 
parapet  and  silently  flung  my  rope  over  the  gun  ;  not  without  a 
little  tremor  of  heart,  lest  the  sentry  should  see  me  and  send  a 
charge  of  lead  into  my  body. 

"  The  wall  was  but  twelve  feet,  and  my  fall  into  the  ditch 
easy  enough.  I  waited  a  while  there,  looking  steadily  under 
the  gun,  and  trying  to  see  the  river  "and  the  island.  I  heard  the 
sentr}'  pacing  up  above  and  humming  a  tune.  The  darkness 
became  more  clear  to  me  ere  long,  and  the  moon  rose,  and 
I  saw  the  river  shining  before  me,  and  the  dark  rocks  and  trees 
of  the  island  rising  in  the  waters. 

"  I  made  for  this  mark  as  swiftly  as  I  could,  and  for  the 
clump  of  trees  to  which  I  had  been  directed.  Oh,  what  a  relief 
I  had  when  I  heard  a  low  voice  humming  there,  '  Over  the  hilb 
and  far  away  ! '" 

When  Mr.  George  came  to  this  part  of  his  narrative.  Miss 
Theo,  who  was  seated  by  a  harpsichord,  turned  round  and 
dashed  off  the  tune  on  the  instrument,  whilst  all  the  little  com- 
pany broke  out  into  the  meny  chorus. 

"  Our  way,"  the  speaker  went  on,  "  lay  through  a  level  tract 
of  forest  wdth  which  my  guide  was  familiar,  ujDon  the  right  bank 
of  the  Monongahela.  By  daylight  we  came  to  a  clearer  country, 
and  my  trapper  asked  me — Silverheels  was  the  name  by  which 
he  went — had  I  e\-er  seen  the  spot  before  t  It  was  the  fatal 
field  where  Braddock  had  fallen,  and  whence  I  had  been  won- 
derfully rescued  in  the  summer  of  the  previous  year.  Now,  the 
leaves  were  beginning  to  be  tinted  with  the  magnificent  hues  of 
our  autumn." 

"  Ah,  brother ! "  cries  Harry,  seizing  his  brother's  hand. 
"'  I  was  gambling  and  making  a  fool  of  myself  at  the  Wells  and 
in  London,  when  my  George  was  flying  for  his  life  in  the  wilder- 
ness !     Oh,  what  a  miserable  spendthrift  I  have  been  !  " 


43S  THE  JVRGI1V/4.VS. 

"  But  I  think  thou  art  not  unworthy  to  be  called  thy  mother's 
son,"  said  Mrs.  Lambert  very  softly,  and  with  moistened  eyes. 
Indeed,  if  Harry  had  erred,  to  mark  his  repentance,  his  love, 
his  unselfish  joy  and  generosity,  was  to  feel  that  there  was  hope 
for  the  humbled  and  kind  young  sinner. 

"  We  presently  crossed  the  river,"  George  resumed,  "taking 
our  course  along  the  base  of  the  western  slopes  of  the  Alle- 
ghanies  ;  and  through  a  grand  forest  region  of  oaks  and  maple, 
and  enormous  poplars  that  grow  a  hundred  feet  high  without  a 
branch.  It  was  the  Indians  whom  we  had  to  avoid,  besides 
the  outlying  parties  of  French.  Always  of  doubtful  loyalty, 
the  savages  have  been  specially  against  us,  since  our  ill  treat- 
ment of  them,  and  the  French  triumph  over  us  two  years  ago. 

''I  was  but  weak  still,  and  our  journey  through  the  wilder- 
ness lasted  a  fortnight  or  more.  As  we  advanced,  the  woods 
became  redder  and  redder.  The  frost  nipped  sharply  of  nights. 
We  lighted  fires  at  our  feet,  and  slept  in  our  blankets  asl^est 
we  might.  At  this  time  of  year,  the  hunters  who  live  in  the 
mountains  get  their  sugar  from  the  maples.  We  came  upon 
more  than  one  such  family,  camping  near  their  trees  by  the 
mountain  streams  ;  and  they  welcomed  us  at  their  fires,  and 
gave  us  of  their  venison.  So  we  passed  over  the  two  ranges  of 
the  Laurel  Hills  and  the  Alleghanies.  The  last  day's  march  of 
my  trusty  guide  and  myself  took  us  down  that  wild  magnificent 
pass  of  Will's  Creek,  a  valley  lying  between  cliffs  near  a  thou- 
sand feet  high — bald,  white,  and  broken  into  towers  like  huge 
fortifications,  with  eagles  wheeling  round  the  summits  of  the 
rocks,  and  watching  their  nests  among  the  crags. 

"  And  hence  we  descended  to  Cumberlandt  whence  we  had 
rnarched  in  the  year  before,  and  where  there  was  now  a  con- 
siderable garrison  of  our  people.  Oh,  you  may  think  it  was  a 
welcome  day  when  I  saw  English  colors  again  on  the  banks  of 
our  native  Potomac  !  " 


CHAPTER  LIII. 

WHERE    \VE    REMAIN    AT    THE    COURT    END    OF    THE    TOWN. 

George  \Varrington  had  related  the  same  story,  which  we 
have  just  heard,  to  Madame  de  Bernstein  on  the  previous  even- 
ing—a  portion,  that  is,  of  the  history ;  for  the  old  lady  nodded 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  43^ 

off  to  sleep  many  times  during  the  narration,  only  waking  ujj 
when  George  paused,  saying  it  was  most  interesting,  and  order- 
ing him  to  continue.  I'he  young  gentleman  hem'd  and  ha'd, 
and  stuttered,  and  blushed,  and  went  on,  much  against  his  will, 
and  did  not  speak  half  so  well  as  he  did  to  his  friendly  little 
auditory  in  Hill  Street,  where  Hetty's  eyes  of  wonder  and 
Theo's  sympathizing  glances,  and  mamma's  kind  face,  and 
papa's  funny  looks,  were  applause  sufficient  to  cheer  any  modest 
youth  who  required  encouragement  for  his  eloquence.  As  for 
mamma's  behavior,  the  General  said,  'twas  as  good  as  Mr. 
Addison's  trunkmaker,  and  she  would  make  the  fortune  of  any 
tragedy  by  simply  being  engaged  to  cry  in  the  front  boxes. 
That  is  why  we  chose  my  Lord  Wrotham's  house  as  the  theatre 
where  George's  first  piece  should  be  performed,  wishing  that  he 
should  speak  to  advantage,  and  not  as  when  he  was  heard  by 
that  sleepy,  cynical  old  lady,  to  whom  he  had  to  narrate  his 
adventures. 

"  Very  good  and  most  interesting,  I  am  sure,  my  dear  sir," 
says  Madame  Bernstein,  putting  up  three  pretty  little  fingers 
covered  with  a  lace  mitten,  to  hide  a  convulsive  movement  of 
her  mouth.  "  And  your  mother  must  have  been  delighted  to 
see  you." 

George  shrugged  his  shoulders  ever  so  little,  and  made  a 
low  bow,  as  his  aunt  looked  up  at  him  for  a  moment  with  her 
keen  old  eyes. 

"  Have  been  delighted  to  see  you,"  she  continued  dryly, 
''  and  killed  the  fatted  calf,  and — and  that  kind  of  thing. 
Though  why  I  say  calf,  I  don't  know.  Nephew  George,  for  you 
never  were  the  prodigal.  I  may  say  calf  to  thee,  my  poor 
Harry  !  Thou  hast  been  amongst  the  swine  sure  enough.  And 
evil  companions  have  robbed  the  money  out  of  thy  pocket  and 
the  coat  off  thy  back." 

''  He  came  to  his  family  in  England,  Madam,"  says  George, 
with  some  heat,  "  and  his  friends  were  your  ladyship's." 

"  He  could  not  have  come  to  worse  advisers,  Nephew  War- 
rington, and  so  I  should  have  told  ray  sister  earlier,  had  she 
condescended  to  write  to  him,  as  she  has  done  by  you,"  said 
the  old  lady,  tossing  up  her  head.  "  Hey  !  hey  !  she  said,  at 
night,  to  her  waiting-maid,  as  she  arranged  herself  for  the  rout 
to  which  she  was  going  :  "  this  young  gentleman's  mother  is 
half  sorry  that  he  has  come  to  life  again,  I  could  see  that  in 
his  face.  She  is  half  sorry,  and  I  am  perfectly  furious  !  Why 
didn't  he  lie  still  when  he  dropped  there  under  the  tree,  and 
why  did  that  young  Florae  carr}^  him  to  the  fort  ?     I  knew  those 


^^o  THE   ]'IRGIXIAXS. 

Floracs  when  I  was  at  Paris,  in  the  time  of  Monsieur  le  Re'gent. 
They  were  of  the  Floracs  of  Ivry.  No  great  house  before 
Henri  IV.  His  ancestor  was  the  king's  favorite.  His  ancestor 
— he  !  he  ! — his  ancestress  !  Brett !  entendez-vous  ?  Give  me 
my  card-purse.  I  don't  like  the  grand  airs  of  this  Monsieur 
George  ;  and  yet  he  resembles,  very  much,  his  grandfather — 
the  same  look  and  sometimes  the  same  tones.  You  have  heard 
of  Colonel  Esmond  when  I  was  young  ?  This  boy  has  his  eyes. 
I  suppose  I  liked  the  Colonel's,  because  he  loved  me." 

Being  engaged,  then,  to  a  card-party, — an  amusement  which 
she  never  missed,  w^eek-day  or  Sabbath,  as  long  as  she  had 
strength  to  hold  trumps  or  sit  in  a  chair, — very  soon  after 
George  had  ended  his  narration  the  old  lady  dismissed  her  two 
nephews,  giving  to  the  elder  a  couple  of  fingers  and  a  very 
stately  curtsey ;  but  to  Harry  two  hands  and  a  kindly  pat  on 
the  cheek. 

"  My  poor  child,  now  thou  art  disinherited,  thou  wilt  see 
how  differently  the  world  will  use  thee  !  "  she  said.  "  There  is 
onlv,  in  all  London,  a  wicked,  heartless  old  woman  who  will 
treat  thee  as  before.  Here  is  a  pocket-book  for  you,  child ! 
Do  not  lose  it  at  Ranelagh  to-night.  That  suit  of  yours  does 
not  become  your  brother  half  so  well  as  it  sat  upon  you  !  You . 
will  present  your  brother  to  everybody,  and  walk  up  and  down 
the  room  for  two  hours  at  least,  child.  Were  I  you,  I  would 
then  go  to  the  Chocolate  House,  and  play  as  if  nothing  had  hap- 
pened. Whilst  you  are  there,  your  brother  may  come  back  to 
me  and  eat  a  bit  of  chicken  with  me.  My  lady  Flint  gives 
wretched  suppers,  and  I  want  to  talk  his  mother's  letter  over 
wath  him.  Au  revoir,  gentlemen  !  "  and  she  went  away  to  her 
toilette.  Her  chairmen  and  flambeaux  were  already  wai'ingat 
the  door. 

The  gentlemen  went  to  Ranelagh,  where  but  a  few  of  Mr. 
Harry's  acquaintances  chanced  to  be  present.  They  paced 
the  round,  and  met  Mr.  Tom  Claypool  with  some  of  his  coun- 
try friends  ;  they  heard  the  music  ;  they  drank  tea  in  a  box  ; 
Harry  was  master  of  ceremonies,,  and  introduced  his  brother  to 
the  curiosities  of  the  place  ;  and  George  was  even  more  excited 
than  his  brother  had  been  on  his  first  introduction  to  this 
palace  of  delight.  George  loved  music  much  more  than  Harry- 
ever  did  ;  he  "heard  a  full  orchestra  for  the  first  time,  and  a 
piece  of  Mr.  Handel's  satisfactorily  performed ;  and  a  not  un- 
pleasing  instance  of  Harry's  humility  and  regard  for  his  elder 
brother  was,  that  he  could  even  hold  George's  love  of  music  in 
respect  at  a  time  when  fiddling  was  voted  effeminate  and  un- 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  441 

manly  in  England,  and  Britons  were,  every  clay,  called  upon  by 
the  patriotic  prints  to  sneer  at  the  frivolous  accomplishments 
your  Squallinis,  Monsieurs,  and  the  like.  Nobody  in  Britain 
is  iDroud  of  his  ignorance  now.  There  is  no  conceit  left  among 
us.  There  is  no  such  thing  as  dulness.  Arrogance  is  entirely 
unkown  =^  *=  *  Well,  at  any  rate.  Art  has  obtained  her  let- 
ters of  naturalization,  and  lives  here  on  terms  of  almost  equal- 
ity. If  Mrs.  Thrale  chose  to  marry  a  music-master  now,  I 
don't  think  her  friends  would  shudder  at  the  mention  of  her 
name.  If  she  had  a  good  fortune  and  kept  a  good  cook,  peo- 
ple would  even  go  and  dine  with  her  in  spite  of  the  mesalliance^ 
and  actually  treat  Mr.  Piozzi  with  civility. 

After  Ranelagh,  and  pursuant  to  Madame  Bernstein's  ad- 
vice, George  returned  to  her  ladyship's  house,  whilst  Harry 
showed  himself  at  the  club,  where  gentlemen  were  accustomed 
to  assemble  at  night  to  sup,  and  then  to  gamble.  No  one,  of 
course,  alluded  to  Mr.  Warrington's  little  temporary  absence, 
and  Mr,  Ruff,  his  ex-landlord,  waited  upon  him  with  the  utmost 
gravity  and  civility,  and  as  if  there  had  never  been  any  differ- 
ence between  them.  Mr.  Warrington  had  caused  his  trunks 
and  habiliments  to  be  conveyed  away  from  Bond  Street  in  the 
morning,  and  he  and  his  brother  were  now  established  in  apart- 
ments elsewhere. 

But  when  the  supper  was  done,  and  the  gentlemen  as  usual 
were  about  to  seek  the  macco-table  upstairs,  Harry  said  he  was 
not  going  to  play  any  more.  He  had  burned  his  fingers  al- 
ready, and  could  afford  no  more  extravagance. 

"Why,"  says  Mr.  Morris,  in  a  rather  flippant  manner,  "you 
must  have  won  more  than  you  have  lost,  Mr.  Warrington,  after 
all  said  and  done." 

"And  of  course  I  don't  know  my  own  business  as  well  as 
you  do,  Mr.  Morris,"  says.  Harry,  sternly,  who  had  not  forgot- 
ten the  other's  behavior  on  hearing  of  his  arrest ;  but  I  have 
another  reason.  A  few  months  or  days  ago,  I  was  heir  to  a 
great  estate,  and  could  afford  to  lose  a  little  money.  Now, 
thank  God,  I  am  heir  to  nothing."  And  he  looked  round, 
blushing  not  a  little,  to  the  knot  of  gentlemen,  his  gaming  as 
sociates,  who  were  lounging  at  the  tables  or  gathered  roun6 
the  fire. 

"  How  do  you  mean,  Mr.  Warrington  ? "  cries  my  Lord 
March.  "  Have  you  lost  Virginia,  too  ?  Who  has  won  it  ?  1 
always  had  a  fancy  to  play  you  myself  for  that  stake." 

"  And  grow  an  improved  breed  of  slaves  in  the  colony," 
says  another. 


442 


THE   I'IRGINIANS. 


"  The  right  owner  has  won  it.  You  heard  me  tell  of  my 
twin  elder  brother  ?  ■' 

*'  Who  was  killed  in  that  affair  of  Braddock's  two  years 
ago  ?  Yes.  Gracious  goodness,  my  dear  sir,  I  hope  in  heaven 
he  has  not  come  to  life  again  .'' " 

"  He  arrived  in  London  two  days  since.  He  has  been  a  pris- 
oner in  a  French  fort  for  eighteen  months  ;  he  only  escaped  a 
few  months  ago,  and  left  our  house  in  Yirginia  very  soon  after 
his  release." 

''  You  haven't  had  time  to  order  mourning,  I  suppose,  Mr. 
Warrington  .'' "  asks  Mr.  Selwyn  very  good-naturedly,  and  sim- 
ple Harry  hardly  knew  the  meaning  of  this  joke  until  his 
brother  interpreted  it  to  him. 

"  Hang  me,  if  I  don't  believe  the  fellow  is  absolutely  glad  of 
the  reappearance  of  his  confounded  brother!  "  cries  my  Lord 
March,  as  they  continued  to  talk  of  the  matter  when  the  young 
Virginian  had  taken  his  leave. 

''These  savages  practise  the  simple  virtues  of  affection — they 
are  barely  civilized  in  America  yet,"  yawns  Selwyn. 

"  They  love  their  kindred,  and  they  scalp  their  enemies," 
simpers  Mr.  Walpole.  "  It's  not  Christian,  but  natural. 
Shouldn't  you  like  to  be  present  at  a  scalping-match,  George, 
and  see  a  fellow  skinned  alive  ?  " 

"A  man's  elder  brother  is  his  natural  enemy,"  says  IMr. 
Selwyn,  placidly  ranging  his  money  and  counters  before  him. 

"  Torture  is  like  broiled  bones  and  pepper.  You  wouldn't 
relish  simple  hanging  afterwards,  George  !  "  continues  Harrv. 

"  I'm  hanged  if  there's  any  man  in  England  who  would  like 
to  see  his  elder  brother  alive,"  says  my  lord. 

"  No,  nor  his  father  either,  my  lord  !  "  cries  Jack  Morris. 

"  First  time  I  ever  knew  you  had  one,  Jack.  Give  me 
counters  for  five  hundred." 

"  I  say,  'tis  all  mighty  fine  about  dead  brothers  coming  to 
life  again,"  continues  Jack.  "Who  is  to  know  that  it  wasn't  a 
scheme  arranged  between  these  two  fellows  ?  Here  comes  a 
young  fellow  who  calls  himself  the  Fortunate  Youth,  who  says 
he  is  a  Virginian  Prince  and  the  deuce  knows  what,  and  who 
gets  into  our  society " 

A  great  laugh  ensues  at  Jack's  phrase  of  "our  society." 

"Who  is  to  know  that  it  wasn't  a  cross  ?  "  Jack  continues. 
"  The  young  one  is  to  come  first.  He  is  to  marry  an  heiress, 
and,  when  he  has  got  her,  up  is  to  rise  the  elder  brother  !  When 
did  this  elder  brother  show  .?  Why,  when  the  younger's  scheme 
was  blown,  and  all  was  up  with  him  !     Who  shall  tell  me  that 


THE  VIRGINIANS. 


443 


the  fellow  hasn't  been  livmg  in  Seven  Dials,  or  in  a  cellar  din- 
ino-  off  tripe  and  cowheel  until  my  younger  gentleman  was  dis- 
posed of  ?  Dammy,  as  gentlemen,  I  think  we  ought  to  take 
notice  of  it :  and  that  this  Mr.  Warrington  has  been  taken  a 
most  outrageous  liberty  with  the  whole  club." 

"  Who  put  him  up  ?  It  was  March,  I  think,  put  him  up  ?  " 
asks  a  bystander. 

"Yes.  But  my  lord  thought  he  was  putting  up  a  very 
different  person.     Didn't  you,  March  ?  " 

"  Hold  your  confounded  tongue,  and  mind  your  game  !  "  says 
the  nobleman  addressed:  but  Jack  Morris's  opinion  found  not 
a  few  supporters  in  the  world.  Many  persons  agreed  that  it  was 
most  indecorous  of  Mr.  Harry  Warrington  to  have  ever  believed 
in  his  brother's  death ;  that  there  was  something  suspicious 
about  the  young  man's  first  appearance  and  subsequent  actions, 
and,  in  fine,  that  regarding  these  foreigners,  adventurers,  and 
the  like,  we  ought  to  be  especially  cautious. 

Though  he  was  out  of  prison  and  difficulty ;  though  he  had 
his  aunt's  liberal  donation  of  money  in  his  pocket ;  though  his 
dearest  brother  was  restored  to  him,  whose  return  to  life  Harry 
never  once  thought  of  deploring,  as  his  friend's  at  White's  sup- 
posed he  would  do  ;  though  Maria  had  shown  herself  in  such  a 
favorable  light  by  her  behavior  during  his  misfortune  :  yet 
Harry,  when  alone,  felt  himself  not  particularly  cheerful,  and 
smoked  his  pipe  of  Virginia  with  a  troubled  mind.  It  was  not 
that  he  was  disposed  from  his  principality :  the  loss  of  it 
never  once  vexed  him;  he  knew  that  his  brother  would  share 
with  him  as  he  would  have  done  with  his  brother  ;  but  after  all 
those  struggles  and  doubts  in  his  own  mind,  to  find  himself 
poor,  and  yet  irrevocably  bound  to  his  elderly  cousin  !  Yes, 
she  was  elderly,  there  was  no  doubt  about  it.  When  she  came 
to  that  horrible  den  in  Cursitor  Street  and  the  tears  washed  her 
rouge  off,  why,  she  looked  as  old  as  his  mother  !  her  face  was 
all  wrinkled  and  yellow,  and  as  he  thought  of  her  he  felt  just 
such  a  qualm  as  he  had  when  she  was  taken  ill  that  day  in  the 
coach  on  their  road  to  Tunbridge.  What  would  his  mother  say 
when  he  brought  her  home,  and,  Lord,  what  battles  there  would 
be  between  them  !  He  would  go  and  live  on  one  of  the  planta- 
tions—s- the  farther  from  home  the  better  —  and  have  a  few 
negroes,  and  farm  as  best  he  might,  and  hunt  a  good  deal ;  but 
at  Castle  wood  or  in  her  own  home,  such  as  he  could  make  it  for 
her,  what  a  life  for  poor  Maria,  who  had  been  used  to  go  to 
Court  and  to  cards  and  balls  and  assemblies  every  night !  If 
he  could  be  but  the  overseer  of  the  estates — oh,  he  would  be 


444 


THE  VIRGTN-IANS. 


an  honest  factor,  and  try  and  make  up  for  his  useless  hfe  and 
extravagance  in  these  past  days!  Five  thousand  pounds,  all 
his  patrimony  and  the  accumulations  of  his  long  minority 
squandered  in  six  months !  He  a  beggar,  except  for  dear 
George's  kindness,  with  nothing  in  life  left  to  him  but  an  old 
wife  :  a  pretty  beggar,  dressed  out  in  velvet  and  silver  lace  for- 
sooth— the  poor  lad  was  arrayed  in  his  best  clothes — a  pretty 
figure  he  had  made  in  Europe,  and  a  nice  end  he  was  come  to  ! 
With  all  his  fine  friends  at  White's  and  Newmarket,  with  all  his 
extravagance,  had  he  been  happy  a  single  day  since  he  had 
been  in  Europe  ?  Yes,  three  days,  four  days,  yesterday  even- 
ing, when  he  had  been  with  dear  dear  Mrs.  Lambert,  and  those 
affectionate  kind  girls,  and  that  brave  good  Colonel.  And  the 
Colonel  was  right  when  he  rebuked  him  for  his  spendthrift  follies, 
and  he  had  been  a  brute  to  be  angry  as  he  had  been,  and  God 
bless  them  all  for  their  generous  exertions  in  his  behalf  !  Such 
were  the  thoughts  which  Harry  put  into  his  pipe,  and  he 
smoked  them  whilst  he  waited  his  brother's  return  from  Mad- 
ame Bernstein. 


CHAPTER  LIV. 

DURING    WHICH    HARRY    SITS    SMOKING    HIS    PIPE    AT    HOJME 

The  maternal  grandfather  of  our  Virginians  the  Colonel 
Esmond  of  whom  frequent  mention  has  been  made,  and  who 
had  quitted  England  to  reside  in  the  New  World,  had  devoted 
some  portion  of  his  long  American  leisure  to  the  composition 
of  the  memoirs  of  his  early  life.  In  these  volumes,  Madame 
de  Bernstein  (Mrs.  Beatrice  Esmond  was  her  name  as  a  spin- 
ster) played  a  very  considerable  part ;  and  as  George  had  read 
his  grandfather's  manuscript  many  times  over,  he  had  learned 
to  know  his  kinswoman  long  before  he  saw  her, — to  know,  at 
least,  the  lady,  young,  beautiful,  and  wilful,  of  half  a  century 
since,  with  whom  he  now  became  acquainted  in  the  decline  of 
her  days.  When  cheeks  are  faded,  and  eyes  are  dim,  is  it  sad 
for  pleasant,  I  w^onder,  for  the  woman  who  is  a  beauty  no  more 
to  recall  the  period  of  her  bloom  ?  When  the  heart  is  withered, 
do  the  old  love  to  remember  how  it  once  was  fresh  and  beat 
with  warm  emotions  ?     When  the  spirits  are  languid  and  weary, 


THE  VIRGINIANS. 


445 


do  we  like  to  think  how  bright  they  were  in  other  days,  the 
hope  how  buoyant,  the  sympathies  how  ready,  the  enjoyment 
of  life  how  keen  and  eager  ?  So  they  fall, — the  buds  of  prime, 
the  roses  of  beauty,  the  florid  harvests  of  summer,  fall  and 
wither,  and  the  naked  branches  shiver  in  the  winter. 

"  And  that  was  a  beauty  once  !  "  thinks  George  Warrington, 
as  his  aunt,  in  her  rouge  and  diamonds,  comes  in  from  her  rout, 
'•  and  that  ruin  was  a  splendid  palace.  Crowds  of  lovers  have 
sighed  before  those  decrepit  feet,  and  been  bewildered  by  the 
brightness  of  those  eyes."  He  remembered  a  firework  at  home, 
at  Williamsburg,  on  the  King's  birthday,  and  afterwards  look 
ing  at  the  skeleton-wheel  and  the  sockets  of  the  exploded 
Roman  candles.  The  dazzle  and  brilliancy  of  Aunt  Beatrice's 
early  career  passed  before  him,  as  he  thought  over  his  grand- 
sire's  journals.  Honest  Harry  had  seen  them  too,  but  Harry 
was  no  book  man,  and  had  not  read  the  manuscript  very  care- 
fully ;  nay,  if  he  had,  he  would  probably  not  have  reasoned 
about  it  as  his  brother  did,  being  by  no  means  so  much  inclined 
to  moralizing  as  his  melancholy  senior. 

Mr.  Warrington  thought  that  there  was  no  cause  why  he 
should  tell  his  aunt  how  intimate  he  was  with  her  early  his- 
tory, and  accordingly  held  his  peace  upon  that  point.  When 
their  meal  was  over,  she  pointed  with  her  cane  to  her  escritoir, 
and  bade  her  attendant  bring  the  letter  which  lay  under  the 
inkstand  there  ;  and  George,  recognizing  the  superscription,  of 
course  knew  the  letter  to  be  that  of  which  he  had  been  the 
bearer  from  home. 

"  It  would  appear  by  this  letter,"  said  the  old  lady,  looking 
hard  at  her  nephew,  "  tliat  ever  since  your  return,  there  have 
been  some  differences  between  you  and  my  sister." 

"  Indeed !  I  did  not  know  that  Madam  Esmond  had 
alluded  to  them  ?  "  George  said. 

The  Baroness  put  a  great  pair  of  glasses  upon  eyes  which 
shot  fire  and  kindled  who  knows  how  many  passions  in  old 
days,  and,  after  glancing  over  the  letter,  hands  it  to  George, 
who  reads  as  follows  : — 

'■'■  RicJi7!207id,    I'irginia,  Dece77tder  2()th,  1756. 

"Honored  Madam!  and  Sistek  1 — I  have  received,  and  thankfully  acknowledge,  your 
ladyship's  favor,  per  '  Rose  '  packet  of  October  23  ult.  ;  and  straightway  answer  you  at  a 
season  which  should  be  one  of  good  will  and  peace  to  all  men  °.  but  in  which  heaven  hath 
nevertheless  decreed  we  should  still  bear  our  portion  of  earthly  sorrow  and  trouble.  My 
reply  will  be  brought  to  you  by  my  eldest  son,  Mr.  Esmond  Warrington,  who  returned  to 
us  so  miraculously  out  of  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow  of  Death  (as  my  previous  letters  have 
informed  my  poor  Henry),  and  who  is  desirous,  not  without  my  consent  to  his  wish,  to  visit 
Europe,  though  he  has  been  amongst  us  so  short  a  while.  I  grieve  to  think  that  my  dearest 
Harry  should  have  appeared  at  home— I  mean  in  Eng,la.ud—tmder  false  colors,  as  it  were  ; 


44-6 


THE  VIRGINIANS. 


and  should  have  been  presented  to  his  Majesty,  to  our  family,  and  his  own,  as  his  father's 
heir,  whilst  my  dear  son  George  was  still  alive,  though  dead  to  us.  Ah,  Madam!  During 
the  eighteen  months  of  his  captivity,  what  anguish  have  liis  mother's,  his  brother's,  hearts 
undergone !  My  Harry's  is  the  tenderest  of  any  man's  now  alive.  In  the  joy  of  seeing 
Mr.  Esmond  Warrington  returned  to  life,  he  will  forget  the  worldly  misfortunes  which 
befalls  him.  He  will  return  to  (comparative)  poverty  without  a  pang.  The  most  generous, 
the  7jiost  obedient  of  human  beings,  of  sons,  he  will  gladly  give  up  to  his  elder  brother  that 
inheritance  which  had  been  his  own  but  for  the  accident  of  birth,  and  for  the  providential 
return  of  my  son  George. 

"  Your  beneficent  intentions  towards  dearest  Harry  will  be  more  than  ever  welcome,  now 
he  is  reduced  to  a  younger  brother's  slender  portion !  Many  years  since,  an  advantageous 
opportunity  occurred  of  providing  for  him  in  this  province,  and  he  would  by  this  time  have 
been  master  of  a  7iob/e  estate  and  negroes,  and  have  been  enabled  to  make  a  figure  with 
most  here,  could  his  mother  s  wishes  have  been  complied  with,  and  his  father's  small  por- 
tion, now  lying  at  small  interest  in  the  British  funds,  have  been  invested  in  this  most  excel- 
lent purchase.  But  the  forms  of  the  law,  and,  I  grieve  to  own,  ;;?v  elder  son's  scruples, 
prevailed,  and  this  admirable  opportunity  was  lost  to  me!  Harry  will  find  the  savings  of 
his  income  have  been  carefully  accumulated — long,  long  may  he  live  to  enjov  them  I  May 
heaven  bless  you,  dear  sister,  for  what  your  ladyship  may  add  to  his  little  store  !  As  I 
gather  from  your  letter,  that  the  sum  which  lias  been  allowed  to  him  has  not  been  sufficient 
for  his  expenses  in  the/ine  company  which  he  has  kept  (and  the  grandson  of  the  Marquis 
of  Esmond — one  who  had  so  iiearly  been  his  lordship'  s  heir — may  sure  claim  equality  with 
any  other  nobleman  in  Great  Britain),  and  having  a  sum  by  me  which  I  had  always  intended 
for  the  poor  child's  establishment,  I  entrust  it  to  my  eldest  son,  who,  to  do  him  justice,  hath 
a  most  sincere  regard  for  his  brother,  to  lay  it  out  for  Harry's  best  advantage." 

"  It  took  him  out  of  prison,  yesterday,  Madam.  I  think 
that  was  the  best  use  to  which  we  could  put  it,"  interposed 
George,  at  this  stage  of  his  mother's  letter. 

"  Nay,  sir,  I  don't  know  any  such  thing  !  Why  not  have 
kept  it  to  buy  a  pair  of  colors  for  him,  or  to  help  towards  an- 
other estate  and  some  negroes,  if  he  has  a  fancy  for  home  ?  " 
cried  the  old  ladv.  "  Besides,  I  had  a  fancy  to  pay  that  debt 
m3-self." 

"  I  hope  you  will  let  his  brother  do  that.  I  ask  leave  to 
be  my  brother's  banker  in  this  matter,  and  consider  I  have 
borrowed  so  much  from  mv  mother,  to  be  paid  back  to  my  dear 
Harry." 

"  Do  you  say  so,  sir  1  Give  me  a  glass  of  wine !  You  are 
an  extravagant  fellow  !  Read  on,  and  you  will  see  your  mother 
thinks  so.  I  drink  to  your  health,  Nephew  George  !  'Tis  good 
Burgundy.  Your  grandfather  never  loved  Burgundy.  He  loved 
claret,  the  little  he  drank." 

And  George  proceeded  with  the  letter  : 

"This  remittance  will,  I  trust,  amply  cover  any  expenses  which,  owing  to  the  mistake 
respecting  his  poition,  dearest  Harry  may  have  incurred.  I  wish  I  could  trust  his  elder 
brother's  prudence  as  confidently  as  my  Harry's!  But  I  fear  that,  even  in  his  captivity, 
Mr.  Esmond  W.  has  learned  little  of  that  Jminility  which  becomes  all  Christians,  and  which 
I  have  ever  endeavored  to  teach  to  my  children.  Should  you  by  chance  show  him  these 
lines,  when,  by  the  blessing  of  heaven  on  those  who  go  down  to  the  sea  in  ships,  the  Great 
Ocean  divides  us!  he  will  know  that  a  fond  mother's  blessing  and  prayers  follow  both  lier 
children,  and  that  there  is  no  act  I  have  ever  done,  no  desire  I  have  ever  expressed  (how- 
ever little  he  may  have  been  inchned  to  obey  it !)  but  hath  been  dictated  by  the  fondest 
wishes  for  my  dearest  boy's  welfare  " 

"  There  is  a  scratch  with  a  penknife,  and  a  great  blot  upon 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  ..y 

the  letter  there,  as  if  water  had  fallen  on  it.  Your  mother 
writes  well,  George.  I  suppose  you  and  she  had  a  difference  ?  " 
said  George's  aunt,  not  unkindly. 

"Yes,    Ma'am,   many,"  answered    the   young   man,    sadly. 
"  The  last  was  about  a  question  of  money — of  ransom  which  I 
promised  to   the  old  lieutenant  of  the  fort  wlio  aided  me  to 
make  my  escape.     I  told  you  he  had  a  mistress,  a  poor  Indian 
woman,  who  helped  me,  and  was  kind  to  me.     Six  weeks  after 
my  arrival   at  home,  the  poor  thing  made  her  appearance  at 
Richmond,  having  found  her  way  through  the  woods  by  pretty 
much  the  same  track  which  I  had  followed,  and  bringing  me 
the   token  which  Museau  had  promised  to  send  me  when  he 
connived  at  my  flight.     A  commanding  officer  and  a  consider- 
able reinforcement  had  arrived  at  Duquesne.     Charges,  I  don't 
know  of  what  peculation  (for  his  messenger  could  not  express 
herself  very  clearly),  had   been  brought  against  this  Museau. 
He  had  been  put  under  arrest,  and  had  tried  to  escape  ;  but, 
less  fortunate  than  myself,  he  had  been  shot  on  the  rampart' 
and  he  sent  the  Indian  woman  to  me,  with  my  grandfather's 
watch,  and  a  line  scrawled  in  his  prison  on  his  death-bed,  beg- 
gmg  me  to  send  ce  qu€  je  sfavais  to  a  notary  at  Havre  de  Grace 
m  France  to  be  transmitted  to  his  relatives   at  Caen  in  Nor- 
mandy.    My  friend  Silverheels,  the  hunter,  had  helped  my  poor 
Indian  on  her  way.     I  don't  know  how  she  would  have  escaped 
scalping  else.     But  at  home  they  received  the  poor  thing  sternly. 
They  hardly  gave  her  a  welcome.     I  won't  say  what  suspicions 
they  had  regarding  her  and  me.     The  poor  wretch  fell  to  drink- 
ing whenever  she  could  finds  means.     I  ordered  that  she  should 
have  food  and.  shelter,  and  she  became  the  jest  of  our.  negroes 
and  formed  the  subject  of  the  scandal  and  tittle-tattle  of  the 
old  fools  in  our  little  town.     Our  Governor  was,  luckily,  a  man 
of  sense,  and  I  made  interest  with  him,  and  procured  a  pass  to 
send  her  back  to  her  people.     Her  very  grief  at  parting  with 
me  only  served  to  confirm  the  suspicions  against  her.     A  fellow 
preached  against  me  from  the  pulpit,  I  believe ;  I  had  to  treat 
another  with  a  cane.     And  I  had  a  violent  dispute  with  Madam 
Esmond— a  difference  which  is  not  healed  yet— because  I  in- 
sisted upon  paying  to  the  heirs  Museau  pointed  out  the  money 
I   had  promised   for   my  deliverance.     You  see  that  scandal 
flourishes  at  the  borders   of  the  wilderness,   and  in  the  New 
World  as  well  as  the  Old." 

"-I  have  suffered  from  it  myself,  my  dear,"  said  Madame 
Bernstein  demurely.  "  Fill  thy  glass,  child  !  A  little  tass  of 
Cherry-brandy!     'Till  do  thee  all  the  good  in  the  world." 


4^8  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

"  As  for  my  poor  Harry's  marriage,"  Madam  Esmond's  letter  went  on,  "  though  I  kno-^ 
fooiveii,  from  sad  experie7ice,  the  dangers  to  which  youth  is  subject,  and  would  keep  my 
boy,  at  any  price,  from  them,  though  1  should  wish  him  to  marry  a  person  of  rank,  as  be- 
comes his  birth,  yet  my  Lady  Maria  Esmond  is  out  of  the  question.  Her  age  is  almost  the 
same  as  mine  ;  and  I  know  my  brother  Castlewood  left  his  daughters  with  the  very  smallest 
portions.  My  Harry  is  so  obedient  that  I  know^  a  desire  from  me  will  be  sufiQcient  to  cause 
him  to  give  up  this  imprudent  match.  Some  foolish  people  once  supposed  that  I  myself 
once  thought  of  a  second  union,  and  with  a  person  of  rank  very  different  from  ours.  No ! 
I  knew  what  was  due  to  my  children.  As  succeeding  to  this  estate  after  me,  Mr.  Esmond 
W.  is  amplv  provided  for.  Let  mv  task  now  be  to  save  for  his  less  fortunate  younger 
brother :  and,  as  I  do  not  love  to  live  quite  alone,  let  hira  return  without  delay  to  his  fond 
and  loving  mother.  ,  ^x  ,-,,  i  •  u 

"  The  report  which  your  ladvship  hath  given  of  my  Harry  fills  my  heart  with  warmest 
gratitude.  He  is  all  indeed  a  mother  mav  wish.  A  year  in  Europe  will  have  given  him  a 
po'ish  and  refinement  which  he  could  not  acquire  in  our  homely  Virginia.  Mr.  Stack,  one  of 
our  invaluable  ministers  m  Richmond,  hath  a  letter  from  Mr.  Ward—my  darling  s  tutor  of 
early  days— who  knows  mv  Lady  Warrington  and  her  excellent  family,  and  saith  that  my 
Harry  has  lived  much  with  his  cousins  of  late.  I  am  grateful  to  think  that  my  boy  has  the 
privile-e  of  being  with  his  good  aunt.  May  he  follow  her  good  councils,  and  listen  to  those 
around  him  who  will  euide  him  on  the  way  of  his  best  welfare  !  Adieu,  dear  madam  and 
si<^ter!  For  your  kindness  to  mv  bov  accept  the  grateful  thanks  of  a  mothers  heart. 
Thou-h  we  have  been  divided  hitherto,  may  these  kindly  ties  draw  us  nearer  and  nearer. 
I  am  Uiankful  that  vou  should  speak  of  mv  dearest  father  so.  He  was,  indeed,  one  ot  the 
best  of  men  !  He  too,  thanks  you,  I  know,  for  the  love  you  have  borne  to  one  ot  his  chil- 
dren ;  and  his  daughter  subscribes  herself, 

"  With  sincere  thanks, 

"Your  ladyship's 
"  Most  dutiful  and  grateful  sister  and  servant, 

"  Rachel  Esmond  Wn. 

"  P.S.— I  have  communicated  with  my  Lady  INIaria ;  but  there  will  be  no  need  to  tell 
her  and  dear  Harry  that  his  mother  or  your  ladyship  hope  to  be  able  to  increase  his  small 
fortune.     The  match  is  altogether  unsuitable." 

"  As  far  as  regards  myself,  Madam/'  George  said,  laying 
down  the  paper,  "  my  mother's  letter  conveys  no  news  to  me. 
I  always  knew  that  Harry  was  the  favorite  son  with  Madam 
Esmond,  as  he  deserves  indeed  to  be.  He  has  a  hundred  good 
qualities  which  I  have  not  the  good  fortune  to  possess.  He 
has  better  looks " 

"  Nay,  that  is  not  your  fault,"  said  the  old  lady,  slyly  look- 
ing at  him  ;  "  and,  but  that  he  is  fair  and  you  are  brown,  one 
might  almost  pass  for  the  other." 

Mr.  George  bowed,  and  a  faint  blush  tinged  his  pale  cheek. 

"  His  disposition  is  bright,  and  mine  is  dark,"  he  continued. 
"  Harry  is  cheerful,  and  I  am  otherwise,  perhaps.  He  knows 
how  to  make  himself  beloved  by  every  one,  and  it  has  been  my 
lot  to  find  but  few  friends." 

"  My  sister  and  you  have  pretty  little  quarrels.  There  were 
such  in  old  days  in  our  family/'  the  Baroness  said  ;  "  and  if 
Madam  Esmond  takes  after  our  mother " 

"  My  mother  has  always  described  hers  as'  an  angel  upon 
earth,"  interposed  George. 

"  Eh  !  That  is  a  common  character  for  people  when  they 
are  dead  !  "  cried  the  Baroness  ;  "  and  Rachel  Castlewood  was 
an  angel  if  you  like— at  least  your  grandfather  thought  so.     But 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  44^ 

let  me  tell  you,  sir,  that  angels  are  sometimes  not  very  com- 
.  modes  a  vivre.  It  may  be  they  are  too  good  to  live  with  us 
sinners,  and  the  air  down  below  here  don't  agree  with  them. 
My  poor  mother  was  so  perfect  that  she  never  could  forgive 
me  for  being  otherwise.  Ah,  mon  Dieu  !  how  she  used  to 
oppress  me  with  those  angelical  airs  ! " 

George  cast  down  his  eyes,  and  thought  of  his  own  melan- 
choly youth.  He  did  not  care  to  submit  more  of  his  family 
secrets  to  the  cynical  inquisition  of  this  old  worldling,  who 
seemed,  however,  to  understand  him  in  spite  of  his  reticence. 
"  I  quite  comprehend  you,  sir,  though  you  hold  your  tongue," 
the  Baroness  continued.  "  A  sermon  in  the  morning :  a  sermon 
at  night  :  and  two  or  three  of  a  Sunday.  That  is  what  people 
call  being  good.  Every  pleasure  cried  fie  upon  ;  all  us  worldly 
people  excommunicated  ;  a  ball  an  abomination  of  desolation  ; 
a  play  a  forbidden  pastime ;  and  a  game  of  cards  perdition ; 
What  a  life  !     Mon  Dieu,  what  a  life  !  " 

"  We  played  at  cards  every  night,  if  we  were  so  inclined," 
said  George,  smiling ;  "  and  my  grandfather  loved  Shakspeare 
so  much,  that  my  mother  had  not  a  word  to  say  against  her 
father's  favorite  author." 

"  I  remember.  He  could  say  whole  pages  by  heart ;  though, 
for  my  part,  I  like  Mr.  Congreve  a  great  deal  better.  And 
then,  there  was  that  dreadful,  dreary  Milton,  whom  he  and  Mr. 
Addison  pretended  to  admire  !  "  cried  the  old  lady,  tapping  her 
fan. 

"  If  your  ladyship  does  not  like  Shakspeare,  you  will  not 
quarrel  with  my  mother  for  being  indifferent  to  him,  too,"  said 
George.  "And  indeed  I  think,  and  I  am  sure,  that  you  don't 
do  her  justice.  Wherever  there  are  any  poor  she  relieves  them ; 
wherever  there  are  any  sick  she — — " 

"  She  doses  them  with  her  horrible  purges  and  boluses  !  " 
cried  the  Baroness.     "Of  course,  just  as  my  mother  did  !  " 

"  She  does  her  best  to  cure  them  !  She  acts  for  the  best, 
and  performs  her  duty  as  far  as  she  knows  it." 

"  I  don't  blame  you,  sir,  for  doing  yours,  and  keeping  your 
own  counsel  about  Madam  Esmond,"  said  the  old  lady.  "  But 
at  least  there  is  one  point  upon  which  we  all  three  agree — that 
this  absurd  marriage  must  be  prevented.  Do  you  know  how 
old  the  woman  is  ?  I  can  tell  you,  though  she  has  torn  the  first 
leaf  out  of  the  family  Bible  at  Castlewood." 

"  My  mother  has  not  forgotten  her  cousin's  age,  and  is 
shocked  at  the  disparity  between  her  and  my  poor  brother. 
Indeed,   a  city-bred  lady  of  her  time  of  life,  accustomed  to 

29 


^^o  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

London  gayety  and  luxury,  would  find  but  a  dismal  home  in 
our  Virginian  plantation. '  Besides,  the  house,  such  as  it  is,  is 
not  Harry's,  He  is  welcome  there,  heaven  knows  ;  more  wel- 
come, perhaps,  than  I,  to  whom  the  property  comes  in  natural 
reversion  ;  but  as  I  told  him,  I  doubt  how  his  wife  would— 
would  like  our  colony,"  George  said,  with  a  blush,  and  a 
hesitation  in  his  sentence. 

The  old  lady  laughed  shrilly.  "  He,  he  !  Nephew  \yar- 
rington  "  she  said,  "  you  need  not  scruple  to  speak  your  mind 
out.  I  shall  tell  no  tales  to  your  mother  :  though  'tis  no  news 
to  me  that  she  has  a  high  temper,  and  loves  her  own  way. 
Harry  has  held  his  tongue,  too  ;  but  it  needed  no  conjurer  to 
see  who  was  the  mistress  at  home,  and  what  sort  of  a  life  my 
sister  led  you.  I  love  my  niece,  my  Lady  Molly,  so  w^ell,  that 
I  could  wish  her  two  or  three  years  of  Virginia,  with  your 
mother  reigning  over  her.  You  may  well  look  alarmed,  sir  ! 
Harry  has  said  quite  enough  to  show  me  who  governs  the 
family." 

'•  Madam,"  said  George,  smiling,  "  I  may  say  as  much  as 
this,  that  I  don't  envy  any  woman  coming  into  our  ^  house, 
against  my  mother's  will  :  and  my  poor  brother  knows  this  per- 
fectly well." 

"  What  ?  You  two  have  talked  the  matter  over  ?  No  doubt 
you  have.  And  the  foolish  child  considers  himself  bound  in 
honor — of  course  he  does,  the  gaby  !  " 

"  He  says  Lady  Maria  has  behaved  most  nobly  to  him. 
When  he  w^as  sent  to  prison,  she  brought  him  her  trinkets  and 
jewels,  and  every  guinea  she  had  in  the  world.  This  behavior 
has  touched  him  so,  that  he  feels  more  deeply  than  ever  bound 
to  her  ladyship.  But  I  own  my  brother  seems  bound  by  honor 
rather  than  love — such  at  least  is  his  present  feeling." 

"  My  good  creature,"  cried  Madame  Bernstein,  "  don't  you 
see  that  Maria  brings  a  few  twopenny  trinkets  and  a  half-dozen 
guineas  to  Mr.  Esmond,  the  heir  of  the  great  estate  in  Virginia, 
— not  to  the  second  son,  who  is  a  beggar,  and  has  just  squan- 
dered away  every  shilling  of  his  fortune  ?  I  swear  to  you,  on 
my  credit  as  a  gentlewoman,  that,  knowing  Harry's  obstinacy, 
and  the  misery  he  had  in  store  for  himself,  I  tried  to  bribe 
Maria  to  give  up  her  engagement  with  him,  and  only  failed 
because  I  could  not  bribe  high  enough  !  When  he  was  in 
prison,  I  sent  my  lawyer  to  him,  with  orders  to  pay  his  debts 
immediatelv,  if  he  would  but  part  from  her,  but  Maria  had  been 
beforehand'  with  us,  and  Mr.  Harry  chose  not  to  go  back  from 
his  stupid  word.     Let  me  tell  you  what  has  passed  in  the  last 


THE  VIRGINIANS. 


451 


month  !  "  And  here  the  old  lady  narrated  at  length  the  history 
which  we  know  already,  but  in  that  cynical  language  which  was 
common  in  her  times,  when  the  finest  folks  and  the  most  delicate 
ladies  called  things  and  people  by  names  wdiich  we  never  utter 
in  good  company  now^-a-days.  And  so  much  the  better  on  the 
whole.  We  mayn't  be  more  virtuous,  but  it  is  something  to  be 
more  decent :  perhaps  we  are  not  more  pure,  but  of  a  surety 
we  are  more  cleanly. 

Madame  Bernstein  talked  so  much,  so  long,  and  so  cleverly, 
that  she  was  quite  pleased  wdth  herself  and  her  listener ;  and 
when  she  put  herself  into  the  hands  of  Mrs.  Brett  to  retire  for 
the  night,  informed  the  waiting-maid  that  she  had  changed  her 
opinion  about  her  eldest  nephew,  and  that  Mr.  George  w-as 
handsome,  that  he  was  certainly  much  wittier  than  poor  Harry 
(whom  heaven,  it  must  be  confessed,  had  not  furnished  wdth  a 
very  great  supply  of  brains),  and  that  he  had  quite  the  bel  air 
— a  something  melancholy — a  noble  and  distinguished  yV  ne 
sfais  quoy — which  reminded  her  of  the  Colonel.  Had  she  ever 
told  Brett  about  the  Colonel  ?  Scores  of  times,  no  doubt. 
And  now  she  told  Brett  about  the  Colonel  once  more.  Mean- 
while, perhaps,  her  new  favorite  was  not  quite  so  well  pleased 
with  her  as  she  was  with  him.  What  a  strange  picture  of  life 
and  manners  had  the  old  lady  unveiled  to  her  nephew  !  How 
she  railed  at  all  the  w^orld  round  about  her  !  How  uncon- 
sciously did  she  paint  her  own  family — her  own  self  ;  how  selfish, 
one  and  all ;  pursuing  what  mean  ends ;  grasping  and  scramb- 
ling frantically  for  what  petty  prizes  ;  ambitions  for  what  shabby 
recompenses  ;'  trampling — from  life's  beginning  to  its  close — 
through  what  scenes  of  stale  dissipations  and  faded  pleasures  ! 
"  Are  these  the  inheritors  of  noble  blood  ?  "  thought  George,  as 
he  went  home  quite  late  from  his  aunt's  house,  passing  by  doors 
w^hence  the  last  guests  of  fashion  were  issuing,  and  where 
the  chairmen  were  yaw^ning  over  their  expiring  torches.  "  Are 
these  the  proud  possessors  of  ancestral  honors  and  ancient 
names,  and  were  their  forefathers,  when  in  life,  no  better  ?  We 
have  our  pedigree  at  home  with  noble  coats-of-arms  emblazoned 
all  over  the  branches,  and  titles  dating  back  before  the  Conquest 
and  the  Crusaders.  When  a  knight  of  old  found  a  friend  in 
want,  did  he  turn  his  back  upon  him,  or  an  unprotected  damsel, 
did  he  delude  her  and  leave  her  }  When  a  nobleman  of  the 
early  time  received  a  young  kinsman,  did  he  get  the  better  of 
him  at  dice,  and  did  the  ancient  chivalry  cheat,  in  horseflesh  ? 
Can  it  be  that  this  wily  woman  of  the  world,  as  my  aunt  has 
represented,  has  inveigled  my  poor  Harry  into  an  engagement, 


452  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

that  her  tears  are  false,  and  that  as  soon  as  she  finds  him  poor 
she  will  desert  him  ?  Had  we  not  best  pack  the  trunks  and 
take  a  cabin  in  the  next  ship  bound  for  home  ? "  George 
reached  his  own  door  revolving  these  thoughts,  and  Gumbo 
came  up  3'a\vning  with  a  candle,  and  Harry  was  asleep  before 
the  extinguished  fire,  with  the  ashes  of  his  emptied  pipe  on  the 
table  beside  him. 

He  starts  up;  his  eyes,  for  a  moment,dulled  by  sleep,  lighten 
Mdth  pleasure  as  he  sees  his  dear  "George.  He  puts  his  arm 
round  his  brother  with  a  boyish  laugh. 

"  There  he  is  in  flesh  and  blood,  thank  God  !  "  he  says  ;  "  I 
was  dreaming  of  thee  but  now,  George,  and  that  Ward  was 
hearing  us  our  lesson  !  Dost  thou  remember  the  ruler,  Georgy  ? 
Why,  bless  my  soul,  'tis  three  o'clock  !  Where  have  you  been 
a  gadding,  Mr.  George  1  Hast  thou  supped  .'*  I  supposed  at 
White's,  but  I'm  hungry  again.  I  did  not  play,  sir, — no,  no  ; 
no  more  of  that  for  younger  brothers  !  And  my  Lord  March 
paid  me  fifty  he  lost  to  me,  I  bet  against  his  horse  and  on  the 
Duke  of  Hamilton's  !  They  both  rode  the  match  at  Newmarket 
this  morning,  and  he  lost  because  he  was  under  weight.  And 
he  paid  me,  and  he  was  as  sulky  as  a  bear.  Let  us  have  one 
pipe,  Georgy  ! — just  one." 

And  after  the  smoke  the  young  men  went  to  bed,  where  I, 
for  one,  wish  them  a  pleasant  rest,  for  sure  it  is  a  good  and 
pleasant  thing  to  see  brethren  who  love  one  another. 


CHAPTER  \N. 

BETWEEN     BROTHERS. 


Of  course  our  young  men  had  had  their  private  talk  about 
home,  and  all  the  people  and  doings  there,  and  each  had  im- 
parted to  the  other  full  particulars  of  his  history  since  their 
last  meeting.  How  were  Harry's  dogs,  and  little  Dempster, 
and  good  old  Nathan,  and  the  rest  of  the  household  ?  Was 
Mountain  well,  and  Fanny  grown  to  be  a  pretty  girl  ?  So 
Parson  Broadbent's  daughter  was  engaged  to  marry  Tom  Bar- 
ker of  Savannah,  and  they  were  to  go  and  live  in  Georgia ! 
Harry  owns  that  at  one  period  he  was  ver}^  sweet  upon  Parson 
Broadbent's  daughter,  and  lost  a  great  deal  of  packet  money  at 
cards,  and  drank  a  great  quantity  of  strong-waters  with  the 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  4^3 

father,  m  order  to  have  a  pretext  for  being  near  the  girl.  But, 
heaven  help  us  !  Madam  Esmond  would  never  have  consented 
to  his  throwing  himself  away  upon  Polly  Broadbent.  So 
Colonel  G.  Washington's  wife  was  a  pretty  woman,  very  good- 
natured  and  pleasant,  and  with  a  good  fortune  ?  He  had 
brought  her  into  Richmond,  and  paid  a  visit  of  state  to  Madam 
Esmond.  George  described  with  much  humor,  the  awful  cere- 
monials at  the  interview  between  these  two  personages,  and  the 
killing  politeness  of  his  mother  to  Mr.  Washington's  young 
wife.  "  Never  mind,  George  my  dear  !  "  says  ]Mrs.  ]\Iountain. 
"  The  Colonel  has  taken  another  wife,  but  I  feel  certain  that 
at  one  time  two  young  gentlemen  I  know  of  ran  a  very  near 
chance  of  having  a  tall  stepfather  six  feet  two  in  his  boots." 
To  be  sure.  Mountain  was  for  ever  match-making  in  her  mind. 
Two  people  could  not  play  a  game  at  cards  together,  or  sit 
down  to  a  dish  of  tea,  but  she  fancied  their  conjunction  was 
for  life.  It  was  she — the  foolish  tattler — who  had  set  the  re- 
port abroad  regarding  the  poor  Indian  woman.  As  for  Madam 
Esmond,  she  had  repelled  the  insinuation  with  scorn  when 
Parson  Stack  brought  it  to  her,  and  said,  "  I  should  as  soon 
fancy  Mr.  Esmond  stealing  the  spoons,  or  marrying  a  negro 
woman  out  of  the  kitchen."  But  though  she  disdained  to  find 
the  poor  Biche  guilty,  and  even  thanked  her  for  attending  her 
son  in  his  illness,  she  treated  her  with  such  a  chilling  haughti- 
ness of  demeanor,  that  the  Indian  slunk  away  into  the  servant's 
quarters,  and  there  tried  to  drown  her  disappointments  with 
drink.  It  was  not  a  cheerful  picture  that  which  George  gave 
of  his  two  months  at  home.  "  The  birthright  is  mine,  Harr}-," 
he  said,  "  but  thou  art  the  favorite,  and  God  help  me  !  I 
think  my  mother  almost  grudges  it  to  me.  Why  should  I  have 
taken  the/^j-,  and  preceded  your  worship  into  the  world  t  Had 
you  been  the  elder,  you  would  have  had  the  best  cellar,  and 
ridden  the  best  nag,  and  been  the  most  popular  man  in  the 
country,  whereas  I  have  not  a  word  to  say  for  myself,  and 
frighten  people  by  my  glum  face  :  I  should  have  been  second 
son,  and  set  up  as  lawyer,  or  come  to  England  and  got  my  de- 
grees, and  turned  parson,  and  said  grace  at  your  honor's  table. 
The  time  is  out  of  joint,  sir.  O  cursed  spite,  that  ever  I  was 
born  to  set  in  right  !  " 

"  Why,  Georgy,  you  are  talking  verses,  I  protest  you  are  !  " 
says  Plarry. 

"  I  think,  my  dear,  some  one  else  talked  those  verses  before 
me,"  says  George,  with  a  smile. 

"  It's  out  of  one  of  your  books.     You  know  every  book  that 


454  '^^^^E  VIRGINIANS. 

ever  was  wrote,  that  I  do  believe  !  "  cries  Harry ;  and  then 
told  his  brother  how  he  had  seen  the  two  authors  at  Tunbrid^^e, 
and  how  he  had  taken  off  his  hat  to  them.  "  Not  that  /cared 
much  about  their  books,  not  being  clever  enough.  But  I  re- 
membered how  my  dear  old  George  used  to  speak  of  'em,"  says 
Harry,  with  a  choke  in  his  voice,  "  and  that's  why  I  liked  to 
see  them.  I  say,  dear,  it's  like  a  dream  seeing  you  over  again. 
Think  of  that  bloody  Indian  with  his  knife  at  my  George's 
head  !  I  should  like  to  give  that  Monsieur  de  Florae  some- 
thing for  saving  you— but  I  haven't  got  much  now,  only  my 
little  gold  knee-buckles,  and  they  ain't  worth  two  guineas." 

"  You  have  got  the  half  of  what  I  have,  child,  and  we'll 
divide  as  soon  as  I  have  paid  the  Frenchman,"  George  said. 

On  which  Harry  broke  out  not  merely  into  blessings  but 
actual  imprecations,  indicating  his  intense  love  and  satisfaction; 
and  he  swore  that  there  never  was  such  a  brother  in  the  world 
as  his  brother  George.  Indeed,  for  some  days  after  his 
brother's  arrival  his  eyes  followed  George  about :  he  would  lay 
down  his  knife  and  fork,  or  his  newspaper,  when  they  were  sit- 
ting together,  and  begin  to  laugh  to  himself.  When  he  walked 
with  George  on  the  Mall  or  in  Hyde  Park,  he  would  gaze  round 
at  the^  company,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  Look  here,  gentlemen  ! 
This  is  he.  This  is  my  brother,  that  was  dead,  and  is  alive 
again  !  Can  any  man  in  Christendom  produce  such  a  brother 
as  this  ? " 

Of  course  he  was  of  opinion  that  George  should  pay  to 
Museau's  heirs  the  sum  which  he  had  promised  for  his  ransom. 
This  question  had  been  the  cause  of  no  small  unhappiness  to 
poor  George  at  home.  Museau  dead.  Madam  Esmond  argued 
with  much  eagerness  and  not  a  little  rancor,  the  bargain  fell  to 
the  ground,  and  her  son  was  free.  The  man  was  a  rogue  in 
the  first  instance.  She  would  not  pay  the  wages  of  iniquity. 
Mr.  Esmond  had  a  small  independence  from  his  father,  and 
might  squander  his  patrimony  if  he  chose.  He  was  of  age,  and 
the  money  was  in  his  power  ;  but  she  would  be  no  party  to 
such  extravagance,  as  giving  twelve  thousand  livres  to  a  parcel 
of  peasants  in  Normandy  with  whom  we  were  at  war,  and  who 
would  very  likely  give  it  all  to  the  priests  and  the  pope.  SJu 
would  not  subscribe  to  any  such  wickedness.  If  George  wanted 
to  squander  away  his  father's  money  (she  must  say  that  for- 
merly he  had  not  been  so  eager,  and  when  Harrfs  bejiejit  was 
in  question  had  refused  to  touch  a  penny  of  it !) — if  he  wished 
to  spend  it  now,  why  not  give  it  to  his  own  fiesh  and  blood,  to 
poor  Harr}^,  who  was  suddenly  deprived  of  his  inheritance,  and 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


455 


not  to  a  set  of  priest-ridden  peasants  in  France  ?  Tliis  dispute 
had  raged  between  mother  and  son  during  the  whole  of  the 
latter's  last  days  in  Virginia.  It  had  never  been  settled.  On 
the  morning  of  George's  departure,  Madam  Esmond  had  come 
to  his  bedside,  after  a  sleepless  night,  and  asked  him  whether 
he  still  persisted  in  his  intention  to  fling  away  his  father's  prop- 
erty.-* He  replied  in  a  depth  of  grief  and  perplexity,  that  his 
word  was  passed,  and  he  must  do  as  his  honor  bade  him.  She 
answered  that  she  would  continue  to  pray  that  heaven  might 
soften  his  proud  heart,  and  enable  her  to  bear  her  heavy  trials  : 
and  the  last  view  George  had  of  his  mother's  face  was  as  she 
stood  yet  a  moment  by  his  bedside,  pale  and  with  tearless  eyes, 
before  she  turned  away  and  slowly  left  his  chamber. 

"  Where  didst  thou  learn  the  art  of  winning  over  everybody 
to  thy  side-,  Harry  ?  "  continued  George  ;  "  and  how  is  it  that 
you  and  all  the  world  begin  by  being  friends  ?  Teach  me  a  few 
lessons  in  popularity, — nay,  I  don't  know  that  I  will  have  them  ; 
and  when  I  find  and  hear  certain  people  hate  me,  I  think  I  am 
rather  pleased  than  angry.  At  first,  at  Richmond,  Tvlr.  Esmond 
Warrington,  the  only  prisoner  who  had  escaped  from  I^rad- 
dock's  fielcT — the  victim  of  so  much  illness  and  hardshi'^ — was 
a  favorite  with  the  town-folks,  and  received  privately  ->nd  pub- 
licly with  no  little  kindness.  The  parson  glorified  niy  escape 
in  a  sermon ;  the  neighbors  came  to  visit  the  fugitive  ;  the 
family  coach  v^•as  ordered  out,  and  Madam  Esmoni  and  I  paid 
our  visits  in  return.  I  think  some  pretty  little  caps  were  set  at 
me.  But  these  our  mother  routed  off,  and  fright'-ined  with  the 
prodigious  haughtiness  of  her  demeanor ;  and  my  popularity 
was  already  at  the  decrease,  before  the  event  oxurred  which 
put  the  last  finishing  stroke  to  it.  I  was  not  jolly  enough  for 
the  officers,  and  didn't  care  for  their  drinking-boats,  dice-boxes, 
and  swearing.  I  was  too  sarcastic  for  the  ladieji,  and  their  tea 
and  tattle  stupefied  me  almost  as  much  as  the  men's  blustering 
and  horse-talk.  I  cannot  tell  thee,  Harr}^,  how  lonely  I  felt  in 
that  place,  amidst  the  scandal  and  squabbles  :  I  regretted  my 
prison  almost,  and  found  myself  more  than  once  wishing  for 
the  freedom  of  thought,  and  the  silent  ease  of  Duquesne.  I  am 
very  shy,  I  suj^pose  I  can  speak  unreservedly  to  very  few  people. 
Before  most,  I  sit  utterly  silent.  When  we  two  were  ?X  home, 
it  was  thou  who  used  to  talk  at  table,  and  get  a  smile  TiOw  and 
then  from  our  mother.  When  she  and  I  were  togethe..-  we  had 
no  subject  in  common,  and  v/e  scarce  spoke  at  ah  until  we 
began  to  dispute  about  law  and  divinity. 

"  So  the  gentlemen  had  determined  I  was  supercilious,  and 


456  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

a  dull  companion  (and,  indeed,  I  think  their  opinion  was  right), 
and  the  ladies  thought  I  was  cold  and  sarcastic, — could  nevet 
make  out  whether  I  was  in  earnest  or  no,  and,  I  think, 
generally  voted  I  was  a  disagreeable  fellow,  before  my  char- 
acter was  gone  quite  away  ;  and  that  went  with  the  appearance 
of  the  poor  Biche.  Oh,  a  nice  character  they  made  for  me,  my 
dear  !  "  cried  George,  in  a  transport  of  wrath,  "  and  a  pretty 
life  they  led  me,  after  Museau's  unlucky  messenger  had 
appeared  amongst  us  !  The  boys  hooted  the  poor  woman  if 
she  appeared  in  the  street  ;  the  ladies  dropped  me  half- 
curtseys,  and  walked  over  to  the  other  side.  That  precious 
clergyman  went  from  one  tea-table  to  another  preaching  on 
the  horrors  of  seduction,  and  the  lax  principles  which  young 
men  learned  in  popish  countries  and  brought  back  thence. 
The  poor  Fawn's  appearance  at  home,  a  few  weeks  after  my 
return  home,  was  declared  to  be  a  scheme  between  her  and 
me  ;  and  the  best  informed  agreed  that  she  had  waited  on  the 
other  side  of  the  river  until  I  gave  her  the  signal  to  come  and 
join  me  in  Richmond.  The  officers  bantered  me  at  the  coffee- 
house, and  cracked  their  clumsy  jokes  about  the  woman  I  had 
selected.  Oh,  the  world  is  a  nice  charitable  world  !  I  was  so 
enraged  that  I  thought  of  going  to  Castlewood  and  living 
alone  there, — for  our  mother  finds  the  place  dull,  and  the 
greatest  consolation  in  precious  Mr.  Stack's  ministry, — when 
the  news  arrived  oi  your  female  perplexity,  and  I  think  \\^  were 
all  glad  that  I  should  have  a  pretext  for  coming  to  Europe." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  any  of  the  infernal  scoundrels  who 
said  a  word  against  you,  and  break  their  rascally  bones,"  roars 
out  Harry,  striding  up  and  down  the  room. 

"  I  had  to  do  something  like  it  for  Bob  Clubber." 

''  What !  that  little  sneaking,  back-biting,  toad-eating  wretch, 
who  is  always  hanging  about  my  lord  at  Greenway  Court,  and 
sponging  on  every  gentleman  in  the  country  ?  If  you  whipped 
him,  I  hope  you  whipped  him  well,  George  ? " 

"  We  were  bound  over  to  keep  rhe  peace  ;  and  I  offered  to 
go  into  Maryland  with  him  and  settle  our  difference  there,  and 
of  course  the  good  folk  said,  that  having  made  free  with  the 
seventh  commandment  I  was  inclined  to  break  the  sixth.  So, 
by  this  and  by  that — and  being  as  innocent  of  the  crime  im- 
puted to  me  as  you  are — I  left  home,  my  dear  Harry,  with  as 
awful  a  reputation  as  ever  a  young  gentleman  earned." 

Ah,  what  an  opportunity  is  there  here  to  moralize  !  If  the 
esteemed  reader  and  his  humble  servant  could  but  know — 
could  but  write    down    in    a   book — could  but   publish,  with 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  45  y 

illustrations,  a  collection  of  the  lies  which  have  been  told 
regarding  each  of  us  since  we  came  to  man's  estate, — what  a 
harrowing  and  thrilling  work  of  fiction  that  romance  would  be  ! 
Not  only  is  the  world  informed  of  ever}'thing  about  you,  but  of 
a  great  deal  more.  Not  long  since  the  kind  postman  brought  a 
paper  containing  a  valuable  piece  of  criticism,  which  stated, 
"  This  author  states  he  was  born  in  such  and  such  a  year.  It 
is  a  lie.  He  was  born  in  the  year  so  and  so."  The  critic 
knew  better :  of  course  he  did.  Another  (and  both  came  from 
the  countr}-  which  gave  Mulligan  birth)  warned  some  friend, 
saying,  "  Don't  speak  of  New  South  Wales  to  him.  He  has 
a  brother  there  and  the  family  never  mention  his  name^  But 
this  subject  is  too  vast  and  noble  for  a  mere  paragraph.  I 
shall  prepare  a  memoir,  or  let  us  rather  have,  par  une  societe  de 
gens  de  lettres^  a  series  of  Biographies, — of  lives  of  gentlemen, 
as  told  by  their  dear  friends  whom  they  don't  know. 

George  having  related  his  exploits  as  champion  and  martyr, 
of  course  Harry  had  to  unbosom  himself  to  his  brother,  and  lay 
before  his  elder  an  account  of  his  private  affairs.  He  gave  up 
all  the  family  of  Castlewood — my  lord,  not  forgetting  the  better 
of  him  at  play ;  for  Harry  was  a  sporting  man,  and  expected  to 
pay  when  he  lost,  and  receive  when  he  won  ;  but  for  refusing 
to  aid  the  chaplain  in  his  necessity,  and  dismissing  him  with 
such  false  and  heartless  pretexts.  About  Mr.  Will  he  had  made 
up  his  mind,  after  the  horse-dealing  matter,  and  freely  marked 
his  sense  of  the  latter's  conduct  upon  Mr.  Will's  eyes  and  nose. 
Respecting  the  Countess  and  Lady  Fanny,  Harry  spoke  in  a 
manner  more  guarded,  but  not  very  favorable.  He  had  heard 
all  kind  of  stories  about  them.  The  Countess  was  a  card-playing 
old  cat ;  Lady  Fanny  was  a  desperate  flirt.  Who  told  him  ? 
Well,  he  had  heard  the  stories  from  a  person  who  knew  them 
both  very  well  indeed.  In  fact,  in  their  days  of  confidence, 
Maria  had  freely  imparted  to  her  cousin  a  number  of  anecdotes 
respecting  her  step-mother  and  her  half-sister,  which  were  by  no 
means  in  favor  of  those  ladies. 

But  in  respect  to  Lady  Maria  herself,  the  young  man  was 
staunch  and  hearty.  "  It  may  be  imprudent :  I  don't  say  no, 
George.  I  may  be  a  fool :  I  think  I  am.  I  know  there  will  be 
a  dreadful  piece  of  work  at  home,  and  that  Madam  and  she  will 
fight.  Well !  we  must  live  apart.  Our  estate  is  big  enough  to 
live  on  without  quarrelling,  and  I  can  go  elsewhere  than  to 
Richmond  or  Castlewood.  When  you  come  to  the  property, 
you'll  give  me  a  bit— at  any  rate,  Madam  will  let  me  off  at  an 
easy  rent — or  I'll  make  a  famous  farmer  or  factor.     I  can't  and 


458 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


won't  part  from  Maria.  She  has  acted  so  nobly  by  me,  that  I 
should  be  a  rascal  to  turn  my  back  on  her.  Think  of  her  bring- 
ing me  every  jewel  she  had  in  the  world,  dear  brave  creature  ! 
and  flinging  them  into  my  lap  with  her  last  guineas, — and — 
and — God  bless  her  !  "  Here  Harry  dashed  his  sleeve  across 
his  eyes,  with  a  stamp  of  his  foot ;  and  said,  "  No,  brother,  I 
won't  part  with  her,  not  to  be  made  Governor  of  Virginia  to- 
morrow ;  and  my  dearest  old  George  would  never  advise  me  to 
do  so,  I  know  that." 

"  I  am  sent  here  to  advise  you,"  George  replied.  "  I  am 
sent  to  break  the  marriage  off,  if  I  can :  and  a  more  unhappy 
one  I  can't  imagine.  But  I  can't  counsel  you  to  break  your 
word,  my  boy." 

"  I  knew  you  couldn't !  What's  said  is  said,  George.  I  have 
made  my  bed,  and  must  lie  on  it,"  says  Harry,  gloomily. 

Such  had  been  the  settlement  between  our  two  young  wor- 
thies, when  they  first  talked  over  Mr.  Harry's  love-affair.  But 
after  George's  conversation  with  his  aunt,  and  the  farther  knowl- 
edge of  his  family,  which  he  acquired  through  the  information  of 
that  keen  old  woman  of  the  world,  Mr.  Warrington,  who  was  nat- 
urally of  a  skeptical  turn,  began  to  doubt  about  Lady  Maria,  as 
well  as  regarding  her  brothers  and  sister,  and  looked  at  Harry's 
engagement  with  increased  distrust  and  alarm.  Was  it  for  his 
wealth  Maria  wanted  Harry?  Was  it  his  handsome  young 
person  that  she  longed  after  ?  Were  those  stories  true  which 
Aunt  Bernstein  had  told  of  her  ?  Certainly  he  could  not  advise 
Harry  to  break  his  word  ;  but  he  might  cast  about  in  his  mind 
for  some  scheme  for  putting  Maria's  affection  to  the  trial  ;  and 
his  ensuing  conduct,  which  appeared  not  very  amiable,  I  suppose 
resulted  from  this  deliberation. 


CHAPTER  LVI. 


ARIADNE. 


My  Lord  Castlewood  had  a  house  in  Kensington  Square 
spacious  enough  to  accommodate  the  several  members  of  his 
noble  family,  and  convenient  for  their  service  at  the  palace  hard 
by,  when  his  Majesty  dwelt  there.  Her  ladyship  had  her  even 
ings,  and  gave  her  card-parties  here  for  such  as  would  come  ; 
but  Kensington  was  a  long  way  from  London  a  hundred  years 


THE  VIRGINIANS. 


459 


since,  and  George  Selwyn  said  he  for  one  was  afraid  to  go,  for 
fear  of  being  robbed  of  a  night, — whether  by  footpads  with  crape 
over  their  faces,  or  by  ladies  in  rouge  at  the  quadrille-table,  we 
have  no  means  of  saying.  About  noon  on  the  day  after  Harry 
had  made  his  reappearance  at  White's,  it  chanced  that  all  his 
virtuous  kinsfolks  partook  of  breakfast  together,  even  Mr.  Will 
being  present,  who  was  to  go  into  waiting  in  the  afternoon. 

The  ladies  came  first  to  their  chocolate  :  them  jNIr.  Will 
joined  in  his  court  suit  ;  finally,  my  lord  appeared,  languid,  in 
his  bedgown  and  nightcap,  having  not  yet  assumed  his  wig  for 
the  day.  Here  was  news  which  Will  had  brought  home  from 
the  "  Star  and  Garter  ''  last  night,  when  he  supped  in  companv 
with  some  men  who  had  heard  it  at  White's,  and  seen  it  at 
Ranelagh  ! 

"  Heard  what  ?  seen  what  ?  "  asked  the  head  of  the  house 
taking  up  his  Daily  Advertiser. 

"  Ask  Maria  !  "  says  Lady  Fanny.  My  lord  turns  to  his 
elder  sister,  who  wears  a  face  of  jDrotentous  sadness,  and  looks 
as  pale  as  a  tablecloth. 

"  'Tis  one  of  Will's  usual  elegant  and  polite  inventions," 
says  Maria. 

"  No,"  swore  Will,  with  several  of  his  oaths ;  "  it  was  no  in- 
vention of  his.  Tom  Claypool  of  Norfolk  saw  'em  both  at 
Ranelagh  ;  and  Jack  Morris  came  out  of  White's,  where  he 
heard  the  story  from  Harry  Warrington's  own  lips.  Curse  him, 
I'm  glad  of  it !  "  roars  Will,  slapping  the  table.  "  What  do  you 
think  of  your  Fortunate  Youth .?  your  Virginian,  whom  your 
lordship  made  so  much  of,  turning  out  to  be  a  second  son  }  " 

"The  elder  brother  not  dead  ?  "  says  my  lord. 

"  No  more  dead  than  you  are.  Never  was.  It's  my  belief 
that  it  was  a  cross  between  the  two." 

"  Mr.  Warrington  is  incapable  of  such  duplicity !  "  cries 
Maria. 

"  /  never  encouraged  the  fellow,  I  am  sure  you  will  do  me 
justice  there,"  says  my  lady.  "  Nor  did  Fanny :  not  we, 
indeed  ! " 

"  Not  we,  indeed  !  "  echoes  my  Lady  Fanny. 

"  The  fellow  is  only  a  beggar,  and,  I  dare  say,  has  not  paid 
for  the  clothes  on  his  back,"  continues  Will.  "I'm  glad  of  it, 
for,  hang  me,  I  hate  him  !  " 

"  You  don't  regard  him  with  favorable  eyes  ;  especially  since 
he  blacked  yours.  Will !  "  grins  my  lord.  "  wSo  the  poor  fellow 
has  found  his  brother,  and  lost  his  estate  !  "  And  here  he 
turned  towards  his  sister  Maria,  who,  although  she  looked  the 


460  THE   VIRGINIANS, 

picture  of  woe,  must  have  suggested  something  ludicrous  to  the 
humorist  near  whom  she  sat  ;  for  his  lordship  having  gazed  at 
her  for  a  minute,  burst  into  a  shrill  laugh,  which  caused  the  poor 
lad3-'s  face  to  flush,  and  presently  her  eyes  to  pour  over  with 
tears.  "  It's  a  shame  !  it's  a  shame  !  "  she  sobbed  out,  and  hid 
her  face  in  her  handkerchief.  Maria's  stepmother  and  sister 
looked  at  each  other.  "  We  never  quite  understand  your  lord- 
ship's humor,"  the  former  lady  remarked,  gravely. 

''  I  don't  see  there  is  the  least  reason  why  you  should,"  said 
my  lord,  coolly.  "  Maria  my  dear,  pray  excuse  me  if  I  have 
said — that  is,  done  anything,  to  hurt  your  feelings." 

"  Done  anything  ?  You  pillaged  the  poor  lad  in  his  pros- 
perity, and  laugh  at  him  in  his  ruin  !  "  says  Maria,  rising  from 
table,  and  glaring  round  at  all  her  family. 

"  Excuse  me,  my  dear  sister,  I  was  not  laughing  at  /«'w," 
said  my  lord,  gently. 

"  Oh,  never  mind  at  what  or  whom  else,  my  lord  !  You 
have  taken  from  him  all  he  had  to  lose.  All  the  world  points 
at  you  as  the  man  who  feeds  on  his  own  flesh  and  blood.  And 
now  you  have  his  all,  you  make  merry  over  his  misfortune  !  " 
And  away  she  rustled  from  the  room,  flinging  looks  of  defiance 
at  all  the  party  there  assembled. 

"  Tell  us  what  has  happened,  or  what  you  have  heard.  Will, 
and  my  sister's  grief  will  not  interrupt  us."  And  Will  told,  at 
greater  length,  and  with  immense  exultation  at  Harry's  dis- 
comfiture, the  story  now  buzzed  through  all  Lond?on,  of  George 
Warrington's  sudden  apparition.  Lord  Castlevvood  w^as  sorry 
for  Harry !  Harry  was  a  good,  brave  lad,  and  his  kinsman  liked 
him,  as  much  as  certain  worldly  folks  like  each  other.  To  be 
sure,  he  played  Harry  at  cards,  and  took  the  advantage  of  the 
market  upon  him  ;  but  why  not  ?  The  peach  which  other  men 
would  certainly  pluck,  he  might  as  well  devour.  "  Eh  !  if  that 
were  all  my  conscience  had  to  reproach  me  with,  I  need  not  be 
very  uneasy  !  "  my  lord  thought.  "  Where  does  Mr.  War- 
rington live  ? " 

Will  expressed  himself  ready  to  enter  upon  a  state  of  repro- 
bation if  he  knew  or  cared. 

"  He  shall  be  invited  here,  and  treated  with  every  respect," 
says  my  lord. 

"  Including  picquet,  I  suppose  !  "  growls  Will. 

"  Or  will  you  take  him  to  the  stables,  and  sell  him  one  of 
your  bargains  of  horseflesh,  Will?"  asks  Lord  Castlewood. 
"  You  would  have  won  of  Harr}^  Warrington  fast  enough,  if  you 
could  ;  but  you  cheat  so  clumsily  at  your  game  that  you  got 


THE  VIRGINIANS.  461 

paid  with  a  cudgel.  I  desire,  once  more,  that  ever}'  attention 
may  be  paid  to  our  cousin  Warrington." 

"And  that  you  are  not  to  be  disturbed,  when  you  sit  down 
to  play,  of  course,  my  lord  !"  cries  Lady  Castlewood. 

"  Madam,  I  desire  fair  play,  for  Mr.  Warrington,  and  for 
myself,  and  for  every  member  of  this  amiable  family,"  retorted 
Lord  Castlewood,  fiercely. 

"  Heaven  help  the  poor  gentleman  if  your  lordship  is  going 
to  be  kind  to  him,"  said  the  stepmother,  with  a  curtsey ;  and 
there  is  no  knowing  how  far  this  family  dispute  might  have 
been  carried,  had  not,  at  this  moment,  a  phaeton  driven  up  to 
the  house,  in  which  were  seated  the  two  young  Virginians. 

It  was  the  carriage  which  our  young  Prodigal  had  purchased 
in  the  days  of  his  prosperity.  He  drove  it  still :  George  sat  in 
it  by  his  side  ;  their  negroes  w^ere  behind  them.  Harry  had 
been  for  meekly  giving  the  whip  and  reins  to  his  brother,  and 
ceding  the  whole  property  to  him.  "  W^hat  business  has  a  poor 
devil  like  me  wdth  horses  and  carriages,  Georgy  ?  "  Harry  had 
humbly  said.  "  Beyond  the  coat  on  my  back,  and  the  purse 
my  aunt  gave  me,  I  have  nothing  in  the  world.  You  take  the 
driving-seat,  brother  ;  it  will  ease  my  mind  if  you  will  take  the 
driving-seat."  George  laughingly  said  he  did  not  know  the 
way,  and  Harry  did  ;  and  that,  as  for  the  carriage,  he  would 
claim  only  a  half  of  it,  as  he  had  already  done  with  his  brother's 
wardrobe.  "  But  a  bargain  is  a  bargain  ;  if  I  share  thy  coats, 
thou  must  divide  my  breeches'  pocket,  Harry ;  that  is  but  fair 
dealing  !  "  Again  and  again  Harry  swore  there  never  was  such 
a  brother  on  earth.  How  he  rattled  his  horses  over  the  road  ! 
How  pleased  and  proud  he  was  to  drive  such  a  brother  !  They 
came  to  Kensington  in  famous  high  spirits ;  and  Gumbo's 
thunder  upon  Lord  Castlewood's  door  was  worthy  of  the  biggest 
footman  in  all  St.  James's. 

Only  my  Lady  Castlewood  and  her  daughter  Lady  Fanny 
were  in  the  room  into  which  our  young  gentlemen  were  ushered. 
Will  had  no  particular  fancy  to  face  Harry,  my  lord  was  not 
dressed,  Maria  had  her  reasons  for  being  away,  at  least  till  her 
eyes  were  dried.  When  we  drive  up  to  friend's  houses  now-a- 
days  in  our  coaches  and  six,  when  John  carries  up  our  noble 
names,  when,  finally,  we  enter  thexlrawing-room  with  our  best 
hat  and  best  Sunday  smile  foremost,  does  it  ever  happen  that 
we  interrupt  a  family  row  ?  that  w^e  come  simpering  and  smiling 
in,  and  stepping  over  the  delusive  ashes  of  a  still  burning 
domestic  heat  ?  that  in  the  interval  between  the  hall-door  and 
the  drawing-room,  Mrs.,  Mr,,  and  the  Misses  Jones  have  grouped 


462  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

themselves  in  a  family  tableau  :  this  girl  artlessly  arranging 
liowers  in  a  vase,  let  us  say  ;  that  one  reclining  over  an  illu- 
minated  work  of  devotion ;  mamma  on  the  sofa,  with  the 
butcher's  and  grocer's  book  pushed  under  the  cushion,  some 
elegant  work  in  her  hand,  and  a  pretty  little  foot  pushed  out 
advantageously  ;  while  honest  Jones  ;  far  from  saying,  "  Curse 
that  Brown,  he  is  always  calling  here !  "  holds  out  a  kindly 
hand,  shows  a  pleased  face,  and  exclaims,  "  What,  Brown  my 
boy,  delighted  to  see  you  !  Hope  you've  come  to  lunch  !  "  I 
say,  does  it  ever  happen  to  tcs  to  be  made  the  victims  of 
domestic  artifices,  the  spectators  of  domestic  comedies  got  up 
for  our  special  amusement  ?  Oh,  let  us  be  thankful,  not  only 
for  faces,  but  for  masks  !  not  only  for  honest  welcome,  but  for 
hypocrisy,  which  hides  unwelcome  things  from  us  !  Whilst  I 
am  talking,  for  instance,  in  this  easy,  chatty  way,  what  right 
have  you,  my  good  sir,  to  know  what  is  really  passing  in  my 
mind  ?  It  may  be  that  I  am  racked  with  gout,  or  that  my  eldest 
son  has  just  sent  me  in  a  thousand  pound's  worth  of  college- 
bills,  or  that  I  am  writhing  under  an  attack  of  the  Stoke  Fogis 
Sefitinel,  which  has  just  been  sent  me  under  cover,  or  that  there 
is  a  dreadfully  scrappy  dinner,  the  evident  remains  of  a  party 
to  which  I  did7i'f  invite  you,  and  yet  I  conceal  my  agony,  I  wear 
a  merry  smile  ;  I  say,  "  What !  come  to  take  pot-luck  with  us, 
Brown  my  boy  ?  Betsy  !  put  a  knife  and  fork  for  Mr.  Brown. 
Eat!  Welcome!  Fall  to!  It's  my  best!"  I  say  that  hum- 
bug which  I  am  performing  is  beautiful  self-denial — that  hypo- 
crisy is  true  virtue.  Oh,  if  every  man  spoke  his  mind,  what  an 
intolerable  society  our  would  be  to  live  in  ! 

As  the  young  gentlemen  are  announced.  Lady  Castlewood 
advances  towards  them  with  perfect  ease  and  good  humor. 
"We  have  heard,  Harry,"  she  says,  looking  at  the  latter  with 
a  special  friendliness,  "  of  this  most  extraordinary  circumstance. 
My  Lord  Castlewood  said  at  breakfast  that  he  should  wait  on 
you  this  very  day,  Mr.  Warrington,  and,  Cousin  Harry,  we 
intend  not  to  love  you  any  the  less  because  you  are  poor." 

"  We  shall  be  able  to  show  now  that  it  is  not  for  your  acres 
that  we  like  you,  Harry !  "  says  Lady  Fanny,  following  hei 
mamma's  lead. 

"  And  I  to  whom  the  acres  have  fallen  ? "  says  Mr.  George 
with  a  smile  and  a  bow. 

"  Oh,  cousin,  we  shall  like  you  for  being  like  Harr}^ !  " 
replies  the  arch  Lady  Fanny. 

Ah  !  who  that  has  seen  the  world,  has  not  admired  that 
astonishing  ease  with  which  fine  ladies  drop  you  and  pick  you 


THE  VIRGINIANS.  463 

up  again  ?  Both  the  ladies  now  addressed  themselves  almost 
exclusively  to  the  younger  brother.  They  were  quite  civil  to 
Mr.  George  :  but  with  Mr.  Harry  they  were  fond,  they  were 
softly  familiar,  they  were  gently  kind,  they  were  affectionately 
reproachful.  Why  had  Harry  not  been  for  days  and  days  to 
see  them  1 

'•  Better  to  have  had  a  dish  of  tea  and  a  game  at  picquet 
with  them  than  with  some  other  folks,"  says  Lady  Castlewood. 
"  If  we  had  won  enough  to  buy  a  paper  of  pins  from  you  we 
should  have  been  content ;  but  young  gentlemen  don't  know 
what  is  for  their  own  good,"  says  mamma. 

"  Now  you  have  no  more  money  to  play  with,  you  can  come 
and  play  with  us,  cousin  !  "  cries  fond  Lady  Fanny,  lifting  up 
a  finger,  "and  so  your  misfortune  will  be  good  fortune  to  us." 

George  was  puzzled.  This  welcome  of  his  brother  was  very 
different  from  that  to  which  he  had  looked.  All  these  compli- 
ments and  attentions  paid  to  the  younger  brother,  though  he 
was  without  a  guinea  !  Perhaps  the  people  were  not  so  bad  as 
they  were  painted  ?  The  Blackest  of  all  Blacks  is  said  not  to 
be  of  quite  so  dark  a  complexion  as  some  folks  describe  him. 

This  affectionate  conversation  continued  for  some  twenty 
minutes,  at  the  end  of  which  period  my  Lord  Castlewood  made 
his  appearance,  wig  on  head,  and  sword  by  side.  He  greeted 
both  the  young  men  with  much  politeness :  one  not  more  than 
the  other.  "  If  you  were  to  come  to  us — and  I,  for  one,  cordi- 
ally rejoice  to  see  you — what  a  pity  it  is  )'ou  did  hot  come  a  few 
months  earlier  !  "  A  certain  evening  at  picquet  would  then  most 
likely  never  have  taken  place.  A  younger  son  would  have 
been  more  prudent." 

"Yes,  indeed,"  said  Harry. 

"  Or  a  kinsman  more  compassionate.  But  I  fear  that  love 
of  play  runs  in  the  blood  of  all  of  us.  I  have  it  from  my  father, 
and  it  has  made  me  the  poorest  peer  in  England.  Those  fair 
ladies  whom  you  see  before  you  are  not  exempt.  My  poor 
brother  Will  is  a  martyr  to  it ;  and  what  I,  for  my  part  win  on 
one  day,  I  lose  on  the  next.  'Tis  shocking,  positively,  the  rage 
for  play  in  England.  All  my  poor  cousin's  bank-notes  parted 
company  from  me  within  twenty-four  hours  after  I  got  them." 

"  I  have  played,  like  other  gentlemen,  but  never  to  hurt 
myself,  and  never  indeed  caring  much  for  the  sport,"  remarked 
Mr.  Warrington. 

"  When  we  heard  that  my  lord  had  played  with  Harry,  we 
did  so  scold  him,"  cried  the  ladies. 

'•  But  if  it  had  not  been  I,  thou  knowest  cousin  Warrington, 


464- 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


some  other  person  would  have  had  thy  money.  'Tis  a  pooi 
consolation,  but  as  such  Harry  must  please  to  take  it,  and 
be  glad  that  friends  won  his  money,  who  wish  him  well,  not 
strangers,  who  cared  nothing  for  him,  and  fleeced  him." 

''  Eh  !  a  tooth  out  is  a  tooth  out,  though  it  be  your  brother 
that  pulls  it,  my  lord  !  "  said  Mr.  George,  laughing.  "  Harry 
must  bear  the  penalty  of  his  faults,  and  pay  his  debts,  like 
other  men." 

"  I  am  sure  I  have  never  said  or  thought  otherwise.  'Tis 
not  like  an  Englishman  to  be  sulky  because  he  is  beaten,"  says 
Harry. 

"  Your  hand,  cousin  !  You  speak  like  a  man !  "  cries  my 
lord,  with  delight.     The  ladies  smile  to  each  other. 

"  My  sister,  in  Virginia,  has  known  how  to  bring  up 
her  sons  as  gentlemen  !  "  exclaims  Lady  Castlewood,  enthusi- 
astically. 

"  I  protest  you  must  not  be  growing  so  amiable  now  you 
are  poor.  Cousin  Harry  !  "  cries  cousin  Fanny.  "  Why, 
Mamma,  we  did  not  know  half  his  good  qualities  when  he  was 
only  Fortunate  Youth  and  Prince  of  Virginia !  You  are 
exactly  like  him.  Cousin  George,  but  I  vow  you  can't  be  as 
amiable  as  your  brother  !  " 

"  I  am  the  Prince  of  Virginia,  but  I  fear  I  am  not  the 
Fortunate  Youth,"  said  George,  gravely. 

Harry  was  beginning,  "  By  Jove,  he  is  the  best "  when 

the  noise  of  a  harpsichord  was  heard  from  the  upper  room. 
The  lad  blushed  :  the  ladies  smiled. 

"'Tis  Maria,  above,"  said  Lady  Castlewood.  "Let  some 
of  us  go  up  to  her." 

The  ladies  rose,  and  made  way  towards  the  door ;  and 
Harry  followed  them,  blushing  ver}'  much.  George  was  about 
to  join  the  party,  but  Lord  Castlewood  checked  him.  "  Nay, 
if  all  the  ladies  follow  your  brother,"  his  lordship  said,  "  let 
me  at  least  have  the  benefit  of  your  company  and  conversation. 
I  long  to  hear  the  account  of  your  captivity  and  rescue,  Cousin 
George  !  " 

"  Oh,  we  must  hear  that  too  !  "  cried  one  of  the  ladies, 
lingering. 

"  I  am  greedy,  and  should  like  it  all  by  myself,"  said  Lord 
Castlewood,  looking  at  her  very  sternly ;  and  followed  the 
women  to  the  door,  and   closed  it  upon  them,  with   a  low  bow, 

"  Your  brother  has  no  doubt  acquainted  you  with  the 
history  of  all  that  has  happened  to  him  in  this  house.  Cousin 
George  .''  "  asked  George's  kinsman. 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  465 

"  Yes,  including  the  quarrel  with  Mr.  Will,  and  the  engage 
ment  to  my  Lady  Maria,"  replies  George,  with  a  bow.  "  1  may 
be  pardoned  for  saying  that  he  hath  met  with  but  ill  fortune 
here,  my  lord. 

"  Which  no  one  can  deplore  more  cordially  than  myself: 
My  brother  lives  with  horse-jockeys  and  trainers,  and  the 
wildest  bloods  of  the  town,  and  between  us  there  is  very  little 
sympathy.  We  should  not  all  live  together  were  we  not  so 
poor.  This  is  the  house  which  our  grandmother  occupied 
before  she  went  to  America  and  married  Colonel  Esmond. 
Much  of  the  old  furniture  belonged  to  her."  George  looked 
round  the  wainscoted  parlor  with  some  interest.  "  Our  house 
has  not  flourished  in  the  last  twenty  years  ;  though  we  had  a 
promotion  of  rank  a  score  of  years  since,  owing  to  some 
interest  we  had  at  court,  then.  But  the  malady  of  play  has 
been  the  ruin  of  us  all.  I  am  a  miserable  victim  to  it  :  only 
too  proud  to  sell  myself  and  title  to  a  rofuriere,  as  many  noble- 
men, less  scrupulous,  have  done.  Pride  is  my  fault,  my  dear 
cousin.  I  remember  how  I  was  born  ! "  And  his  lordship 
laid  his  hand  on  his  shirt-frill,  turned  out  his  toe,  and  looked 
his  cousin  nobly  in  the  face. 

Young  George  Warrington's  natural  disposition  was  to 
believe  everything  which  everybody  said  to  him.  When  once 
deceived,  however,  or  undeceived  about  the  character  of  a 
person,  he  became  utterly  incredulous,  and  he  saluted  this  fine 
speech  of  my  lord's  with  a  sardonical,  inward  laughter,  pre- 
serving his  gravity,  however,  and  scarce  allowing  any  of  his 
scorn  to  appear  in  his  words. 

"  We  have  all  our  faults,  my  lord.  That  of  play  hath  been 
condoned  over  and  over  again  in  gentlemen  of  our  rank. 
Having  heartily  forgiven  m}^  brother,  surely  I  cannot  presume 
to  be  your  lordship's  judge  in  the  matter ;  and  instead  ol 
playing  and  fosing,  I  wish  sincerely  that  you  had  both  played 
and  won  !  " 

"  So  do  I,  with  all  my  heart !  "  says  my  lord,  with  a  sigh. 
"  I  augur  well  for  your  goodness  when  you  can  speak  in  this 
way,  and  for  your  experience  and  knowledge  of  the  world,  too, 
cousin,  of  which  you  seem  to  possess  a  greater  share  than 
most  young  men  of  your  age.  Your  poor  Harry  hath  the  best 
heart  in  the  world  ;  but  I  doubt  whether  his  head  be  very 
strong." 

"  Not  very  strong,  indeed.  But  he  hath  the  art  to  make 
friends  wherever  he  goes,  and  in  spite  of  all  his  imprudences 
most  people  love  him." 

30 


466 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


"  I  do — we  all  do,  I'm  sure  !  as  if  he  were  our  brother  !  " 
cries  my  lord. 

"  He  has  often  described  in  his  letters  his  welcome  at  your 
lordship's  house.  My  mother  keeps  them  all,  you  may  be 
sure.  Harry's  .style  is  not  very  learned,  but  his  heart  is  so 
good,  that  to  read  him  is  better  than  wit." 

"  I  may  be  mistaken,  but  I  fancy  his  brother  possesses  a 
good  heart  and  a  good  wit,  too!"  says  my  lord,  obstinately 
gracious. 

"  I  am  as  heaven  made  me,  cousin  ;  and  perhaps  have  had 
some  more  experience  and  sorrow  than  has  fallen  to  the  lot  of 
most  young  men." 

''  This  misfortune  of  your  poor  brother — I  mean  this  piece 
of  good  fortune,  your  sudden  reappearance — has  not  quite  left 
Harry  without  resources.''"  continued  Lord  Castlewood,  very 
gently. 

"  With  nothing  but  what  his  mother  can  leave  him,  or  I,  at 
her  death,  can  spare  him.  What  is  the  usual  portion  here  of  a 
younger  brother,  my  lord  ?  " 

"Eh!  a  younger  brother  here  is  —  you  know  —  in  fine, 
eveiybody  knows  what  a  younger  brother  is,"  said  my  lord,  and 
shrugged  his  shoulders  and  looked  his  guest  in  the  face. 

The  other  went  on  :  "  We  are  the  best  of  friecids,  but  we 
are  flesh  and  blood  :  and  I  don't  pretend  to  do  more  for  him 
than  is  usually  done  for  younger  brothers.  Why  give  him 
money  ?  That  he  should  squander  it  at  cards  or  horse-racing  ? 
My  Lord,  we  have  cards  and  jockeys  in  Virginia,  too ;  and  my 
poor  Harry  hath  distinguished  himself  in  his  own  country 
already,  before  he  came  to  yours.  He  inherits  the  family 
failing  for  dissipation." 

"  Poor  fellow,  poor  fellow,  I  pity  him  !  " 

"  Our  estate,  you  see,  is  great,  but  our  income  is  small. 
We  have  little  more  money  than  that  which  w^e  get  from  Eng- 
land for  our  tobacco — and  very  little  of  that,  too  —  for  our 
tobacco  comes  back  to  us  in  the  shape  of  goods,  clothes, 
leather,  groceries,  ironmongery,  nay,  wine  and  beer  for  our 
people  and  ourselves.  Harry  may  come  back  and  share  all 
these  :  tli^re  is  a  nag  in  the  stable  for  him,  a  piece  of  venison 
on  the  table,  a  little  ready  money  to  keep  his  pocket  warm,  and 
a  coat  or  two  every  year.  This  will  go  on  whilst  my  mother 
lives,  unless,  which  is  far  from  improbable,  he  gets  into 
some  quarrel  with  Madam  Esmond.  Then,  whilst  I  live  he 
will  have  the  run  of  the  house  and  all  it  contains  :  then,  if  I 
die  leaving  children,  he  will  be  less  and  less  welcome.  His 
future,  my  lord,  is  a  dismal  one,  unless  some   strange  piece  of 


THE   VIRGIXIAXS. 


467 


luck  turn  up  on  which  we  were  fools  to  speculate.  Henceforth 
he  is  dooi^jed  to  dependence,  and  I  know  no  worse  lot  than 
to  be  dependent  on  a  self-willed  woman  like  our  mother.  The 
means  he  had  to  make  himself  respected  at  home  he  hath 
squandered  away  here.  He  has  flung  his  jDatrimony  to  the 
dogs,  and  poverty  and  subserviency  are  now  his  only  portion." 
Mr.  Warrington  delivered  this  speech  with  considerable  spirit, 
and  volubilit}^,  and  his  cousin  heard  him  respectfully. 

''  You  speak  well,  Mr.  Warrington.  Have  you  ever  thought 
of  public  life  ?  "  said  my  lord. 

"  Of  course  I  have  thought  of  public  life  like  every  man  of 
my  station — every  man,  that  is,  who  cares  for  something  be- 
yond a  dice-box  or  a  stable,"  replies  George.  "  I  hope,  m)^ 
lord,  to  be  able  to  take  my  own  place,  and  my  unlucky  brother 
must  content  himself  with  his.  This  I  say  advisedly,  having 
heard  from  him  of  certain  engagements  which  he  has  formed, 
and  which  it  would  be  miser^^  to  all  parties  were  he  to  attempt 
to  execute  now." 

"  Your  logic  is  very  strong,"  said  my  lord.  "  Shall  we  go 
up  and  see  the  ladies  1  There  is  a  picture  above  stairs  which 
your  grandfather  is  said  to  have  executed.  Before  you  go,  my 
dear  cousin,  you  will  please  to  fix  a  day  when  our  family  may 
have  the  honor  of  receiving  you.  Castlewood,  you  know,  is 
always  your  home  when  we  are  there.  It  is  something  like 
your  Virginian  Castlewood,  cousin,  from  your  account.  We 
have  beef,  and  mutton,  and  ale,  and  w'ood,  in  plenty ;  but 
money  is  wofully  scarce  amongst  us." 

They  ascended  to  the  drawing-room,  where,  however,  they 
found  only  one  of  the  ladies  of  the  family.  This  w'as  my  Lady 
Maria,  who  came  out  of  the  embrasure  of  a  window^,  where  she 
and  Harry  Warrington  had  been  engaged  in  talk. 

George  made  his  best  bow,  Maria  her  low^est  curtsey. 
"  You  are  indeed  wonderfully  like  your  brother,"  she  said,  giv- 
ing him  her  hand.  "  And  from  what  he  says.  Cousin  George,  I 
think  you  are  as  good  as  he  is." 

At  the  sight  of  her  swollen  eyes  and  tearful  face  George 
felt  a  pang  of  remorse.  "  Poor  thing,"  he  thought.  "  Harry 
has  been  vaunting  my  generosity  and  virtue  to  her,  and  I  have 
been  playing  the  selfish  elder  brother  down  stairs  !  How  old 
she  looks  !  How  could  he  ever  have  a  passion  for  such  a 
woman  as  that  ?  "  How  ?  Because  he  did  not  see  with  your 
eyes,  Mr.  George.  He  saw  rightly  too  now  with  his  own,  per- 
haps. I  never  know  whether  to  pity  or  congratulate  a  man  on 
coming  to  his  senses. 


468 


THE   I  'JR  GINIA  NS. 


After  the  introduction  a  little  talk  took  place,  which  for  a 
while  Lad}'  Maria  managed  to  carry  on  in  an  easy  manner  :  but 
though  ladies  in  this  matter  of  social  hypocrisy  are,  \  think,  far 
more  consummate  performers  than  men,  after  a  sentence  or  two 
the  poor  lady  broke  out  into  a  sob,  and,  motioning  Harr}^  away 
with  her  hand,  fairly  fled  from  the  room. 

Harry  was  rushing  forward,  but  stopped — checked  by  that 
sign.  My  lord  said  his  poor  sister  was  subject  to  these  fits  of 
nerves,  and  had  already  been  ill  that  morning.  After  this 
event  our  young  gentlemen  thought  it  was  needless  to  prolong 
their  visit.  Lord  Castlewood  followed  them  down  stairs,  accom- 
panied them  to  the  door,  admired  their  nags  in  the  phaeton, 
and  waved  them  a  friendly  farewell. 

"  And  so  we  have  been  coaxing  and  cuddling  in  the  window 
and  we  part  good  friends,  Harry  t  Is  it  not  so  ?  "  says  George 
to  his  charioteer. 

"  Oh,  she  is  a  good  woman  !  "  cries  Harry,  lashing  the 
horses.     "  I  know  you'll  think  so  when  you  come  to  know  her." 

"  When  you  take  her  home  to  Virginia  ?  A  pretty  welcome 
our  mother  will  give  her.  She  will  never  forgive  me  for  not 
breaking  the  match  off,  nor  you  for  making  it.'; 

"  I  can't  help  it,  George  !  Don't  you  be  popping  your  ugly 
head  so  close  to  my  ears,  Gumbo  !  After  what  has  passed 
between  us,  I  am  bound  in  honor  to  stand  by  her.  If  she  sees 
no  objection,  I  must  find  none.  I  told  her  all.  I  told  her  that 
madam  would  be  very  rusty  at  first ;  but  that  she  was  very  fond 
of  me,  and  must  end  by  relenting.  And  when  you  come  to  the 
property,  I  told  her  that  I  knew  my  dearest  George  so  well, 
that  I  might  count  upon  sharing  with  him." 

"  The  deuce  you  did  !  Let  me  tell  you,  my  dear,  that  I 
have  been  telling  my  Lord  Castlewood  quite  a  different  stor}^ 
That  as  an  elder  brother  I  intend  to  have  all  my  rights — there, 
don't  flog  that  near  horse  so  —  and  that  you  can  but  look 
forward  to  poverty  and  dependence." 

"What  ?  You  won't  help  me  ?  "  cries  Harry,  turning  quite 
pale.  "  George,  I  don't  believe  it,  though  I  hear  it  out  of  your 
own  mouth  ! " 

There  was  a  minute's  pause  after  this  outbreak,  during 
which  Harry  did  not  even  look  at  his  brother,  but  sat,  gazing 
blindly  before  him,  the  picture  of  grief  and  gloom.  He  was 
driving  so  near  to  a  road-post  that  the  carriage  might  have  been 
upset  but  for  George's  pulling  the  rein. 

"You  had  better  take  the  reins,  sir,"  said  Harry.  "  I  told 
you  you  had  better  take  them." 


THE   VIRGTXIANS.  469 

"  Did  you  ever  know  me  fail  3'ou,  Harry  ?  "     George  asked. 

"  No,"  said  the  other,  "  not  till  now  " — the  tears  were  roU- 
hig  dov/n  his  cheeks  as  he  spoke. 

"  My  dear,  I  think  one  day  you  will  say  I  have  done  my 
duty." 

"  What  have  you  done  ?  "  asked  Harry. 

"  I  have  said  you  were  a  younger  brother — that  you  have 
spent  all  your  patrimony,  and  that  your  portion  at  home  must 
be  very  slender.     Is  it  not  true  ? " 

"Yes,  but  I  would  not  have  believed  it  if  ten  thousand  men 
had  told  me,"  said  Harry.  "  Whatever  happened  to  me,  I 
thought  I  could  trust  you,  George  Warrington."  And  in  this 
frame  of  mind  Harry  remained  during  the  rest  of  the  drive. 

Their  dinner  was  served  soon  after  their  return  to  their 
lodgings,  of  which  Harry  scarce  ate  any,  though  he  drank  freely 
of  the  wine  before  him. 

"  That  wine  is  a  bad  consoler  in  trouble,  Harry,"  his  brother 
remarked. 

"  I  have  no  other  sir,"  said  Harry,  grimly  ;  and  having 
drunk  glass  after  glass  in  silence,  he  presently  seized  his  hat, 
and  left  the  room. 

He  did  not  return  for  three  hours.  George,  in  much  anxiety 
about  his  brother,  had  not  left  home  meanwhile,  but  read  his 
book,  and  smoked  the  pipe  of  patience.  It  was  shabby  to  say 
I  would  not  aid  him,  and  God  help  me,  it  was  not  true.  I 
won't  leave  him,  though  he  marries  a  blackamoor,"  thought 
George  :  "have  I  not  done  him  harm  enough  already, "by 
coming  to  life  again  1  Where  has  he  gone  ;  has  he  gone  to 
play  ?  " 

"  Good  God  !  what  has  happened  to  thee  ? "  cried  George 
Warrington,  presently,  when  his  brother  came  in,  looking  ghastly 
pale. 

He  came  up  and  took  his  brother's  hand.  "  I  can  take  it 
now,  Georgy,"  he  said.  "  Perhaps  what  you  did  was  rigl  t, 
though  I  for  one  will  never  believe  that  you  would  throw  your 
brother  off  in  distress.  I'll  tell  you  what.  At  dinner,  I  thought 
suddenly,  I'll  go  back  to  her  and  speak  to  her.  I'll  say  to  her, 
'  Maria,  poor  as  I  am,  your  conduct  to  me  has  been  so  noble, 
that,  by  heaven  !  I  am  yours  to  take  or  to  leave.  If  you  will 
have  me,  here  I  am  :  I  will  enlist :  I  will  work  :  I  will  try  and 

make  a   livelihood  for   myself   somehow,   and  my  bro my 

relations  will  relent,  and  give  us  enough  to  live  on.'  That's 
what  I  determined  to  tell  her  ;  and  I  did,  George.  I  ran  all  the 
way  to  Kensington  in  the  rain — look,  I  am  splashed  from  head 


47 o  THE   VIRGIXIANS. 

to  foot, — and  found  them  all  at  dinner,  all  except  Will,  that  is. 
I  spoke  out  that  very  moment  to  them  all,  sitting  round  the 
table,  over  their  wine.  '  Maria,'  says  I,  '  a  poor  fellow  wants  to 
redeem  his  promise  which  he  made  when  he  fancied  he  was  rich. 
Will  you  take  him  !  '  I  found  I  had  plenty  of  words,  and  didn't 
hem  and  stutter  as  I  am  doing  now.  I  spoke  e\ier  so  long,  and 
ended  by  saying  I  would  do  my  best  and  my  duty  by  her,  so 
help  me  God  ! 

"When  I  had  done,  she  came  up  to  me  quite  kind.  She 
took  my  hand  and  kissed  it  before  the  rest.  '  My  dearest,  best 
Harry!'  she  said  (those  were  her  words,  I  don't  want  otherwise 
to  be  praising  myself),  '  you  are  a  noble  heart,  and  I  thank  you 
with  all  mine.  But,  my  dear,  I  have  long  seen  it  was  only  duty, 
and  a  foolish  promise  made  by  a  young  man  to  an  old  woman, 
that  has  held  you  to  your  engagement.  To  keep  it  would  make 
you  miserable,  my  dear.  I  absolve  you  from  it,  thanking  you 
with  all  my  heart  for  your  fidelity,  'and  blessing  and  loving  my 
dear  cousin  always.'  And  she  came  up  and  kissed  me  before 
them  all,  and  went  out  of  the  room  quite  stately,  and  without  a 
single  tear.  They  were  all  crying,  especially  my  lord,  who  was 
sobbing  quite  loud.  I  didn't  think  he  had  so  much  feeling. 
And  she,  George  ?     Oh,  isn't  she  a  noble  creature  ?  " 

"  Here's  her  health  !  "  cries  George,  filling  one  of  the  glasses 
that  still  stood  before  him. 

"  Hip,  hip,  huzzay  !  "  says  Harry.  He  was  wild  with  de- 
light at  being  free. 


CHAPTER  LVn. 


IN    WHICH    MR.  HARRY  S    NOSE    CONTINUES    TO    BE    PUT    OUT 
OF   JOINT. 

Madame  de  Bernstein  was  scarcely  less  pleased  than  her 
Virginian  nephews  at  the  result  of  Harr}''s  final  interview  with 
Lady  Maria.  George  informed  the  Baroness  of  what  had 
passed,  in  a  billet  which  he  sent  to  her  the  same  evening  ;  and 
shortly  afterwards  her  nephew  Castlewood,  whose  visits  to  his 
aunt  were  very  rare,  came  to  pay  his  respects  to  her,  and  frankly 
spoke  about  the  circumstances  which  had  taken  place  ;  for 
no  man  knew  better  than  my  Lord  Castlewood  how  to  be  frank 
upon  occasion,  and  now  that  the  business  betw^een  Maria  and 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


471 


Harry  was  ended,  what  need  was  there  of  reticence  or  h3poc- 
risy  ?  The  game  had  been  played  and  was  over  :  he  had  no 
objection  now  to  speak  of  its  various  moves,  stratagems, 
finesses.  "She  is  my  own  sister,"  said  my  lord,  affectionately: 
"  she  won't  have  many  more  chances — many  more  ^//f//  chances 
of  marrying  and  estabUshing  herself.  I  might  not  approve  of 
the  match  in  all  respects,  and  I  might  pity  your  ladyship's 
young  Virginian  favorite  :  but  of  course  such  a  piece  of  good 
fortune  was  not  to  be  thrown  away,  and  I  was  bound  to  stand 
by  my  own  flesh  and  blood. 

"  Your  candor  does  your  lordship  honor,"  says  Madame  de 
Bernstein,"  and  your  love  for  your  sister  is  quite  edifying !  " 

"  Nay,  we  have  lost,  the  game,  and  I  am  speaking  sans 
rancune.  It  is  not  for  you,  w4io  have  won,  to  bear  malice," 
gays  my  lord,  with  a  bow. 

Madame  de  Bernstein  protested  she  was  never  in  her  life 
in  better  humor.  "  Confess,  now,  Eugene,  that  visit  of  Maria 
[o  Harry  at  the  sponging-house — that  touching  giving  up  of  all 
his  presents  to  her,  was  a  stroke  of  thy  invention  ?  " 

"  Pity  for  the  young  man,  and  a  sense  of  what  was  due 
from  Maria  to  her  friend — her  affianced  lover — in  misfortune, 
sure  these  were  motives  sufficient  to  make  her  act  as  she  did," 
rejDlies  Lord  Castlewood,  demurely. 

"  But  'twas  you  advised  her,  my  good  nephew  ?  " 

Castlewood,  with  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders,  owned  that  he 
did  advise  his  sister  to  see  Mr.  Henry  Warrington.  "  But  we 
should  have  won,  in  spite  of  your  ladyship,"  he  continued, 
"  had  not  the  elder  brother  made  his  appearance.  And  I  have 
been  tr}dng  to  console  my  poor  Maria  by  showing  her  what  a 
piece  of  good  fortune  it  is  after  all,  that  we  lost." 

"  Suppose  she  had  married  Harry,  and  then  Cousin  George 
had  made  his  appearance  .'*  "  remarks  the  Baroness. 

■  "  Effectivement,"  cries  Eugene,  taking  snuff.  "  As  the 
grave  was  to  give  up  its  dead,  let  us  be  thankful  to  the  grave 
for  disgorging  in  time  !  I  am  bound  to  say,  that  Mr.  George 
Warrington  seems  to  be  a  man  of  sense,  and  not  more  selfish 
than  other  elder  sons  and  men  of  the  world.  My  jDOor  Molly 
fancied  that  he  might  be  a — what  shall  I  say  ? — a  greenhorn 
perhaps  is  the  term — like  his  younger  brother.  She  fondly 
hoped  that  he  might  be  inclined  to  go  share  and  share  alike 
with  Twin  junior ;  in  which  case,  so  infatuated  w^as  she  about 
the  young  fellow,  that  I  believe  she  would  have  taken  him. 
'  Harry  Warrington,  with  half  a  loaf,  might  do  very  well,'  says 
I,  '  but  Harry  Warrington  with  no  bread,  my  dear  ! '  " 


^^2  THE   I'IRGINIANS. 

"  How  no  bread  ?  "  asks  the  Baroness. 

"  Well,  no  bread  except  at  his  brother's  side-table.  The 
elder  said  as  much." 

"  What  a  hard-hearted  wretch  !  ''  cries  Madame  de  Bern- 
stein. 

"Ah,  bah!  I  play  with  you,  aunt,  cartes  sur  table!  Mr. 
George  only  did  what  everybody  else  would  do  :  and  we  have 
no  right  to  be  angry  with  him — really  we  haven't.  Molly  her- 
self acknowledged  as  much,  after  her  first  burst  of  grief  was 
over  and  I  brought  her  to  listen  to  reason.  The  silly  old  crea- 
ture !  to  be  so  wild  about  a  young  lad  at  her  time  of  life  !  " 

"  'Twas  a  real  passion,  I  almost  do  believe,"  said  Madame 
de  Bernstein. 

"  You  should  have  heard  her  take  leave  of  him  !  C'etait 
touchant,  ma  parole  d'honneur !  I  cried.  Before  George,  I 
could  not  help  myself.  The  young  fellow  with  muddy  stock- 
ings, and  his  hair  about  his  eyes,  flings  himself  amongst  us 
when  we  were  at  dinner  ;  makes  his  offer  to  Molly  in  a  very 
frank  and  noble  manner,  and  in  good  language  too  ;  and  she 
replies.  Begad,  it  put  me  in  mind  of  Mrs.  Woffington  in  the 
new  Scotch  play,  that  Lord  Bute's  man  has  wrote — Douglas — 
what  d'ye  call  it  ?  She  clings  round  the  lad ;  she  bids  him 
adieu  in  heart-rending  accents.  She  steps  out  of  the  room  in  a 
stately  despair — no  more  chocolate,  thank  )^ou.  If  she  had 
made  a  inauvais  pas^  no  one  could  retire  from  it  with  more  dig- 
nity. 'Twas  a  masterly  retreat  after  a  defeat.  We  were 
starved  out  of  our  position,  but  we  retired  with  all  the  honors 
of  war." 

"  Molly  won't  die  of  the  disappointment  !  "  said  my  lord's 
aunt,  sipping  her  cup. 

My  lord  snarled  a  grin,  and  showed  his  yellow  teeth. 
"  He,  he  !  "  he  said,  "  she  hath  once  or  twice  before  had  the 
malady  very  severely,  and  recovered  perfectly.  It  don't  kill, 
as  your  ladyship  knows,  at  Molly's  age." 

How  should  her  ladyship  know  ?  She  did  not  marry 
Doctor  Tusher  until  she  was  advanced  in  life.  She  did  not 
become  Madame  de  Bernstein  until  still  later.  Old  Dido,  a 
poet  remarks,  was  not  ignorant  of  misfortune,  and  hence  learned 
to  have  compassion  on  the  wretched. 

People  in  the  little  world,  as  I  have  been  told,  quarrel  and 
fight,  and  go  on  abusing  each  other,  and  are  not  reconciled  for 
ever  so  long.  But  people  in  the  great  world  are  surely  wiser 
in  their  generation.  They  have  differences  ;  they  cease  seeing 
each  other.     They  make  it  up  and  come  together  again,  and  no 


THE  VIRGINIANS.  4y3 

questions  are  asked.  A  stray  prodigal,  or  a  stray  puppy-dog, 
is  thus  brought  in  under  the  benefit  of  an  amnesty,  though  you 
know  he  has  been  away  in  ugly  company.  For  six  months 
past,  ever  since  the  Castlewoods  and  Madame  de  Bernstein 
had  been  battling  for  possession  of  poor  Harry  Warrington, 
these  two  branches  of  the  Esmond  family  had  remained  apart. 
Now,  the  question  being  settled,  they  were  free  to  meet  again, 
as  though  no  difference  ever  had  separated  them  ;  and  Madame 
de  Bernstein  drove  in  her  great  coach  to  Lady  Castlewood's 
rout,  and  the  Esmond  ladies  appeared  smiling  at  Madame  de 
Bernstein's  drums,  and  loved  each  other  just  as  much  as  they 
previously  had  done. 

"  So,  sir,  I  hear  you  have  acted  like  a  hard-hearted  mon- 
ster about  your  poor  brother  Harry  !  "  says  the  Baroness,  de- 
lighted, and  menacing  George  with  her  stick. 

"  I  acted  but  upon  your  ladyship's  hint,  and  desired  to  see 
whether  it  was  for  himself  or  his  reputed  money  that  his  kins- 
folk wan::ed  to  have  him,"  replies  George,  turning  rather  red. 

"  Nay,  Maria  could  not  marry  a  poor  fellow  who  was  utterly 
penniless,  and  whose  elder  brother  said  he  would  give  him 
nothing!  " 

"  I  did  it  for  the  best.  Madam,"  says  George,  still  blushing. 

"  And  so  thou  didst,  O  thou  hypocrite  !  "  cries  the  old  lady. 

"  Hypocrite,  Madam  !  and  why  t  "  asks  Mr.  Warrington, 
drawing  himself  up  in  much  state. 

"I  know  all,  my  infant!"  says  the  Baroness  in  French. 
"  Thou  art  very  like  thy  grandfather.  Come,  that  I  embrace 
thee  !  Harry  has  told  me  all,  and  that  thou  hast  divided  thy 
little  patrimony  with  him  !  " 

"  It  was  but  natural.  Madam.  We  have  had  common  hearts 
and  purses  since  we  were  born,  I  but  feigned  hard-hearted- 
ness  in  order  to  try  those  people  yonder,"  says  George,  with 
filling  eyes. 

"And  thou  wilt  divide  Virginia  with  him  too?  "  asks  the 
Bernstein. 

"I  don't  say  so.  It  were  not  just,"  replied  Mr.  Warring- 
ton. "  The  land  must  go  to  the  eldest  born,  and  Harry  would 
not  have  it  otherwise :  and  it  may  be  I  shall  die,  or  my  mother 
outlive  the  pair  of  us.  But  half  of  what  is  mine  is  his  :  and  he, 
it  must  be  remembered,  only  was  extravagant  because  he  was 
mistaken  as  to  his  position." 

'*  But  it  is  a  knight  of  old,  it  is  a  Bayard,  it  is  the  grand- 
father come  to  life  !  "  cried  Madame  de  Bernstein  to  her  at- 
tendant, as  she  was  retiring  for  the  night.     And  that  evening, 


474  ^-^-^   riRGIXlA.VS. 

when  the  lads  left  her,  it  was  to  poor  Harr}'  she  gave  the  two 
lingers,  and  to  George  the  rouged  cheek,  who  blushed  tor  his 
part,  almost  as  deep  as  that  often-dyed  rose,  at  such  a  mark  of 
his  old  kinswoman's  favor. 

Although  Harry  Warrington  was  the  least  envious  of  men, 
and  did  honor  to  his  brother  as  in  all  respects  his  chief,  guide, 
and  superior,  yet  no  wonder  a  certain  feeling  of  humiliation 
and  disappointment  oppressed  the  young  man  after  his  deposi- 
tion from  his  eminence  as  Fortunate  Youth  and  heir  to  bound- 
less Virginian  territories.  Our  friends  at  Kensington  might 
promise  and  vow  that  they  would  love  him  all  the  better  after 
his  fall ;  Harry  made  a  low  bow  and  professed  himself  very 
thankful  ;  but  he  could  not  help  perceiving,  when  he  went  with 
his  brother  to  the  state  entertainment  with  which  my  Lord 
Castlewood  regaled  his  new^-found  kinsman,  that  George  was 
all  in  all  to  his  cousins  :  had  all  the  talk,  compliments,  and 
petits  soins  for  himself,  whilst  of  Harry  no  one  took  any  notice 
save  poor  Maria, who  followed  him  with  wistful  looks,  pursued 
him  with  eyes  conveying  dismal  reproaches,  and  as  it  were, 
blamed  him  because  she  had  left  him.  "  Ah  !  "  the  eyes  seemed 
to  say,  "'tis  mighty  well  of  you,  Harry,  to  have  accepted  the 
freedom  which  I  gave  you  ;  but  I  had  no  intention,  sir,  that 
you  should  be  so  pleased  at  being  let  off."  She  gave  him  up, 
but  yet  she  did  not  quite  forgive  him  for  taking  her  at  her 
word.  She  would  not  have  him,  and  yet  she  would.  Oh,  my 
young  friends,  how  delightful  is  the  beginning  of  a  love-busi- 
ness, and  how  undignified,  sometimes,  the  end  ! 

This  is  what  Harry  Warrington,  no  doubt  felt  when  he  went 
to  Kensington  and  encountered  the  melancholy,  reproachful 
e3^es  of  his  cousin.  Yes  !  it  is  a  foolish  position  to  be  in  ;  but 
it  is  also  melancholy  to  look  into  a  house  you  have  once  lived 
in,  and  see  black  casements  and  emptiness  where  once  shone 
the  fires  of  welcome.  Melancholy  ?  Yes  ;  but,  ha  !  how  bit- 
ter, how  melancholy,  how  absurd  to  look  up  as  you  pass  senti- 
mentally by  No.  13,  and  see  somebody  else  grinning  out  of 
window,  and  evidently  on  the  best  terms  with  the  landlady.  I 
always  feel  hurt,  even  at  an  inn  which  I  frequent,  if  I  see 
other  folks'  trunks  and  boots  at  the  doors  of  the  rooms  which 
were  once  mine.  Have  those  boots  lolled  on  the  sofa  which 
once  I  reclined  on  ?  I  kick  you  from  before  me,  you  muddy, 
vulgar  highlows  ! 

So  considering  that  his  period  of  occupation  was  over,  and 
Maria's  rooms,  if  not  given  up  to  a  new  tenant,  were,  at  any 
rate,  to  let,  Harry  did  not  feel  very  easy  in  his   cousin's  com 


THE   VIRGIiUAiXS. 


475 


pany,  nor  she  possibly  in  his.  He  found  either  that  he  had 
nothing  to  say  to  her,  or  that  what  she  had  to  say  to  him  was 
rather  dull  and  common-place,  and  that  the  red  lip  of  a  white- 
necked  pipe  of  Virginia  was  decidedly  more  agreeable  to  him 
now  than  Maria's  softest  accents  and  most  melancholy  moiie. 
When  George  went  to  Kensington,  then,  Harry  did  not  care 
much  about  going,  and  pleaded  other  engagements. 

At  his  uncle's  house  in  Hill  Street  the  poor  lad  was  no 
better  amused,  and,  indeed,  was  treated  by  the  virtuous  people 
there  with  scarce  any  attention  at  all.  The  ladies  did  not 
scruple  to  deny  themselves  when  he  came  ;  he  could  scarce 
have  believed  in  such  insincerity  after  their  caresses,  their 
welcome,  their  repeated  vows  of  affection  ;  but  happening  to 
sit  with  the  Lamberts  for  an  hour  after  he  had  called  upon  his 
aunt,  he  saw  her  ladyship's  chairmen  arrive  with  an  empty 
chair,  and  his  aunt  step  out  and  enter  the  vehicle,  and  not  even 
blush  when  he  made  her  a  bow  from  the  opposite  window.  To 
be  denied  by  his  own  relations — to  have  that  door  which  had 
opened  to  him  so  kindly,  slammed  in  his  face  !  He  would  not 
have  believed  such  a  thing  possible,  poor  simple  Harr}-  said. 
Perhaps  he  thought  the  door-knocker  had  a  tender  heart,  and 
was  not  made  of  brass  :  not  more  changed  than  the  head  of 
that  knocker  was  my  Lady  Warrington's  virtuous  face  when 
she  passed  her  nephew. 

"  My  father's  own  brother's  wife  !  What  have  I  done  to 
to  offend  her  ?  Oh,  Aunt  Lambert,  Aunt  Lambert,  did  you 
ever  see  such  cold-heartedness? "  cries  out  Harr}-,  with  his 
usual  impetuosity. 

"  Do  we  make  any  difference  to  you,  my  dear  Harr)^?" 
says  Aunt  Lambert,  with  a  side-look  at  her  youngest  daughter. 
"  The  world  may  look  coldly  at  you,  but  we  don't  belong  to  it : 
so  you  may  come  to  us  in  safety." 

"  In  this  house  you  are  different  from  other  people,"  replies 
Harry.  "  I  don't  know  how,  but  I  always  feel  quiet  and  happy 
somehow  when  I  come  to  you." 

"  Quis  me  uno  vivit  felicior?  aut  magis  hac  est 
Optandum  vita  dicere  quis  potuit?  " 

calls  out  General  Lambert.  "  Do  you  know  where  I  got  these 
verses,  Mr.  Gownsman  ?  "  and  he  addresses  his  son  from  college, 
who  is  come  to  pass  an  Easter  holiday  with  his  parents. 

"You  got  them  out  of  Catullus,  sir,"  says  the  scholar. 

"  I  got  them  out  of  no  such  thing,  sir.     I  got  them  out  of 


476  THE   IVRGLV/ANS. 

my  favorite  Democritus  Junior — out  of  old  Burton,  who  has 
provided  many  indifferent  scholars  with  learning;"  and  who 
and  Montaigne  were  favorite  authors  with  the  sfood  General. 


CHAPTER  LVIII. 

WHERE    WE    DO    WHAT    CATS    MAY    DO. 

We  have  said  how  our  Virginians,  with  a  wisdom  not 
uncommon  in  youth,  had  chosen  to  adopt  strong  Jacobite 
opinions,  and  to  profess  a  prodigious  affection  for  the  exiled 
royal  family.  The  banished  prince  had  recognized  Madam 
Esmond's  father  as  Marquis  of  Esmond,  and  she  did  not  choose 
to  be  very  angry  with  an  unfortunate  race,  that,  after  all,  was 
so  willing  to  acknowledge  the  merits  of  her  family.  As  for  any 
little  scandal  about  her  sister,  Madame  de  Bernstein,  and  the 
Old  Chevalier,  she  tossed  away  from  her  with  scorn  the  recol- 
lection of  that  odious  circumstance,  asserting,  with  perfect 
truth,  that  the  two  first  monarchs  of  the  House  of  Hanover 
were  quite  as  bad  as  any  Stuarts  in  regard  to  their  domestic 
morality.-  But  the  king  de  facto  was  the  king,  as  well  as  his 
Majesty  dejiD'e.  De  Facto  had  been  solemnly  crowned  and 
anointed  at  church,  and  had  likewise  utterly  discomfited  De 
Jure,  when  they  came  to  battle  for  the  kingdom  together. 
Madam's  clear  opinion  was,  then,  that  her  sons  owed  it  to 
themselves  as  well  as  to  the  sovereign  to  appear  at  his  royal 
court.  And  if  his  Majesty  should  have  been  minded  to  confer 
a  lucrative  post,  or  a  blue  or  red  ribbon  upon  either  of  them, 
she,  for  her  part,  would  not  have  been  in  the  least  surprised. 
She  made  no  doubt  but  that  the  King  knew  the  Virginian 
Esmonds  as  well  as  any  other  members  of  his  nobility.  The 
lads  were  specially  commanded,  then,  to  present  themselves  at 
Court,  and,  I  dare  sa)',  their  mother  would  have  been  very 
angry  had  she  known  that  George  took  Harry's  laced  coat  on 
the  day  when  he  went  to  make  his  bow  at  Kensington. 

A  hundred  years  ago  the  King's  drawing-room  was  open 
almost  every  day  to  his  nobility  and  gentr}'  ;  and  loyalty  — 
especially  since  the  war  had  begun — could  gratify  itself  a  score 
of  times  in  a  month  with  the  august  sight  of^  the  sovereign.  A 
wise  avoidance  of  the  enemy's  ships-of-war,  a  gracious  acknowl- 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


477 


edgment  of  the  inestimable  loss  the  British  Isles  would  suffer 
by  the  seizure  of  the  royal  person  at  sea,  caused  the  monarch  to 
forego  those  visits  to  his  native  Hanover  which  were  so  dear 
to  his  royal  heart,  and  compelled  him  to  remain,  it  must  be 
owned,  unwillingly,  amongst  his  loving  Britons.  A  Hanoverian 
lady,  however,  whose  virtues  had  endeared  her  to  the  prince, 
strove  to  console  him  for  his  enforced  absence  from  Herren- 
hausen.  And  from  the  lips  of  the  Countess  of  Walmoden  (on 
whom  the  imperial  beneficence  had  gracefully  conferred  a  high 
title  of  British  honor)  the  revered  Defender  of  the  Faith  could 
hear  the  accents  of  his  native  home. 

To  this  beloved  Sovereign,  Mr.  Warrington  requested  his 
uncle,  an  assiduous  courtier,  to  present  him  :  and  as  Mr. 
Lambert  had  to  go  to  Court  likewise,  and  thank  his  Majesty 
for  his  promotion,  the  two  gentlemen  made  the  journey  to  Ken- 
sington together,  engaging  a  hackney-coach  for  the  purpose,  as 
my  Lord  \Vrotham's  carriage  was  now  wanted  by  its  rightful 
owner,  who  had  returned  to  his  house  in  town.  They  alighted 
at  Kensington  Palace  Gate,  where  the  sentries  on  duty  knew 
and  saluted  the  good  General,  and  hence  modestly  made  their 
way  on  foot  to  the  summer  residence  of  the  Sovereign.  Walk- 
ing under  the  portico  of  the  Palace,  they  entered  the  gallery 
which  leads  to  the  great  black  marble  staircase  (which  hath 
been  so  richly  decorated  and  painted  by  Mr.  Kent),  and  then 
passed  through  several  rooms,  richly  hung  with  tapestry  and 
adorned  with  pictures  and  bustos,  until  they  came  to  the  King's 
great  drawing-room,  where  that  famous  "  Venus  "  by  Titian  is, 
and,  amongst  other  masterpieces,  the  picture  of  "  St.  Francis 
adoring  the  infant  Saviour,"  performed  by  Sir  Peter  Paul 
Rubens  ;  and  here,  with  the  rest  of  the  visitors  to  the  Court, 
the  gentlemen  waited  until  his  Majesty  issued  from  his  private 
apartments,  where  he  was  in  conference  with  certain  personages 
w^ho  were  called  in  the  newspaper  language  of  that  day  his 
M-j-ty's  M-n-st-rs. 

George  \\'arrington,  who  had  never  been  in  a  palace  before, 
had  leisure  to  admire  the  place,  and  regard  the  people  round 
him.  He  saw  fine  pictures  for  the  first  time  too,  and  I  dare  say 
delighted  in  that  charming  piece  of  Sir  Anthony  Vandyke,  repre- 
senting King  Charles  the  First,  his  Queen  and  Family,  and  the 
noble  picture  of  "  Esther  before  Ahasuerus,"  painted  by  Tin- 
toret,  and  in  which  all  the  figures  are  dressed  in  the  magnifi- 
cent Venetian  habit.  With  the  contemplation  of  these  works 
he  was  so  enraptured,  that  he  scarce  heard  all  the  remarks  of 
his  good  friend  the  General,  who  was  whispering  into  his  young 


478 


THE   VIRGINTANS. 


companion's   almost  heedless  ear   the  names  of  some   of  the 
personages  round  about  them. 

"Yonder,"  says  Mr.  Lambert,  "  are  two  of  my  Lords  of  the 
Admiralty,  Mr.  Gilbert  Elliot  and  Admiral  Boscawen  :  your 
Boscawen,  whose  fleet  fired  the  first  gun  in  your  waters  two 
years  ago.  That  stout  gentleman  all  belaced  with  gold  is  Mr. 
Fox,  that  was  Minister,  and  is  now  content  to  be  Paymaster 
with  a  great  salary." 

"He  carries  the  auri  fames  on  his  person.  Why,  his  waist- 
coat is  a  perfect  Potosi !  "  says  George. 

"  Alieni  appetens — how  goes  the  text  1  He  loves  to  get 
money  and  to  spend  it,"  continues  General  Lambert.  "  Yon  is 
my  Lord  Chief  Justice  Willes,  talking  to  my  Lord  of  Salisbury, 
Doctor  Hoadley,  who,  if  he  serve  his  God  as  he  serves  his  King, 
will  be  translated  to  some  ver}^  high  promotion  in  heaven.  He 
belongs  to  your  grandfather's  time,  and  was  loved  by  Dick 
Steele  and  hated  by  the  Dean.  With  ihem  is  my  Lord  of  Lon- 
don, the  learned  Doctor  Sherlock.  My  lords  of  the  lawn  sleeves 
have  lost  half  their  honors  now\  I  remember  when  I  was  a  bo)'- 
in  my  mother's  hand,  she  made  me  go  down  on  my  knees  to  the 
Bishop  of  Rochester  ;  him  who  went  overthe  water,  and  became 
Minister  to  somebody  who  shall  be  nameless — Perkin's  Bishop. 
That  handsome  fair  man  is  Admiral  Smith.  He  was  president 
of  poor  Byng's  court-martial,  and  strove  in  vain  to  get  him  off 
his  penalty  ;  Tom  of  Ten  Thousand  they  call  him  in  the  fleet. 
The  French  Ambassador  had  him  broke,  wdien  he  was  a  lieu- 
tenant, for  making  a  French  man-of-war  lower  topsails  to  him, 
and  the  King  made  Tom  a  captain  the  next  day.  That  tall, 
haughty-looking  man  is  my  Lord  George  Sackville,  who,  now  I 
am  a  jNIajor-General  myself,  will  treat  me  somewhat  better  than 
a  footman.  I  wish  my  stout  old  Blakeney  were  here  ;  he  is  the 
soldier's  darling,  and  as  kind  and  brave  as  yonder  poker  of  a 

nobleman  is  brave  and I  am  your  lordship's  ver}'  humble 

ser^'ant.     This  is  a  young  gentleman  who  is  just  from  America, 
and  was  in  Braddock's  sad  business  two  years  ago." 

"  Oh,  indeed  !  "  says  the  poker  of  a  nobleman.  "  I  have  the 
honor  of  speaking  to  Mr. "' 

"To  Major-General  Lambert,  at  your  lordship's  service,  and 
who  was  in  his  Majesty's  some  time  before  )-ou  entered  it. 
That,  Mr.  Warrington,  is  the  first  commoner  in  England,  Mr. 
Speaker  Onslow.  "  Where  is  your  uncle  ?  I  shall  have  to  pre- 
sent 3-ou  myself  to  his  Majesty  if  Sir  jNIiles  delays  much  longer." 
As  he  spoke,  the  worthy  General  addressed  himself  entirely  to 
his  young  friend,  making  no  sort  of  account  of  his  colleague, 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  ^jg 

who  stalked  away  with  a  scared  look  as  if  amazed  at  the  other's 
audacity.  A  hundred  years  ago,  a  nobleman  was  a  nobleman, 
and  expected  to  be  admired  as  such. 

Sir  Miles's  red  waistcoat  appeared  in  sight  presently,  and 
many  cordial  greetings  passed  between  him,  his  nephew,  and 
General  Lambert :  for  we  have  described  how  Sir  Miles  was  the 
most  affectionate  of  men.  So  the  General  had  quitted  my 
Lord  Wrotham's  house  ?  It  was  time,  as  his  lordship  himself 
wished  to  occupy  it .?  Very  good  ;  but  consider  what  a  loss  for 
the  neighbors  ! 

"  We  miss  you,  we  positively  miss  you,  my  dear  General," 
cries  Sir  Miles.  "  My  daughters  were  in  love'with  those  lovely 
young  ladies — upon  my  word  they  were ;  and  my  Lady  War- 
rington and  my  girls  were  debating  over,  and  over  again  how 
they  should  find  an  opportunity  of  making  the  acquaintance  of 
your  charming  family.  We  feel  as  if  we  were  old  friends  already  ; 
indeed  we  do,  General,  if  you  will  permit  me  the  liberty  of  say- 
ing so ;  and  we  love  you,  if  I  may  be  allowed  to  speak' frankly, 
on  account  of  your  friendship  and  kindness  to  our  dear  nephews  : 
though  we  were  a  little  jealous,  I  own  a  little  jealous  of  them, 
because  they  went  so  often  to  see  you.  Often  and  often  have 
I  said  to  my  Lady  Warrington,  '  My  dear,  why  don't  we  make 
acquaintance  with  the  General  ?  Why  don't  we  ask  him  and 
his  ladies  to  come  over  in  a  family  way  and  dine  with  some  other 
plain  country  gentlefolks  ? '  Carry  my  most  sincere  respects  to 
Mrs.  Lambert,  I  pray,  sir ;  and  thank  her  for  her  goodness  to 
these  young  gentlemen.  My  own  flesh  and  blood,  sir  ;  my  dear, 
dear  brother's  boys  !  "  He  passed  his  hand  across  his  'manly 
eyes  :  he  was  choking  almost  with  generous  and  affectionate 
emotion. 

Whilst  they  were  discoursing — George  Warrington  the  while 
restraining  his  laughter  with  admirable  gravity — the  door  of  the 
King's  apartments  opened,  and  the  pages  entered,  preceding  his 
Majesty.  He  was  followed  by  his  burly  son,  his  Royal  High- 
ness the  Duke,  a  very  corpulent  Prince,  with  a  coat  and  face  of 
blazing  scarlet :  behind  them  came  various  gentlemen  and  offi- 
cers of  state,  among  whom  George  at  once  recognized  the  famous 
Mr.  Secretary  Pitt,  by  his  tall  stature,  his  eagle  eye  and  beak, 
his  grave  and  majestic  presence.  As  I  see  that  solemn  figure 
passing,  even  a  hundred  years  off,  I  protest  I  feel  a  present 
awe,  and  a  desire  to  take  my  hat  off.  I  am  not  frightened  at 
George  the  Second  ;  nor  are  my  eyes  dazzled  by  the  portentous 
appearance  of  his  Royal  Highness  the  Duke  of  Culloden  and 
Fontenoy  ;    but  the  Great  Commoner,  the  terrible  Cornet  of 


480 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


Horse  !  His  figure  bestrides  our  narrow  isle  of  a  century  back 
like  a  Colossus  ;  and  I  hush  as  he  passes  in  his  gouty  shoes, 
his  thunderbolt  hand  wrapped  in  flannel.  Perhaps  as  we  see 
him  now,  issuing  with  dark  looks  from  the  royal  closet,  angry 
scenes  have  been  passing  between  him  and  his  august  master. 
He  has  been  boring  that  old  monarch  for  hours  with  prodigious 
long  speeches,  full  of  eloquence,  voluble  with  the  noblest  phrases 
upon  the  commonest  topics ;  but,  it  must  be  confessed,  utterly 
repulsive  to  the  little  shrewd  old  gentleman,  "  at  whose  feet  he 
lavs  himself."  as  the  phrase  is,  and  who  has  the  most  thorough 
dislike  for  fine  boetry  and  for  fine  hrose  too  !  The  sublime 
]\Iinister  passes  solemnly  through  the  crowd ;  the  company 
ranges  itself  respectfully  round  the  wall ;  and  his  Majesty  walks 
round  the  circle,  his  royal  son  lagging  a  little  behind,  and  en- 
gaging select  individuals  in  conversation  for  his  own  part. 

The  monarch  is  a  little,  keen,  fresh-colored  old  man,  with 
very  protruding  eyes,  attired  in  plain,  old  fashioned,  snuff-colored 
clothes  and  brown  stockings,  his  only  ornament  the  blue  ribbon 
of  his  Order  of  the  Garter.  He  speaks  in  a  German  accent, 
but  with  ease,  shrewdness,  and  simplicity,  addressing  those  in- 
dividuals whom  he  has  a  mind  to  notice,  or  passing  on  with  a 
bow.  He  knew  Mr.  Lambert  well,  who  had  served  under  his 
Majesty  at  Dettingen,  and  with  his  royal  son  in  Scotland,  and 
he  congratulated  him  good-humoredly  on  his  promotion. 

"  It  is  not  always,"  his  Majesty  was  pleased  to  say,  "  that 
we  can  do  as  we  like  ;  but  I  was  glad  when,  for  once,  I  could 
give  myself  that  pleasure  in  your  case,  General  ;  for  my  army 
contains  no  better  ofhcer  as  you." 

The  veteran  blushed  and  bowed,  deeply  gratified  at  this 
speech.  Meanwhile,  the  Best  of  Monarchs  was  looking  at  Sir 
Miles  Warrington  (whom  his  Majesty  knew  perfectly,  as  the 
eager  recipient  of  all  favors  from  all  Ministers),  and  at  the 
young  gentleman  by  his  side. 

"\Vho  is  this  1  "  the  Defender  of  the  Faith  condescended 
to  ask,  pointing  towards  George  Warrington,  who  stood  before 
his  sovereign  in  a  respectful  attitude,  clad  in  poor  Harry's  best 
embroidered  suit. 

With  the  deepest  reverence  Sir  Miles  informed  this  King, 
that  the  young  gentleman  was  his  nephew,  Mr.  George  War- 
rington, of  Virginia,  who  asked  leave  to  pay  his  humble  duty. 

"  This,  then,  is  the  other  brother  ? "  the  Venerated  Prince 
deigned  to  observe.  "  He  came  in  time,  else  the  other  brother 
would  have  spent  all  the  money.  My  Lord  Bishop  of  Salisbur}^, 
why  do  you  come   out  in  this  bitter  weather?     You  had  much 


iiiiit!iiiiii,.ii(- 


GEORGE    MADE    MUCH    OF. 


THE   VTRGIN-JANS.  481 

better  stay  at  home  !  ''  and  with  this,  the  revered  wielder  of 
Britannia's  sceptre  passed  on  to  other  lords  and  gentlemen  of 
his  Court.  Sir  Miles  Warrington  was  deeply  affected  at  the 
royal  condescension.  He  clapped  his  nephew's  hands.  *'God 
bless  you,  my  boy,"  he  cried  ;  "  I  told  you  that  you  would  see 
the  greatest  monarch  and  the  finest  gentleman  In  the  world. 
Is  he  not  so,  my  Lord  Bishop }  " 

'•  That,  that  he  is  !  "  cried  his  lordship,  clasping  his  ruffled 
hands,  and  turning  his  fine  eyes  up  to  the  sky,  "  the  best  of 
princes  and  of  men." 

"  That  is  Master  Louis,  my  Lady  Yarmouth's  favorite 
nephew,"  says  Lambert,  pointing  to  a  young  gentleman  who 
stood  with  a  crowd  round  him  ;  and  presently  the  stout  Duke 
of  Cumberland  came  up  to  our  little  group. 

His  Royal  Highness  held  out  his  hand  to  his  old  companion 
in  arms.  "  Congratulate  you  on  your  promotion,  Lambert,"  he 
said  good-naturedly.  Sir  Miles  Warrington's  eyes  were  ready 
to  burst  out  of  his  head  with  rapture. 

"  I  owe  it,  sir,  to  your  Royal  Highness's  good  offices,"  said 
the  grateful  General. 

"Not  at  all  ;  not  at  all :  ought  to  have  had  it  a  long  time 
before.  Always  been  a  good  officer  ;  perhaps  there'll  be  some' 
employment  for  you  soon.  This  is  the  gentleman  whom  James 
Wolfe  introduced  to  me  ?  " 

"  His  brother,  sir." 

"  Oh,  the  real  Fortunate  Youth  !  You  were  with  poor  Ned 
Braddock  in  America — a  prisoner,  and  lucky  enough  to  escape. 
Come  and  see  me,  sir,  in  Pall  ]\Iall.  Bring  him  to  my  levae, 
Lambert."  And  the  broad  back  of  the  Royal  Prince  was  turned 
to  o  ir  friends. 

"  It  is  raining  !  You  came  on  foot.  General  Lambert  ?  You 
and  George  must  come  home  in  my  coach.  You  must  and 
shall  Q.omQ  home  with  me,  I  say.  By  George,  you  must!  I'll 
have  no  denial,"  cried  the  enthusiastic  baronet;  and  he  drove 
George  and  the  General  back  to  Hill  Street,  and  presented  the 
latter  to  my  Lady  Warrington  and  his  darlings.  Flora  and  Dora, 
and  insisted  upon  their  partaking  of  a  collation,  as  they  must 
be  hungry  after  their  ride.  "  What,  there  is  only  cold  mutton  ? 
Well,  an  old  soldier  can  eat  cold  mutton.  And  a  good  glass  of 
my  Lady  Warrington's  own  cordial,  prepared  with  her  own 
hands,  will  keep  the  cold  wind  out.  Delicious  cordial  !  Capi- 
tal mutton  !  Our  own,  my  dear  General,"  says  the  hospitable 
baronet,  "our  own  from  the  countr}-,  six  years  old  if  a  day. 
We  keep  a  plain  table  ;  but  all  the  Warringtons  since  the  Con- 

31 


482  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

queror  have  been  remarkable  for  their  love  of  mutton  ;  and  our 
meal  may  look  a  little  scanty,  and  is,  for  we  are  plain  people, 
and  I  am  obliged  to  keep  my  rascals  of  servants  on  board- 
wages.     Can't  give  them  seven-year-old  mutton,  you  know." 

Sir  Miles,  in  his  nephew's  presence  and  hearing,  described 
to  his  wife  and  daughters,  George's  reception  at  Court  in  such 
flattering  terms  that  George  hardly  knew  himself,  or  the  scene 
at  which  he  had  been  present,  or  how  to  look  his  uncle  in  the 
face,  or  how  to  contradict  him  before  his  family  in  the  midst  of 
the  astonishing  narrative  he.  was  relating.  I^ambert  sat  by  for 
a  while  with  open  eyes.  He,  too,  had  been  at  Kensington.  He 
had  seen  none  of  the  wonders  which  Sir  Miles  described. 

"  We  are  proud  of  you,  dear  George.  We  love  you  my, 
dear  nephew — we  all  love  you,  we  are  all  proud  of  you " 

"  Yes  ;  but  I  like  Harry  best,"  says  a  little  voice. 

"  — not  because  you  are  wealthy  !  Screwby,  take  Master 
Miles  to  his  governor.  Go,  dear  child.  Not  because  you  are 
blest  Avith  great  estates  and  an  ancient  name  ;  but  because, 
George,  you  have  put  to  good  use  the  talents  with  which  heaven 
has  adorned  you  :  because  you  have  fought  and  bled  in  your 
country's  cause,  in  your  monarch's  cause,  and  as  such  are  in- 
deed worthy  of  the  favor  of  the  best  of  sovereigns.  General 
Lambert,  you  have  kindly  condescended  to  look  in  on  a  country 
family,  and  partake  of  our  unpretending  meal.  I  hope  we  may 
see  you  some  day  when  our  hospitality  is  a  little  less  homely. 
Yes,  by  George,  General,  you  must  and  shall  name  a  day  when 
you  and  Mrs.  Lambert,  and  your  dear  girls,  will  dine  with  us. 
I'll  take  no  refusal  now,  by  George  I  won't,"  bawls  the  knight. 

"  You  will  accompany  us  to  my  drawing-room  ?  "  says  my 
lady,  rising. 

Mr.  Lambert  pleaded  to  be  excused  ;  but  the  ladies  on  no 
account  would  let  dear  George  go  away.  No,  positively,  he 
should  not  go.  They  wanted  to  make  acquaintance  with  their 
cousin.  They  must  hear  about  that  dreadful  battle  and  escape 
from  the  Indians.  Tom  Claypool  came  in  and  heard  some  of 
the  story.  Flora  was  listening  to  it  with  her  handkerchief  to 
her  eyes,  and  little  Miles  had  just  said — 

"  Why  do  you  take  your  handkerchief,  Flora?  You're  not 
crying  a  bit." 

Being  a  man  of  great  humor,  Martin  Lambert,  when  he 
went  home,  could  not  help  entertaining  his  wife  with  an  account 
of  the  new  family  with  which  he  had  made  acquaintance.  A 
certain  cant  word  called  humbug  had  lately  come  into  vogue. 
Will  it  be  believed  that  the  General  used  it  to  designate  the 


i 


7'HE   VIRGINIANS. 


483 


family  of  this  virtuous  country  gentleman  ?  He  described  the 
eager  hospitalities  of  the  father,  the  pompous  flatteries  of  the 
mother,  and  the  daughters'  looks  of  admiration  ;  the  toughness 
and  scarcity  of  the  mutton,  and  the  abominable  taste  and  odor 
of  the  cordial ;  and  we  may  be  sure  Mrs.  Lambert  contrasted 
Lady  Warrington's  recent  behavior  to  poor  Harry  with  her 
present  conduct  to  George. 

"  Is  this  Miss  Warrington  really  handsome  ?  "  asks  Mrs. 
Lambert. 

''  Yes  ;  she  is  very  handsome  indeed,  and  the  most  astound- 
ing flirt  I  have  ever  set  eyes  on,"  replies  the  General. 

"  The  hypocrite  !  I  have  no  patience  with  such  people  !  " 
cries  the  lady. 

To  which  the  General,  strange  to  say,  only  replied  by  the 
monosyllable  "  Bo  !  " 

"  Why  do  you  say  '  Bo  !  '  Martin  .?  "  asks  the  lady. 

"  I  say  '  Bo  ! '  to  a  goose,  my  dear,"  answers  the  General. 

And  his  wife  vows  she  does  not  know  what  l:e  means,  01 
of  what  he  is  thinking,  and  the  General  says — 

"  Of  course  not." 


CHAPTER  LLX. 

IN  WHICH  WE  ARE  TREATED  TO  A  PLAY. 

The  real  business  of  life,  I  fanc}',  can  form  but  little  por- 
tion of  the  novelist's  budget.  When  he  is  speaking  of  the  pro- 
fession of  arms,  in  which  men  can  show  courage  or  the  reverse, 
and  in  treating  of  which  the  writer  naturally  has  to  deal  with 
interesting  circumstances,  actions,  and  characters,  introducing 
recitals  of  danger,  devotedness,  heroic  deaths,  and  the  like,  the 
novelist  may  perhaps  venture  to  deal  with  actual  affairs  of  life  : 
but  otherwise,  they  scarcely  can  enter  into  our  stories.  The 
main  part  of  Ficulnus's  life,  for  instance,  is  spent  in  selling- 
sugar,  spices,  and  cheese;  of  Causidicus's  in  poring  over  musty 
volumes  of  black-letter  law  ;  of  Sartorius's  in  sitting,  cross- 
legged,  on  a  board  after  measuring  gentlemen  for  coats  and 
breeches.  What  can  a  story-teller  say  about  the  professional 
existence  of  these  men  ?     Would  a  real  rustical  historv  of  hob- 


484  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

nails  and  eighteenpence  a-day  be  endurable  ?  In  the  days 
whereof  we  are  writing,  the  poets  of  the  time  chose  to  represent 
a  shepherd  in  pink  breeches  and  a  chintz  waistcoat,  dancing 
before  his  flocks,  and  playing  a  flageolet  tied  up  with  a  blue 
satin  ribbon.  I  say,  in  reply  to  some  objections  which  have 
been  urged  by  potent  and  friendly  critics,  that  of  the  actual 
affairs  of  life  the  novelist  cannot  be  expected  to  treat — with  the 
almost  single  exception  of  war  before  named.  But  law,  stock- 
broking,  polemical  theology,  linen-draper}-,  apothecary  business, 
and  the  like,  how  can  writers  manage  fully  to  develop  these  in 
their  stories  ?  All  authors  can  do,  is  to  depict  men  out  of  their 
business — in  their  passions,  loves,  laughters,  amusements,  ha- 
treds, and  what  not — and  describe  these  as  well  as  they  can, 
taking  the  business-part  for  granted,  and  leaving  it  as  it  were 
for  subaudition. 

Thus,  in  talking  of  the  present  or  the  past  world,  I  know  I 
am  only  dangling  about  the  theatre-lobbies,  coffee-houses,  ri- 
dottos,  pleasure-haunts,  fair-booths,  and  feasting  and  fiddling 
rooms  of  life  ;  that,  meanwhile,  the  great  serious  past  or  pres- 
ent world  is  plodding  in  its  chambers,  toiling  at  its  humdrum 
looms,  or  jogging  on  its  accustomed  labors,  and  we  are  only 
seeing  our  characters  away  from  their  work.  Cor}'don  has  to 
cart  the  litter,  and  thresh  the  barley,  as  well  as  to  make  love  to 
Phillis  ;  Ancillula  has  to  dress  and  wash  the  nursery,  to  wait  at 
breakfast  and  on  her  misses,  to  take  the  children  out,  &c., 
before  she  can  have  her  brief  sweet  interview  through  the  area- 
railings  with  Boopis,  the  policeman.  All  day  long  have  his 
heels  to  beat  the  stale  pavement  before  he  has  the  opportunity 
to  snatch  the  hasty  kiss  or  the  furtive  cold  pie.  It  is  only  at 
moments,  and  away  from  these  labors,  that  we  can  light  ujDon 
one  character  or  the  other  ;  and  hence,  though  most  of  the  per- 
sons of  wdiom  w'e  are  writing  have  doubtless  their  grave  em- 
ployments and  avocations,  it  is  only  when  they  are  disengaged 
and  away  from  their  work,  that  we  can  bring  them  and  the 
equally  disengaged  reader  together. 

The  macaronis  and  fine  gentlemen  at  White's  and  Arthur's 
continued  to  show  poor  Harry  Warrington  such  a  very  cold 
shoulder,  that  he  sought  their  society  less  and  less,  and  the 
Ring  and  the  Mall  and  the  gaming-table  knew  him  no  more. 
Madame  de  Bernstein  w-as  for  her  nephew's  braving  the  indif- 
ference of  the  world,  and  vowed  that  it  would  be  conquered,  if 
he  would  but  have  courage  to  face  it;  but  the  young  man  was 
too  honest  to  wear  a  smiling  face  when  he  was  discontented  ; 
to   disguise  mortification   or  anger ;  to  parry  slights  by  adroit 


THE   VIRGINIANS,  485 

batteries  or  cunning  impudence  ;  as  many  gentlemen  and  gen- 
tlewomen  must  and  do  who  wish  to  succeed  in  society. 

"  You  pull  a  long  face,  Harry,  and  complain  of  the  world's 
treatment  of  you,"  the  old  lady  said.  "  Fiddlededee,  sir ! 
Everybody  has  to  put  up  with  impertinences  ;  and  if  you  get  a 
box  on  the  ear  now  you  are  poor  and  cast  down,  you  must  say 
nothing  about  it,  bear  it  with  a  smile,  and  if  you  can,  revenge 
it  ten  years  after.  Moi  qui  vous  parle,  sir ' — do  you  suppose  I 
have  had  no  humble  pie  to  eat  ?  All  of  us  in  our  turn  are 
called  upon  to  swallow  it ;  and  now  you  are  no  longer  the  For- 
tunate Youth,  be  the  Clever  Youth,  and  win  back  the  place  you 
have  lost  by  your  ill  luck.  Go  about  more  than  ever.  Go  to 
all  the  routs  and  parties  to  which  you  are  asked,  and  to  more 
still.  Be  civil  to  ever)'body — to  all  women  especially.  Only 
of  course  take  care  to  show  your  spirit,  of  which  you  have 
plenty.  With  economy,  and  by  your  brother's,  I  must  say,  ad- 
mirable generosity,  you  can  still  make  a  genteel  figure.  With 
your  handsome  person,  sir,  you  can't  fail  to  get  a  rich  heiress. 
Tenez  !  You  should  go  amongst  the  merchants  in  the  City, 
and  look  out  there.  They  won't  know  that  you  are  out  of  fash- 
ion at  the  court-end  of  the  town.  With  a  little  management, 
there  is  not  the  least  reason,  sir,  why  you  should  not  make  a 
good  position  for  yourself  still.  When  did  you  go  to  see  my 
Lady  Yarmouth,  pray  ?  Why  did  you  not  improve  that  connec- 
tion ?  She  took  a  great  fancy  to  you.  I  desire  you  will  be 
constant  at  her  ladyship's  evenings,  and  lose  no  opportunity  of 
paying  court  to  her." 

"  Thus  the  old  woman  who  had  loved  Harry  so  on  his  first 
appearance  in  England,  who  had  been  so  eager  for  his  company, 
and  pleased  with  his  artless  conversation,  was  taking  the  side 
of  the  world,  and  turning  against  him.  Instead  of  the  smiles 
and  kisses  with  which  the  fickle  old  creature  used  once  to  greet 
him,  she  received  him  vrith  coldness  ;  she  became  peevish  and 
patronizing ;  she  cast  jibes  and  scorn  at  him  before  her  guests, 
making  his  honest  face  flush  with  humiliation,  and  awaking  the 
keenest  pangs  of  grief  and  amazement  in  his  gentle,  manly  heart. 
Madame  de  Bernstein's  servants,  who  used  to  treat  him  with 
such  eager  respect,  scarcely  paid  him  now  any  attention.  My 
lady  was  often  indisposed  or  engaged  when  he  called  on  her  ; 
her  people  did  not  press  him  to  wait ;  did  not  volunteer  to  ask 
whether  he  would  stay  and  dine,  as  they  used  in  the  days  when 
he  was  the  Fortunate  Youth  and  companion  of  the  wealthy  and 
great.  Harry  carried  his  woes  to  Mrs.  Lambert.  In  a  passion 
of  sorrow  he  told  her  of  his  aunt's  cruel  behavior  to  him.     He 


486 


THE  VIRGINIANS. 


was  stricken  down  and  dismayed  by  the  fickleness  and  heart- 
lessness  of  the  world  in  its  treatment  of  him.  While  the  good 
lady  and  her  daughters  would  move  to  and  fro,  and  busy  them^ 
selves  with  the  cares  of  the  house,  our  jDoor  lad  would  sit  glum 
in  a  window-seat,  heart-sick  and  silent. 

"  I  know  you  are  the  best  people  alive,"  he  would  say  to 
the  ladies,  "  and  the  kindest,  and  that  I  must  be  the  dullest 
company  in  the  world — ^yes,  that  I  am." 

"'  Well,  you  are  not  very  lively,  Harry,"  says  Miss  Hetty, 
who  began  to  command  him,  and  perhaps  to  ask  herself,  "  What } 
Is  this  the  gentleman  whom  I  took  to  be  such  a  hero  ?  " 

'*  If  he  is  unhappy,  why  should  he  be  lively .?  "  asks  Theo, 
gently.  "  He  has  a  good  heart,  and  is  pained  at  his  friends' 
desertion  of  him.     Sure,  there  is  no  harm  in  that  1  " 

''  I  would  have  too  much  spirit  to  show  I  was  hurt,  though," 
cries  Hetty,  clenching  her  little  fists.  "  And  I  would  smile, 
though  that  horrible  old  painted  woman  boxed  my  ears.  She 
is  horrible.  Mamma.  You  think  so  yourself,  Theo  !  Own,  now, 
you  think  so  yourself !  You  said  so  last  night,  and  acted  her 
coming  in  on  her  crutch,  and  grmning  round  to  the  company." 

''I  mayn't  like  her,"  said  Theo,  turning  very  red.  "But 
there  is  no  reason  why  I  should  call  Harry's  aunt  names  before 
Harr)''s  face." 

"  You  provoking  thing  ;  you  are  always  right !  "  cries  Hetty, 
"  and  that's  what  makes  me  so  angry.  Indeed,  Harr}^,  it  was 
very  wrong  of  me  to  make  rude  remarks  about  any  of  your 
relations." 

"  I  don't  care  about  the  others,  Hetty ;  but  it  seems  hard 
that  this  one  should  turn  upon  me.  I  had  got  to  be  very  fond 
of  her;  and  you  see,  it  makes  me  mad,  somehow,  when  people 
I'm  very  fond  of  turn  away  from  me,  or  act  unkind  to  me." 

"  Suppose  George  were  to  do  so  ?  "  asks  Hetty.  You  see, 
it  was  George  and  Hetty,  and  Theo  and  Harry,  amongst  them 
now. 

"You  are  very  clever  and  very  lively,  and  you  may  suppose 
a  number  of  things  ;  but  not  that,  Hetty,  if  you  please,"  cried 
Harry,  standing  up,  and  looking  very  resolute  and  angry. 
"  You  don't  know  my  brother  as  I  know  him — or  you  wouldn't 
take — such  a — liberty  as  to  suppose — my  brother,  George, 
could  do  anything  unkind  or  unworthy  !  "  Mr.  Harry  was  quite 
in  a  flush  as  he  spoke. 

Hetty  turned  very  white.  Then  she  looked  up  at  Harry, 
and  then  she  did  not  say  a  single  word. 

Then  Harry  said,  in  his  simple  way,  before  taking  leave, 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  487 

"I'm  very  sorry,  and  I  beg  your  pardon,  Hetty,  if  I  said  any- 
thing rough,  or  that  seemed  unkind  ;  but  I  always  fight  up  if 
anybody  says  anything  against  George." 

Hetty  did  not  answer  a  word  out  of  her  pale  lips,  but  gave 
him  her  hand,  and  dropped  a  prim  little  curtsey. 

When  she  and  Theo  were  together  at  night,  making  curl- 
paper confidences,  '"'Oh  !  "  said  Hetty,  "I  thought  it  would  be 
so  happy  to  see  him  every  day,  and  was  so  glad  when  papa 
said  we  were  to  stay  in  London  !  And  now  I  do  see  him,  you 
see,  I  go  on  offending  him.  I  can't  help  offending  him  ;  and  I 
know  he  is  not  clever,  Theo.  But  oh  !  isn't  he  good,  and 
kind,  and  brave  ?  Didn't  he  look  handsome  when  he  was 
angry  t " 

"  You  silly  little  thing,  you  are  always  trying  to  make  him 
look  handsome,"  Theo  replied. 

It  was  Theo  and  Hetty,  and  Harry  and  George,  among 
these  young  people,  then;  and  I  dare  say  the  reason  why 
General  Lambert  chose  to  apply  the  monosyllable  "  Bo  "  to 
the  mother  of  his  daughters,  was  as  a  rebuke  to  that  good 
woman  for  the  inveterate  love  of  sentiment  and  propensity  to 
match-making  which  belonged  to  her  (and  every  other  w^oman 
in  the  world  whose  heart  is  worth  a  fig) ;  and  as  a  hint  that 
Madam  Lambert  was  a  goose  if  she  fanced  the  two  Virginian 
lads  were  going  to  fall  in  love  with  the  young  women  of  the 
Lambert  house.  Little  Het  might  have  her  fancy :  little  girls 
will  :  but  they  get  it  over  :  "  and  you  know,  Molly  "  (which 
dear,  soft-hearted  Mrs.  Lambert  could  not  deny),  "  you  fancied 
somebody  else  before  you  fancied  me,"  says  the  General ;  "but 
Harry  had  evidently  not  been  smitten  by  Hetty ;  and  now^  he 
was  superseded,  as  it  ^vere,  by  having  an  elder  brother  over 
him,  ar.d  could  not  even  call  the  coat  upon  his  back  his  own, 
Master  Harry  was  no  great  catch." 

"  Oh,  yes  :  now  he  is  poor  we  will  show  him  the  door,  as  all 
the  rest  of  the  world  does,  I  suppose,"  says  Mrs.  Lambert. 

"That  is  what  I  always  do,  isn't  it,  Molly.?  turn  my  back 
on  my  friends  in  distress  ?  "  asks  the  General. 

"  No,  my  dear !  I  afn  a  goose,  now,  and  that  I  own, 
Martin,"  says  the  wife,  having  recourse  to  the  usual  pocket- 
handkerchief. 

"  Let  the  poor  boy  come  to  us  and  welcome  :  ours  is  almost 
the  only  house  in  this  selfish  place  where  so  much  can  be  said 
for  him.  He  is  unhapp}^  and  to  be  with  us  puts  him  at  ease ; 
in  God's  name  let  him  be  with  us  ! "  says  the  kind-hearted 
officer.     Accordingly,  whenever  poor  crest-fallen  Hal  wanted  a 


488  '^^E   VIRGINIANS. 

dinner,  or  an  evening's  entertainment,  Mr.  Laurbert's  table  had 
a  corner  for  him.  So  was  George  welcome,  too.  He  went 
among  the  Lambert's,  not  at  first  with  the  cordiality  which 
Harry  felt  for  these  people,  and  inspired  among  them  :  for 
George  was  colder  in  his  manner,  and  more  mistrustful  of 
himself  and  others  than  his  twin  brother  :  but  there  was  a  good- 
ness and  friendliness  about  the  family  which  touched  almost 
all  people  who  came  into  frequent  contact  with  them;  abd 
George  soon  learned  to  love  them  for  their  own  sake,  as  well 
as  for  their  constant  regard  and  kindness  to  his  brother.  He 
could  not  but  see  and  own  how  sad  Harry  was,  and  pity  his 
brother's  depression.  In  his  sarcastic  way,  George  would  often 
take  himself  to  task  before  his  brother  for  coming  to  life  again, 
and  say,  "  Dear  Harry,  I  am  George  the  Unlucky,  though  you 
have  ceased  to  be  Harry  the  Fortunate.  Florae  would  have 
done  much  better  not  to  pass  his  sword  through  that  Indian's 
body,  and  to  have  left  my  scalp  as  an  ornament  for  the  fellow's 
belt.  I  say  he  would,  sir !  At  White's  the  people  would  have 
respected  you.  Our  mother  would  have  wept  over  me,  as  a 
defunct  angel,  instead  of  being  angry  with  me  for  again  sup- 
planting her  favorite — you  are  her  favorite,  you  deserve  to  be 
her  favorite  ;  everybody's  favorite  :  only,  if  I  had  not  come 
back,  your  favorite,  Maria,  would  have  insisted  on  marr)'ing 
you  ;  and  that  is  how  the  gods  would  have  revenged  themselves 
upon  you  for  your  prosperity." 

''  I  never  know  w^hether  you  are  laughing  at  me  or  yourself, 
George,"  says  the  brother.  "  I  never  know  whether  you  are 
serious  or  jesting." 

"  Precisely  my  own  case,  Harry,  my  dear  !  "  says  George. 

"  But  this  I  know,  that  there  never  was  a  better  brother  in 
all  the  world  ;  and  never  better  people  than  the  Lamberts." 

"  Never  was  truer  word  said  ! "  cries  George,  taking  his 
brother's  hand. 

"  And  if  I'm  unhappy,  'tis  not  your  fault — nor  their  fault — 
nor  perhaps  mine,  George,"  continues  the  younger.  "  'Tis  fate, 
you  see ;  'tis  the  having  nothing  to  do.  I  7nust  work  ;  and 
how,  George,  that  is  the  question  ?  " 

"  We  will  see  what  our  mother  says,  ^^'e  must  wait  till  we 
hear  from  her,"  says  George. 

'  I  say,  George  !  Do  you  know,  I  don't  think  I  should 
much  like  going  back  to  Virginia  ? "  says  Harry,  in  a  low, 
alarmed  voice. 

"  What  !  in  love  with  one  of  the  lasses  here  ?  " 

"  Love  'em  like  sisters — with  all  my  heart,  of  course,  dearest, 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  489 

best  girls  !  but,  having  come  out  of  that  business,  thanks  to 
you,  I  don't  want  to  go  back,  you  know.  No  !  no  !  It  is  not 
for,  that  I  fancy  staying  in  Europe  better  than  going  home. 
But,  you  see,  I  don't  fancy  hunting,  duck-shooting,  tobacco- 
planting,  whist-playing,  and  going  to  sermon,  over  and  over  and 
over  again  for  all  my  life,  George.  And  what  else  is  there  to 
do  at  home  "l  What  on  earth  is  there  for  me  to  do  at  all,  I  say  ? 
That's  what  makes  me  miserable.  It  would  not  matter  for  you 
to  be  a  younger  son  ;  you  are  so  clever  you  would  make  your 
way  anywhere  ;  but,  for  a  poor  fellow  like  me,  what  chance  is 
there  ?  Until  I  do  something,  George,  I  shall  be  miserable, 
that's  what  I  shall !  " 

"  Have  I  not  always  said  so  ?  Art  thou  not  coming  round 
to  my  opinion  }  " 

"  What  opinion,  George  ?  You  know  pretty  much  whatever 
you  think,  I  think,  George  1  "  says  the  dutiful  junior. 

"  That  Florae  had  best  have  left  the  Indian  to  take  my 
scalp,  my  dear  !  " 

At  which  Harry  bursts  away  with  an  angry  exclamation ; 
and  they  continue  to  puff  their  pijoes  in  friendly  union. 

They  lived  together,  each  going  his  own  gait ;  and  not  much 
intercourse,  save  that  of  affection,  was  carried  on  between  them. 
Harry  never  would  venture  to  meddle  with  George's  books,  and 
would  sit  as  dumb  as  a  mouse  at  the  lodgings  whilst  his  brother 
was  studying.  They  removed  presently  from  the  Court  end  of 
the  town,  Madame  de  Bernstein  pishing  and  pshaing  at  their 
change  of  residence.  But  George  took  a  great  fancy  to  fre- 
quenting Sir  Hans  Sloane's  new  reading-room  and  museum, 
just  set  up  in  Montagu  House,  and  he  took  cheerful  lodgings 
in  Southampton  Row,  Bloomsbur\^,  looking  over  the  delight 
fields  towards  Hampstead,  at  the  back  of  the  Duke  of  Bedford's 
gardens.  And  Lord  Wrotham's  family  coming  to  May  Fair, 
and  Mr.  Lambert  having  business  which  detained  him  in  Lon- 
don, had  to  change  his  house,  too,  and  engaged  furnished  apart- 
ments in  Soho,  not  very  far  off  from  the  dwelling  of  our  young 
men  ;  and  it  was,  as  we  have  said,  with  the  Lamberts  that 
Harry,  night  after  night,  took  refuge. 

George  was  with  them  often,  too  ;  and,  as  the  acquaintance 
ripened,  he  frequented  their  house  with  increasing  assiduity, 
finding  their  company  more  to  his  taste  than  that  of  Aunt  Bern- 
stein's polite  circle  of  gamblers,  than  Sir  Miles  W'arrington's 
port  and  mutton,  or  the  daily  noise  and  clatter  of  the  coffee- 
hcuses.  And  as  he  and  the  Lambert  ladies  were  alike  strangers 
in  London,  they   partook  of  its  pleasures  together,   and,   no 


49 o  THE   VIRGINIANS, 

doubt,  went  to  "  Vauxhall  "  and  Ranelagh,"  to  "  Mar}'bone 
Gardens,"  and  the  play,  and  the  Tower,  and  wherever  else 
there  was  honest  amusement  to  be  had  in  those  days.  Martin 
Lambert  loved  that  his  children  should  have  all  the  innocent 
pleasure  which  he  could  procure  for  them,  and  Mr.  George,  who 
was  of  a  most  generous,  open-handed  disposition,  liked  to  treat 
his  friends  likewise,  especially  those  who  had  been  so  admirably 
kind  to  his  brother. 

With  all  the  passion  of  his  heart  Mr.  Warrington  loved  a 
play.  He  had  never  enjo3'ed  this  amusement  in  Virginia,  and 
only  once  or  twice  at  Quebec,  when  he  visited  Canada  ;  and 
when  he  came  to  London,  where  the  two  houses  were  in  their 
full  glory,  I  believe  he  thought  he  never  could  have  enough  of 
the  delightful  entertainment.  Anything  he  liked  himself,  he 
naturally  wished  to  share  amongst  his  companions.  No  wonder 
that  he  'was  eager  to  take  his  friends  to  the  theatre,  and  we  may 
be  sure  our  young  country  folks  were  not  unwilling.  Shall  it 
be  "DruryLane"  or  "  Covent  Garden,"  ladies?  There  was 
Garrick  and  Shakspeare  at  "  Drury  Lane."  Well,  will  it  be 
believed,  the  ladies  wanted  to  hear  the  famous  new  author 
whose  piece  was  being  played  at  "  Covent  Garden  ?  " 

At  this  time  a  star  of  genius  had  arisen,  and  was  blazing 
with  quite  a  dazzling  brilliancy.  The  great  Mr.  John  Home,  of 
Scotland,  had  produced  a  tragedy,  than  which  since  the  days  of 
the  ancients,  there  had  been  nothing  more  classic  and  elegant. 
What  had  Mr.  Garrick  meant  by  refusing  such  a  masterpiece 
for  his  theatre  ?  Say  what  you  will  about  Shakspeare  ;  in  the 
works  of  that  undoubted  great  poet  (who  had  begun  to  grow 
vastly  more  popular  in  England  since  Monsieur  Voltaire  at- 
tacked him),  there  were  many  barbarisms  that  could  not  but 
shock  a  polite  auditory;  whereas,  Mr.  Home,  the  modern 
author,  knew  how  to  be  refined  in  the  very  midst  of  grief  and 
passion  ;  to  represent  death,  not  merely  as  awful,  but  graceful 
and  pathetic  ;  and  never  condescended  to  degrade  the  majesty 
of  the  Tragic  Muse  by  the  ludicrous  apposition  of  buffoonery 
and  familiar  punning,  such  as  the  elder  playwright  certainly 
had  resort  to.  Besides,  Mr.  Home's  performance  had  been 
admired  in  quarters  so  high,  and  by  personages  whose  taste  was 
known  to  be  as  elevated  as  their  rank,  that  all  Britons  could 
not  but  join  in  the  plaudits  for  which  august  hands  had  given 
the  signal.  Such,  it  was  said,  was  the  opinion  of  the  very  best 
company,  in  the  coffee-houses,  and  amongst  the  wits  about 
town.  Why,  the  famous  Mr.  Gray,  of  Cambridge,  said  there 
had  not  been  for  a  hundred  years  any  dramatic  dialogue  of 


THE   I'IRGINIAiVS. 


491 


such  a  true  style ;  and  as  for  the  poet's  native  capital  of  Edin- 
burgh, where  the  piece  was  first  brought  out,  it  was  even  said 
that  the  triumphant  Scots  called  out  from  the  pit  (in  their 
dialect),   '"  Where's  Wully  Shakspeare  noo  ?  " 

"I  should  like  to  see  the  man  who  could  beat  Willy  Shak- 
speare ?  "  says  the  General,  laughing. 

"  Mere  national  prejudice,"  says  Mr.  Warrington. 

"  Beat  Shakspeare,  indeed  ! "  cries  Mrs.  Lambert. 

"  Pooh,  pooh !  you  have  cried  more  over  Mr.  Sam  Richard- 
son than  ever  you  did  over  Mr.  Shakspeare,  Molly  !  "  remarks 
the  General.  "  I  think  few  women  love  to  read  '  Shakspeare  : ' 
they  say  they  love  it,  but  they  don't." 

"  Oh,  papa  !  "  cry  three  ladies,  throwing  up  three  pair  of 
hands. 

"  ^^'ell,  then,  why  do  you  all  three  prefer  '  Douglas  ? '  And 
you,  boys,  who  are  such  Tories,  will  you  go  see  a  play  which  is 
wrote  by  a  Whig  Scotchman,  who  was  actually  made  prisoner 
at  Falkirk  1  " 

"  Relicta  non  bene  parmula,"  says  Mr.  Jack  the  scholar. 

"  Nay — it  was  relicta  bene  parmula,"  cried  the  General. 
"  It  was  the  Highlanders  who  flung  their  targes  down,  and 
made  fierce  work  amons;  us  red-coats.  If  thev  had  fousfht  all 
their  fields  as  well  as  that,  and  young  Perkin  had  not  turned 
back  from  Derby " 

"  I  know  which  side  would  be  rebels,  and  who  would  be 
called  the  Young  Pretender,"  interposed  George. 

"  Hush  !  you  must  please  to  remember  my  cloth,  Mr.  War- 
rington," said  the  General,  with  some  gravity ;  "  and  that  the 
cockade  I  wear  is  a  black,  not  a  white  one !  Well,  if  you  will 
not  love  Mr.  Home  for  his  politics,  there  is,  I  think,  another 
reason,  George,  why  you  should  like  him." 

"I  may  have  Tory  fancies,  Mr.  Lambert;  but  I  think  I 
know  how  to  love  and  honor  a  good  Whig,"  said  George,  with 
a  bow  to  the  General  :  "  and  why  should  I  like  this  Mr.  Home, 
sir  ?  " 

"  Because,  being  a  Presbyterian  clergyman,  he  has  com- 
mitted the  heinous  crime  of  writing  a  play,  and  his  brother  par- 
sons have  barked  out  an  excommunication  at  him.  They  took 
the  poor  fellow's  means  of  livelihood  away  from  him  for  his  per- 
formance ;  and  he  would  have  star\^ed,  but  that  the  young  Pre- 
tender on  our  side  of  the  water  has  given  him  a  pension." 

"  If  he  has  been  persecuted  by  the  parsons,  there  is  hope 
for  him,"  says  George,  smiling.  "And  henceforth  I  declare 
myself  ready  to  hear  his  sermons." 


4^2  THE   VIRGIXIANS. 

•■  Mrs.  Woffington  is  divine  in  it,  though  not  generally 
famous  in  tragedy.  Barry  is  drawing  tears  from  all  eyes  ;  and 
Garrick  is  wild  at  having  refused  the  piece.  Girls,  you  must 
brino-  each  half-a-dozen  handkerchiefs  !  As  for  mamma,  I  can- 
not trust  her  ;  and  she  positively  must  be  left  at  home." 

But  mamma  persisted  she  would  go  ;  and,  if  need  were  to 
weep,  she  would  sit  and  cry  her  eyes  out  in  a  corner.  They 
all  went  to  Covent  Garden,  then  ;  the  most  of  the  party  duly 
prepared  to  see  one  of  the  masterpieces  of  the  age  and  drama. 
Could  they  not  all  speak  long  pages  of  Congreve ;  had  they 
not  w^ept  and  kindled  over  Otway  and  Rowe  ?  O  ye  past 
literary  glories,  that  were  to  be  eternal,  how  long  have  you  been 
dead  ?  Who  knows  much  more  now  than  where  your  graves 
are  ?  Poor  neglected  Muse  of  the  bygone  theatre  !  She  pipes 
for  us,  and  we  wall  not  dance ;  she  tears  her  hair,  and  w^e  will 
not  weep.  And  the  Immortals  of  our  time,  how  soon  shall  they 
be  dead  and  buried,  think  you  ?  How^  many  will  survive  ?  How 
long  shall  it  be  ere  Nox  et  Domus  Plutonia  shall  overtake 
them  ? 

So  away  went  the  pleased  party  to  Covent  Garden  to  see 
the  tragedy  of  the  immortal  John  Home.  The  ladies  and  the 
General  were  conveyed  in  a  glass  coach,  and  found  the  young 
men  in  waiting  to  receive  them  at  the  theatre  door.  Hence 
they  elbowed  their  way  through  a  crowd  of  torch-boys,  and  a 
whole  regiment  of  footmen.  Little  Hetty  fell  to  Harry's  arm 
in  this  expedition,  and  the  blushing  Miss  Theo  was  handed  to 
the  box  by  Mr.  George.  Gumbo  had  kept  the  places  until  his 
masters  arrived,  when  he  retired,  with  many  bows,  to  take  his 
own  seat  in  the  footman's  gallery.  They  had  good  places  in  a 
front  box,  and  there  was  luckily  a  pillar  behind  wdiich  mamma 
could  W'Cep  in  comfort.  And  opposite  them  they  had  the 
honor  to  see  the  august  hope  of  the  empire,  his  Royal  High- 
ness George  Prince  of  Wales,  with  the  Princess  Dowager  his 
mother,  whom  the  people  greeted  with  loyal,  but  not  very 
enthusiastic,  plaudits.  That  handsome  man.  standing  behind 
his  Royal  Highness  was  my  Lord  Bute,  the  Prince's  Groom  of 
the  Stole,  the  patron  of  the  poet  whose  performance  they  had 
come  to  see,  and  over  w^hose  work  the  Royal  party  had  already 
w^ept  more  than  once. 

How  can  we  help  it,  if  during  the  course  of  the  performance, 
Mr.  Lambert  would  make  his  jokes  and  mar  the  solemnity  of 
the  scene !  At  first,  as  the  reader  of  the  tragedy  well  knows, 
the  characters  are  occupied  in  making  a  number  of  explana- 
tions.    Lady  Randolph  explains  how  it  is  that  she  is  melancholy 


THE    VIRGINIANS.  40)3 

Married  to  Lord  Randolph  somewhat  late  in  life,  she  owns,  and 
his  lordship  perceives,  that  a  dead  lover  yet  occupies  all  her  ■ 
heart,  and  her  husband  is  fain  to  put  up  with  this  dismal,  second, 
hand  regard,  wdiich  is  all  that  my  lady  can  bestow.  Hence- 
an  invasion  of  Scotland  by  the  Danes  is  rather  a  cause  of  ex- 
citement than  disgust  to  my  lord,  who  rushes  to  meet  the  foe, 
and  forget  the  dreariness  of  his  domestic  circumstances.  Wel- 
come Vikings  and  Norsemen  !  Blow,  northern  blasts,  the  in- 
vaders' keels  to  Scotland's  shore  !  Randolph  and  other  heroes 
will  be  on  the  beach  to  give  the  foemen  a  welcome  !  His 
lordship  has  no  sooner  disappeared  behind  the  trees  of  the 
forest,  but  Lady  Randolph  begins  to  explain  to  her  confidante 
the  circumstances  of  her  early  life.  The  fact  was  she  had  made 
a  private  marriage,  and  what  would  the  confidante  say,  if,  in 
early  youth,  she,  Lady  Randolph,  had  lost  a  husband?  In 
the  cold  bosom  of  the  earth  was  lodged  the  husband  of  her 
youth,  and  in  some  cavern  of  the  ocean  lies  her  child  and  his  ! 

Up  to  this  the  General  behaved  with  as  great  gravity  as  any 
of  his  young  companions  to  the  play  ;  but  when  Lady  Ran- 
dolph proceeded  to  say,  "  Alas  !  Hereditary  evil  was  the  cause 
of  my  misfortunes,"  he  nudged  George  Warrington,  and  looked 
so  droll,  that  the  young  man  burst  out  laughing. 

The  magic  of  the  scene  w^as  destroyed  after  that.  These 
tw^o  gentlemen  went  on  cracking  jokes  during  the  whole  of  the 
subsequent  performance,  to  their  own  amusement,  but  the  in- 
dignation of  their  company,  and  perhaps  of  the  people  in  the 
adjacent  boxes.  Young  Douglas,  in  those  days,  used  to  wear 
a  white  satin  "  shape  "  slashed  at  the  legs  and  body,  and  when 
Mr.  Barry  appeared  in  his  droll  costume,  the  General  vowed  it 
w^as  the  exact  dress  of  the  Highlanders  in  the  late  w^ar.  The 
Chevalier's  Guard,  he  declared,  had  all  white  satin  slashed 
breeches,  and  red  boots — "  only  they  left  them  at  home,  my 
dear,"  adds  this  wag.  Not  one  pennyworth  of  sublimity  would 
he  or  George  allow  henceforth  to  Mr.  Home's  performance. 
As  for  Harr)^,  he  sat  in  very  deep  meditation  over  the  scene  ; 
and  when  Mrs.  Lambert  offered  him  a  penny  for  his  thoughts, 
he  said,  "That  he  thought  Young  Nerval,  Douglas,  What-d'ye- 
call-'im,  the  fellow  in  white  satin — who  looked  as  old  as  his 
mother — was  very  lucky  to  be  able  to  distinguish  himself  so 
soon.  I  wish  I  could  get  a  chance.  Aunt  Lambert,"  says  he, 
drumming  on  his  hat;  on  which  mamma  sighed,  and  Theo, 
smiling  said,  "  We  must  wait,  and  perhaps  the  Danes  will  land." 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?  "  asks  simple  Harry. 

''  Oh,  the  Danes  always  land,  pour  qui  s^ait  attendre  !  "' 


494  ^-^^^   VIRGINIANS. 

says  kind  Tbeo,  who  had  hold  of  her  sister's  little  hand,  and  I 
dare  say,  felt  its  pressure. 

She  did  not  behave  unkindly — that  was  not  in  Miss  Theo's 
nature — but  somewhat  coldly  to  Mr.  George,  on  whom  she 
turned  her  back,  addressing  remarks,  from  time  to  time,  to 
Harry.  In  spite  of  the  gentleman's  scorn,  the  woman  chose 
to  be  affected.  A  mother  and  son,  meeting  in  love  and  part- 
ing in  tears,  will  always  awaken  emotion  in  female  hearts. 

"  Look,  Papa  !  there  is  an  answer  to  all  your  jokes  !  ''  says 
Theo,  pointing  towards  the  stage. 

At  a  part  of  the  dialogue  between  Lady  Randolph  and  her 
son,  one  of  the  grenadiers  on  guard  on  each  side  of  the  stage, 
as  the  custom  of  those  days  was,  could  not  restrain  his  tears, 
and  was  visibly  weeping  before  the  side-box. 

"  You  are  right,  my  dear,"  says  papa. 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you  she  always  is  ? "  interposes  Hetty. 

"  Yonder  sentry  is  a  better  critic  than  we  are,  and  a  touch 
of  nature  masters  us  all." 

"  Tamen  usque  recurrit  !  "  cries  the  young  student  from 
college. 

George  felt  abashed  somehow,  and  interested,  too.  He  had 
been  sneering,  and  Theo  sympathizing.  Her  kindness  was 
better — nay,  wiser — than  his  skepticism,  perhaps.  Neverthe- 
less, w4ien,  at  the  beginning  of  the  fifth  act  of  the  play,  3'oung 
Douglas,  drawing  his  sword  and  looking  up  at  the  galler}', 
bawled  out — 

"  Ye  glorious  stars  !  high  heaven's  resplendent  host! 
To  whom  I  oft  have  of  my  lot  complained, 
Here  and  record  my  soul's  unaltered  wish  ; 
Living  or  dead,  let  me  but  be  renowned! 
]\Iay  Heaven  inspire  some  fierce  gigantic  Dane 
To  give  a  bold  defiance  to  our  host ! 
Before  he  speaks  it  out,  I  will  accept, — 
Like  Douglas  conquer,  or  like  Douglas  die  !  " 

The  gods,  to  whom  Mr.  Barry  appealed,  saluted  this  heroic 
wish  with  immense  applause,  and  the  General  clapped  his  hands 
prodigiously.     His  body  was  rather  disconcerted. 

"  This  Douglas  is  not  only  brave,  but  he  is  modest  !  "  says 
papa. 

"  I  own  I  think  he  need  not  have  asked  for  a  gigantic 
Dane,"  says  Theo,  smiling,  as  Lady  Randolph  entered  in  the 
midst  of  the  gallery  thunder. 

When  the  applause  had  subsided,  Lady  Randolph  is  made 
to  say — 

j'My  son,  I  heard  a  voice !  " 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


495 


"I  think  she  di^ hesir  a  voice  !  "  cries  papa.  "  Why,  the 
fellow  was  bellowing  like  a  bull  of  Bashan."  And  the  General 
would  scarcely  behave  himself  from  thenceforth  to  the  end  of 
the  performance.  He  said  he  was  heartily  glad  that  the  young 
gentleman  was  put  to  death  behind  the  scenes.  When  Lady 
Randolph's  friend  described  how  her  mistress  had  "  flown  like 
lightning  up  the  hill,  and  plunged  herself  into  the  empty  air," 
Mr.  Lambert  said  he  was  delighted  to  be  rid  of  her.  "  And  as 
for  that  story  of  her  early  marriage,"  says  he,  "  I  have  my  very 
strongest  doubts  about  it." 

"  Nonsense,  Martin !  Look,  children  1  their  Royal  High- 
nesses are  moving." 

The  tragedy  over,  the  Princess  Dowager  and  the  Prince 
were  in  fact,  retiring ;  though,  I  dare  say,  the  latter,  who  was 
always  fond  of  a  farce,  would  have  been  far  better  pleased  with 
that  which  followed,  then  he  had  been  with  Mr.  Home's  dreary 
tragic  masterpiece. 


CHAPTER  LX. 

WHICH  TREATS  OF  MACBETH,  A  SUPPER,  AND  A  PRETTY  KETTLE 

OF  FISH. 

When  the  performances  were  concluded,  our  friends  took 
coach  for  ]\Ir.  Warrington's  lodging,  where  the  Virginians  had 
provided  an  elegant  supper.  Mr.  Warrington  was  eager  to 
treat  them  in  the  handsomest  manner,  and  the  General  and  h  s 
wife  accepted  the  invitation  of  the  two  bachelors,  pleased  to 
think  that  they  could  give  their  young  friends  pleasure.  General 
and  Mrs.  Lambert,  their  son  from  college,  their  two  blooming 
daughters,  and  Mr,  Spencer  of  the  temple,  a  new  friend  whom 
George  had  met  at  the  coffee-house,  formed  the  party,  and  par- 
took with  cheerfulness  of  the  landlady's  fare.  The  order  of  their 
sitting  I  have  not  been  able  exactly  to  ascertain  ;  but,  somehow, 
Miss  Theo  had  a  place  next  to  the  chickens  and  Mr.  George 
Warrington,  whilst  Miss  Hetty  and  a  ham  divided  the  attentions 
of  Mr.  Harry,  Mrs.  Lambert  ;;zz/i-/  have  been  on  George's 
right  hand,  so  that  we  have  but  to  settle  the  three  places  of  the 
General,  his  son,  and  the  Templar. 

Mr.  Spencer  had  been  at  the  other  theatre,  where;  on  a  for- 


.96 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


mer  day,  he  had  actually  introduced  George  to  the  green-room. 
The  conversation  about  the  play  was  resumed,  and  some  of  the 
party  persisted  in  being  delighted  with  it. 

"  As  for  what  our  gentlemen  say,  sir,"  cries  Mrs.  Lambert 
to  Mr.  Spencer,  "you  must  not  believe  a  word  of  it.  'Tis  a 
delightful  piece,  and  my  husband  and  Mr.  George  behaved  as 
ill  as  possible." 

"  We  laughed  in  the  wrong  place,  and  when  we  ought  to 
have  cried,"  the  General  owned,  "  that's  the  truth." 

"  You  caused  all  the  people  in  the  boxes  about  us  to  look 
round  and  cry,  '  Hush  !  '  You  made  the  pit-folks  say,  '  Silence 
in  the  boxes,  yonder ! '  Such  behavior  I  never  knew  and 
quite  blushed  for  you,  Mr.  Lambert  !  " 

"  Mamma  thought  it  was  a  tragedy,  and  we  thought  it  was  a 
piece  of  fun,"  says  the  General.  "  George  and  I  behaved  per- 
fectly well,  didn't  we,  Theo  t  " 

"  Not  when  Lwas  looking  your  way.  Papa  !  "  Theo  replies. 
At  which  the  General  asks,  "Was  there  ever  such  a  saucy 
bao^2:a2:e  seen  ?  " 

"You  know,  sir,  I  didn't  speak  till  I  was  bid,"  Theo  con- 
tinues, modestly.  "  I  own  I  was  very  much  moved  by  the  play, 
and  the  beauty  and  acting  of  Mrs.  Wofhngton.  I  was  sorry 
that  the  poor  mother  should  find  her  child,  and  lose  him.  I 
am  sorry  too.  Papa,  if  I  oughtn't  to  have  been  sorry  !  "  adds 
the  young  lady,  with  a  smile. 

"  Women  are  not  so  clever  as  men,  you  know,  Theo,"  cries 
Hetty  from  her  end  of  the  table,  with  a  sly  look  at  Harry. 
"  The  next  time  we  go  to  the  play,  please,  brother  Jack,  pinch 
us  when  we  ought  to  cry,  or  give  us  a  nudge  when  it  is  right  to 
laugh." 

"  I  wish  we  could  have  had  the  fight,"  said  General  Lambert 
— "  the  fight  between  little  Nerval  and  the  gigantic  Norwegian 
— that  would  have  been  rare  sport  :  and  you  should  write.  Jack, 
and  suggest  it  to  Mr.  Rich,  the  manager." 

"  I  have  not  seen  that  :  but  I  saw  Slack  and  Broughton  at 
Marybone  Gardens  !  "  says  Harry,  gravely  ;  and  wondered  if 
he  had  said  something  witt}^,  as  all  the  company  laughed  so  ? 
"It  would  require  no  giant,"  he  added,  "to  knock  over  yonder 
Httle  fellow  in  the  red  boots.  I,  for  one,  could  throw  him  over 
my  shoulder." 

"  Mr.  Garrick  is  a  little  man.  But  there  are  times  when  he 
looks  a  giant,"  says  Mr.  Spencer.  "  How  grand  he  was  in  Mac- 
beth, Mr.  Warrington  !  How  awful  that  dagger-scene  was  ! 
You  should  have  seen  our  host,  ladies  !     I  presented  Mr.  War- 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  4^7 

rington  in  the  greenroom,  to  Mr.  Garrick  and  Mrs.  Pritchard, 
and  Lady  Macbeth  did  liim  the  honor  to  take  a  pincli  out  of  his 
box," 

"  Did  the  wife  of  the  Tliane  of  Cawdor  sneeze  ?  "  asked  the 
General,  in  an  awful  voice. 

"  She  thanked  Mr.  Warrington,  in  tones  so  hollow  and 
tragic,  that  he  started  back,  and  must  have  upset  some  of 
his  rappee,  for  Macbeth  sneezed  thrice." 

"  Macbeth,  Macbeth,  Macbeth  !  "  cries  the  General. 

"  And  the  great  philosopher  who  was  standing  by, — Mr. 
Johnson,  says,  '  You  must  mind,  Davy,  lest  thy  sneeze  should 
awaken  Duncan  !  '  who,  by  the  way,  w'as  talking  with  the  three 
witches  as  they  sat  against  the  wall." 

"  What !  Have  you  been  behind  the  scenes  at  the  play  t 
Oh,  I  would  give  worlds  to  go  behind  the  scenes  !  "  cries  Theo. 

"  And  see  the  ropes  pulled,  and  smell  the  tallow-candles, 
and  look  at  the  pasteboard  gold,  and  the  tinsel  jewels,  and  the 
painted  old  women,  Theo  ?  No.  Do  not  look  too  close,"  says 
the  skeptical  young  host,  demurely  drinking  a  glass  of  hock. 
"  You  were  angry  with  your  papa  and  me." 

"  Nay,  George  !  "  cries  the  girl. 

"  Nay  ?  I  say,  yes  !  You  were  angry  with  us  because  we 
laughed  when  you  were  disposed  to  be  crying.  If  I  may  speak 
for  you,  sir,  as  well  as  myself,"  says  George  (with  a  bow  to  his 
guest.  General  Lambert),  "  I  think  we  w^ere  not  inclined  to 
weep,  like  the  ladies,  because  we  stood  behind  the  author's 
scenes  of  the  play,  as  it  were.  Looking  close  up  to  the  young 
hero,  we  saw  how  much  of  him  was  rant  and  tinsel ;  and  as  for 
the  pale,  tragical  mother,  that  her  pallor  was  white  chalk,  and 
her  grief  her  pocket-handkerchief.  Own  now,  Theo,  you 
thought  me  very  unfeeling  ?  " 

"  If  you  find  it  out,  sir,  without  my  owning  it, — what  is  the 
good  of  my  confessing  ?  "  says  Theo. 

"  Suppose  I  were  to  die  ?  "  goes  on  George,  ''  and  you  saw 
Harry  in  grief,  you  would  be  seeing  a  genuine  affliction,  a  real 
tragedy ;  you  would  grieve  too.  But  you  wouldn't  be  affected 
if  you  saw  the  undertaker  in  weepers  and  a  black  cloak !  " 

"  Indeed,  but  I  should,  sir  !  "  says  Mrs.  Lambert ;  "  and  so, 
I  promise  you,  would  any  daughter  of  mine." 

"  Perhaps  we  might  find  weepers  of  our  own,  ]\Ir.  \^'ashing- 
ton,"  says  Theo,  "  in  ::uch  case." 

"  Would  you,  cries  George,  and  his  cheeks  and  Theo's 
simultaneously  flushed  up  with  red  ;  I  suppose  because  they 
both  saw  Hetty's  bright  young  eyes  watching  them. 

32 


498  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

"  The  elder  writers  understood  but  little  of  the  pathetic," 
remarked  Mr.  Spencer,  the  Temple  wit. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  Sophocles  and  Antigone  ?  "  calls 
out  Mr.  John  Lambert. 

"  Faith,  our  wits  trouble  themselves  little  about  him,  unless 
an  Oxford  gentleman  comes  to  remind  us  of  him  !  I  did  not 
mean  to  go  back  further  than  Mr.  Shakspeare,  who,  as  you  will 
all  agree,  does  not  understand  the  elegant  and  pathetic  as  well 
as  the  moderns.  Has  he  ever  approached  Belvidera,  or  Mon- 
imia,  or  Jane  Shore  ;  or  can  you  find  in  his  comic  female  char- 
acters the  elegance  of  Congreve } "  and  the  Templar  offered 
snuff  to  the  right  and  left. 

"  I  think  Mr.  Spencer  himself  must  have  tried  his  hand  ?  " 
asks  some  one. 

"  Many  gentlemen  of  leisure  have.  Mr.  Garrick,  I  own,  has 
had  a  piece  of  mine,  and  returned  it. 

"  And  I  confess  that  I  have  four  acts  of  a  play  in  one  of  my 
boxes,"  says  George. 

"I'll  be  bound  to  say  it's  as  good  as  any  of  'em,"  whispers 
Harry  to  his  neighbor. 

"  Is  it  a  tragedy  or  a  comedy  ? "  asks  Mrs.  Lambert. 

"  Oh,  a  tragedy,  and  two  or  three  dreadful  murders  at  least ! " 
George  replies. 

"  Let  us  play  it,  and  let  the  audience  look  to  their  eyes  ! 
Yet  my  chief  humor  is  for  a  tyrant,"  says  the  General. 

"  The  tragedy,  the  tragedy !  Go  and  fetch  the  tragedy  this 
moment.  Gumbo  !  "  calls  Mrs.  Lambert  to  the  black.  Gumbo 
makes  a  low  bow  and  says  "Tragedy  ?  yes,  Madam. 

"  In  the  great  cowskin  trunk,  Gum.bo,"  George  says,  gravely. 

Gambo  bows  and  says,  "  Yes,  sir,"  with  still  superior 
gravity. 

"  But  my  tragedy  is  at  the  bottom  of  I  don't  know  how 
much  linen,  packages,  books,  and  boots,  Hetty. 

"  Never  mind,  let  us  have  it,  and  fling  the  linen  out  of 
window  !  "  cries  Miss  Hetty." 

"And  the  great  cowskin  trunk  is  at  our  agent's  at  Bristol  : 
so  Gumbo  must  get  post-horses,  and  we  can  keep  it  up  till  he 
returns  the  day  after  to-morrow,"  says  George, 

The  ladies  groaned  a  comical  "  Oh  ! "  and  papa,  perhaps, 
more  seriously  said  :  "  Let  us  be  thankful  for  the  escape.  Let 
us  be  thinking  of  going  home  too.  Our  young  gentlemen  have 
treated  us  nobly,  and  we  will  all  drink  a  parting  bumper  to 
Madam  Esmond  Warrington  of  Castlewood  in  Virginia.  Sup- 
pose, boys,  you  were  to  find  a  tall,  handsome  stepfather  when 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  ^gg 

you  got  home  ?     Ladies   as   old  as   she   have  been  known  to 
marry  before  now." 

"  To  Madam  P^smond  Warrington,  my  old  school-fellow  !  " 
cries  Mrs.  Lambert.  "  I  shall  write  and  tell  her  what  a  pretty 
supper  her  sons  have  given  us  :  and  Mr.  George,  I  won't  say 
how  ill  you  behaved  at  the  play  ! "  And,  with  this  last  toast, 
the  company  took  leave  ;  the  General's  coach  and  servant,  with 
a  flambeau,  being  in  waiting  to  carry  his  family  home. 

After  such  an  entertainment  as  that  which  Mr.  Warrington 
had  given,  what  could  be  more  natural  or  proper  than  a  visit 
from  him  to  his  guests,  to  inquire  how  they  had  reached  home  and 
rested  ?  Why,  their  coach  might  have  taken  the  open  country 
behind  Montagu  House,  in  the  direction  of  Oxford  Road,  and 
been  waylaid  by  footpads  in  the  fields.  The  ladies  might  have 
caught  cold  or  slept  ill  after  the  excitement  of  the  tragedy.  In 
a  word,  there  was  no  reason  why  he  should  make  any  excuse  at 
all  to  himself  or  them  for  visiting  his  kind  friends  ;  and  he  shut 
his  books  early  at  the  Sloane  Museum,  and  perhaps  thought, 
as  he  walked  away  thence,  that  he  remembered  very  little  about 
what  he  had  been  reading. 

Pray  what  is  the  meaning  of  this  eagerness,  this  hesitation, 
this  pshaing  and  shilly-shallying,  these  doubts,  this  tremor  as 
he  knocks  at  the  door  of  Mr.  Lambert's  lodgings  in  Dean 
Street,  and  surveys  the  footman  Vvdio  comes  to  his  summons  ? 
Does  any  young  man  read?  does  any  old  one  remember.''  does 
any  wearied,  worn,  disappointed  pulseless  heart  recall  the  time 
of  its  full  beat  and  early  throbbing.?  It  is  ever  so  many  hun- 
dred years  since  some  of  us  were  young ;  and  we  forget,  but  do 
not  all  forget.  No,  madam,  we  remember  with  advantages,  as 
Shakspeare's  Harry  promised  his  soldiers  they  should  do  if 
they  survived  Agincourt  and  that  day  of  St.  Crispin.  Worn 
old  chargers  turned  out  to  grass,  if  the  trumpet  sounds  over 
the  hedge,  may  we  not  kick  up  our  old  heels,  and  gallop  a  min- 
ute or  so  about  the  paddock,  till  we  are  brought  up  roaring  ? 
I  do  not  care  for  clown  and  pantaloon  now,  and  think  the  fairy 
ugly,  and  her  verses  insufferable  :  but  I  like  to  see  children  at 
a  pantomime.  I  do  not  dance,  or  eat  supper  any  more  ;  but  I 
like  to  watch  Eugenio  and  Flirtilla  twirling  round  in  a  pretty 
waltz,  or  Lucinda  and  Ardentio  pulling  a  cracker.  Burn  your 
little  fingers,  children  !  Blaze  out  little  kindly  flames  from  each 
other's  eyes  ?  And  then  draw  close  together  and  read  the 
motto  (that  old  namby-pamby  motto,  so  stale  and  so  new  !) — I 
say,  let  her  lips  read  it,  and  his  construe  it ;  and  so  divide  the 


200  THE   ]'IRGINIANS. 

sweetmeat,  young  people,  and  crunch  it  between  you.  I  have 
no  teeth.  Bitter  ahiionds  and  sugar  disagree  with  me,  I  tell 
you ;  but,  for  all  that,  shall  not  bon-bons  melt  in  the  mouth  "i 

We  follow  John  up  stairs  to  the  General's  apartments,  and 
enter  with  Mr.  George  Esmond  Warrington,  who  makes  a  pro- 
digious fine  bow.  There  is  only  one  lady  in  the  room,  seated 
near  a  window  :  there  is  not  often  much  sunshine  in  Dean 
Street :  the  young  lady  in  the  window  is  no  special  beauty :  but 
it  is  spring-time,  and  she  is  blooming  vernally.  A  bunch  of 
fresh  roses  is  flushing  in  her  cheek.  I  suppose  her  eyes  are 
violets.  If  we  lived  a  hundred  years  ago,  and  wrote  in  the 
"  Gentleman's  "  or  the  "  London  Magazine,"  we  should  tell  Mr. 
Sylvanus  Urban  that  her  neck  was  the  lily,  and  her  shape  the 
nymph's ;  we  should  write  an  acrostic  about  her,  and  celebrate 
our  Lambertella  in  an  elegant  poem,  still  to  be  read  between  a 
neat  new  engraved  plan  of  the  city  of  Prague  and  the  King  of 
Prussia's  camp,  and  a  map  of  Maryland  and  the  Delaware 
counties. 

Here  is  Miss  Theo  blushing  like  a  rose.  What  could 
mamma  have  meant  an  hour  since  by  insisting  that  she  was 
very  pale  and  tired,  and  had  best  not  come  out  to-day  with  the 
rest  of  the  party  ?  They  were  gone  to  pay  their  compliments 
to  my  Lord  Wrotham's  ladies,  and  thank  them  for  the  house 
in  their  absence  ;  and  papa  was  at  the  Horse  Guards.  He  is  in 
great  spirits.  I  believe  he  expects  some  command,  though  mam- 
ma is  in  a  sad  tremor  lest  he  should  again  be  ordered  abroad. 

"  Your  brother  and  mine  are  going  to  see  our  little  brother 
at  his  school  at  the  Chartreux.  My  brothers  are  both  to  be 
clergymen,  I  think,"  Miss  Theo  continues.  She  is  assiduously 
hemming  at  some  article  of  boyish  wearing-apparel  as  she  talks. 
A  hundred  years  ago,  young  ladies  were  not  afraid  either  to 
make  shirts,  or  to  name  them.  Mind,  I  don't  say  they  were 
the  worse  or  the  better  for  that  plain  stitching  or  plain  speaking  : 
and  have  not  the  least  desire,  mv  dear  young  lady,  that  you 
should  make  puddings  or  I  should  black  boots. 

So  Harry  has  been  with  them  ?  ''  He  often  comes,  almost 
every  day,"  Theo  says,  looking  up  in  George's  face.  "Poor 
fellow  !  He  likes  us  better  than  the  fine  folks,  who  don't  care 
for  him  now — now  he  is  no  longer  a  fine  folk  himself,"  adds  the 
girl,  smiling.  "  Why  have  you  not  set  up  for  the  fashion,  and 
frequented  the  chocolate-houses  and  the  race-courses,  ]\Ir. 
Warrington  ?  " 

''  Has  my  brother  got  so  much  good  out  of  his  gay  haunts 
or  his  grand  friends,  that  I  should  imitate  him  ? " 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  501 

"  You  might  at  least  go  to  Sir  Miles  Warrington  ;  sure  his 
arms  are  open  to  receive  you.  Her  ladyship  was  here  this 
morning  in  her  chair,  and  to  hear  her  praises  of  you  !  She 
declares  3'ou  are  in  a  certain  way  to  perferment.  She  says  his 
Royal  Highness  the  Duke  made  much  of  you  at  Court.  When 
you  are  a  great  man,  will  you  forget  us,  Mr.  Warrington  ?  " 

"Yes,  when  I  am  a  great  man  I  will.  Miss  Lambert." 

"Well!  Mr.  George," then " 

"  Mr.  George  !  " 

"  When  papa  and  mamma  are  here,  I  suppose  there  need  be 
no  mistering,"  says  Theo,  looking  out  of  the  window,  ever  so 
little  frightened.  "  And  what  have  you  been  doing,  sir .'' 
Reading  books,  or  writing  more  of  your  tragedy  .''  Is  it  going 
to  be  a  tragedy  to  make  us  cry,  as  we  like  them,  or  only  to 
frighten  us,  as  you  like  them  ?  " 

"  There  is  plenty  of  killing,  but,  I  fear,  not  much  crying.  I 
have  not  met  many  women.  I  have  not  been  very  intimate 
with  those.  I  dare  say  what  I  have  written  is  only  taken  out 
of  books  parodied  from  poems  which  I  have  read  and  imitated 
like  other  young  men.  \\'omen  do  not  speak  to  me,  generally  ; 
I  am  said  to  have  a  sarcastic  way  which  displeases  them." 

"  Perhaps  you  never  cared  to  please  them  ?  "  inquires  Miss 
Theo,  with  a  blush. 

"  I  displeased  you  last  night ;  you  know  I  did  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  only  it  can't  be  called  displeasure,  and  afterwards  I 
thought  I  was  wrong." 

"  Did  you  think  about  me  at  all  when  I  was  away,  Theo  .'*  " 

"  Yes,  George  ! — that  is,  jNIr. — well,  George  !  I  thought  you 
and  papa  were  right  about  the  play  ;  and,  as  you  said,  that  it 
was  not  real  sorrow,  only  affectation,  which  was  moving  us.  I 
wonder  whether  it  is  good  or  ill  fortune  to  see  so  clearly  ? 
Hetty  and  I  agreed  that  we  would  be  very  careful,  for  the 
future,  how  we  allowed  ourselves  to  enjoy  a  tragedy.  So,  be 
careful  when  yours  comes  !     What  is  the  name  of  it  ?  " 

"  He    is    not   christened.     Will   you   be    tlie    godmother  ? 

The   name   of  the  chief  character  is "     But  at  this  very 

moment  mamma  and  Miss  Hetty  arrived  from  their  walk  ;  and 
mamma  straightway  began  protesting  that  she  never  expected 
to  see  Mr.  Warrington  at  all  that  day — that  is,  she  thought  he 
might  come — that  is,  it  was  very  good  of  him  to  come,  and  the 
play  and  the  supper  of  yesterday  were  all  charming,  except 
that  Theo  had  a  little  headache  this  morning. 

"  I  dare  say  it  is  better  now.  Mamma,"  says  Miss  Hetty. 

"  Indeed,  my  dear,  it  never  was  of  any  consequence  ;  and  I 
told  mamma  so,"  says  Miss  Theo,  with  a  toss  of  her  head. 


ro2  ^^E   VIRGINIANS. 

Then  they  fell  to  talking  about  Harry.  He  was  very  low. 
He  must  have  something  to  do.  He  was  always  going  to  the 
Military  Coffee-house,  and  perpetually  poring  over  the  King  of 
Prussia's  campaigns.  It  was  not  fair  upon  him,  to  bid  him 
remain  in  London,  after  his  deposition,  as  it  were.  He  said 
nothing,  but  you  could  see  how  he  regretted  his  previous  use- 
less life,  and  felt  his  present  dependence,  by  the  manner  in 
which  he  avoided  his  former  haunts  and  associates.  Passing 
by  the  guard  at  St.  James's,  with  John  Lambert,  he  had  said  to 
brother  Jack,  "  Why  mayn't  I  be  a  soldier,  too  ?  I  am  as  tall 
as  yonder  fellow,  and  can  kill  with  a  fowling-piece  as  well  as 
any  man  I  know.  But  I  can't  earn  so  much  as  sixpence  a  day. 
I  have  squandered  my  own  bread,  and  now  I  am  eating  half  my 
brother's.  He  is  the  best  of  brothers,  but  so  much  the  more 
shame  that  I  should  live  upon  him.  Don't  tell  my  brother, 
Jack  Lambert."  "  And  my  boy  promised  he  wouldn't  tell," 
says  Mrs.  Lambert.  No  doubt.  The  girls  were  both  out  of 
the  room  when  their  mother  made  this  speech  to  George  War- 
rington. He,  for  his  part,  said  he  had  written  home  to  his 
mother — that  half  his  little  patrimony,  the  other  half  likewise, 
if  wanted,  were  at  Harry's  disposal,  for  purchasing  a  commis- 
sion, or  for  any  other  project  which  might  bring  him  occupa- 
tion or  advancement. 

"  He  has  got  a  good  brother,  that  is  sure.  Let  us  hope  for 
good  times  for  him,"  sighs  the  lady. 

"  The  Danes  always  come  pour  qui  s^ait  attendre,"  George 
said,  in  a  low  voice. 

''What,  you  heard  that  ?     Ah,  George  !  my  Theo  is  an 

Ah  !  never  mind  what  she  is,  George  Warrington,"  cried  the 
pleased  mother,  with  brimful  eyes.  "  Bah  !  I  am  going  to 
make  a  gaby  of  myself,  as  I  did  at  the  tragedy." 

"  Now  Mr.  George  has  been  revolving  a  fine  private  scheme, 
which  he  thought  might  turn  to  his  brother's  advantage.  After 
George's  presentation  to  his  Royal  Highness  at  Kensington, 
more  persons  than  one,  his  friend  General  Lambert  included, 
had  told  him  that  the  Duke  had  inquired  regarding  him,  and 
had  asked  why  the  young  man  did  not  come  to  his  levee.  Im- 
portunity so  august  could  not  but  be  satisfied.  A  day  was 
appointed  between  Mr.  Lambert  and  his  young  friend,  and 
they  went  to  pay  their  duty  to  his  Royal  Highness  at  his  house 
in  Pall  Mall. 

When  it  came  to  George's  turn  to  make  a  bow,  the  Prince 
was  especially  gracious ;  he  spoke  to  Mr.  Warrington  at  some 
length  about  Braddock  and  the  war,  and  was  apparently  pleased 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


503 


with  the  modesty  and  inteUigence  of  the  young  gentleman's 
answers.  George  ascribed  the  failure  of  the  expedition  to  the 
panic  and  surprise  certainly,  but  more  especially  to  the  delays 
occasioned  by  the  rapacity,  selfishness,  and  unfair  dealing  of 
the  people  of  the  colonies  towards  the  King's  troops  who  were 
come  to  defend  them.  "  Could  we  have  moved,  sir,  a  month 
sooner,  the  fort  was  certainly  ours,  and  the  little  army  had 
never  been  defeated,"  Mr.  Warrington  said  ;  in  which  observa- 
tion his  Royal  Highness  entirely  concurred. 

"  I  am  told  you  saved  yourself,  sir,  mainly  by  your  knowl- 
edge of  the  French  language,"'  the  Royal  Duke  then  affably 
observed.  Mr.  Warrington  modestly  mentioned  how  he  had 
been  in  the  French  colonies  in  his  youth,  and  had  opportunities 
of  acquiring  that  tongue. 

The  Prince  (who  had  a  great  urbanity  when  well  pleased, 
and  the  finest  sense  of  humor)  condescended  to  ask  who  had 
taught  Mr.  Warrington  the  language  ;  and  to  express  his  opin- 
ion, that,  for  the  pronunciation,  the  French  ladies  were  by  far 
the  best  teachers. 

The  youftg  Virginian  gentleman  made  a  low  bow,  and  said 
it  was  not  for  him  to  gainsay  his  Royal  Highness  ;  upon  which 
the  Duke  was  good  enough  to  say  (in  a  jocose  manner)  that 
Mr.  Warrington  was  a  sly  dog. 

Mr.  W.  remaining  respectfully  silent,  the  Prince  continued 
most  kindly  :  I  take  the  field  immediately  against  the  French, 
who,  as  you  know,  are  threatening  his  Majesty's  Electoral 
dominions.  If  you  have  a  mind  to  make  the  campaign  with 
me,  your  skill  in  the  language  may  be  useful,  and  I  hope  we 
shall  be  more  fortunate  than  poor  Braddock  !  "  Every  eye  was 
fixed  on  a  young  man  to  whom  so  great  a  Prince  oft'ered  so 
signal  a  favor. 

And  now  it  was  that  Mr.  George  thought  he  would  make 
his  very  cleverest  speech.  "  Sir,"  he  said,  "  your  Royal  High- 
ness's  most  kind  proposal  does  me  infinite  honor,  but " 

"  But  what,  sir .''  "  says  the  Prince,  staring  at  him. 

"  But  I  have  entered  myself  of  the  Temple,  to  study  our 
laws,  and  to  fit  myself  for  my  duties  at  home.  If  my  having 
been  wounded  in  the  service  of  my  country  be  any  claim  on 
your  kindness,  I  would  humbly  ask  that  my  brother,  who 
knows  the  French  language  as  well  as  myself,  and  has  far  more 
strength,  courage,  and  military  genius,  might  be  allowed  to 
serve  your  Royal  Highness  in  the  place  of " 

"  Enough,  enough,  sir  !  "  cried  out  the  justly  irritated  son 
of  the  monarch.     "  What  ?     I  offer  you  a  favor,  and  you  hand 


^04  ^-^^   VIRGrXIANS. 

it  over  to  your  brother  ?  Wait,  sir,  till  I  offer  you  another  !  " 
And  with  this  the  Prince  turned  his  back  upon  Mr.  Warring- 
ton, just  as  abruptly  as  he  turned  it  on  the  French  a  few  months 
afterwards. 

"  Oh,  George  !  oh,  George  !  Here's  a  pretty  kettle  offish  !  " 
groaned  General  Lambert,  as  he  and  his  young  friend  walked 
home  together. 


CHAPTER  LXI. 


IN    W^HICH    THE    PRINXE    MARCHES    UP    THE    HILL    AND    DOWN 
AGAIN, 

We  understand  the  respectful  indignation  of  all  loyal  Brit- 
ons when  they  come  to  read  of  Mr,  George  Warrington's  con- 
duct towards  a  gallant  and  gracious  Prince,  the  bdoved  son  of 
the  best  of  monarchs,  and  the  Captain-General  of  the  British 
army.  What  an  inestimable  favor  has  not  the  young  man 
slighted !  What  a  chance  of  promotion  had  he  not  thrown 
away !  Will  Esmond,  whose  language  was  always  rich  in  blas- 
phemies, employed  his  very  strongest  curses  in  speaking  of  his 
cousin's  behavior,  and  expressed  his  delight  that  the  con- 
founded young  Mohock  was  cutting  his  own  throat.  Cousin 
Castlewood  said  that  a  savage  gentleman  had  a  right  to  scalp 
himself  if  he  liked  :  or  perhaps,  he  added  charitably,  our 
cousin  Mr.  Warrington  heard  enough  of  the  war-whoop  in 
Braddock's  affair,  and  has  no  more  stomach  for  fighting,  Mr. 
Will  rejoiced  that  the  younger  brother  had  gone  to  the  deuce, 
and  he  rejoiced  to  think  that  the  elder  was  following  him.  The 
first  time  he  met  the  fellow,  Will  said,  he  should  take  care  to 
let  Mr,  George  know  what  he  thought  of  him, 

"  If  you  intend  to  insult  George,  at  least  you  had  best  take 
care  that  his  brother  Harry  is  out  of  hearing ! "'  cried  Lady 
Maria — on  which  we  may  fancy  more  curses  uttered  by  Mr. 
Will,  with  regard  to  his  twin  kinsfolk, 

"  Ta,  ta,  ta  !  "  says  my  lord,  "  No  more  of  this  squabbling  ! 
We  can't  be  all  warriors  in  the  family  !  " 

"  I  never  heard  your  lordship  laid  claim  to  be  one  !  "  says 
Maria, 

"  Never,  my  dear ;  quite  the  contrary  !     Will  is  our  cham- 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  -q- 

pion,  and  one  is  quite  enough  in  the  house.  So  I  dare  say 
with  the  two  Mohocks  ;— George  is  the  student,  and  Harry  is 
the  fighting  man.  When  you  intended  to  quarrel,  Will,  what  a 
pity  It  was  you  had  not  George,  instead  of  t'other,  to  your 
hand !  " 

''  Your  lordship's  hand  is  famous— at  picquet,"  says  Will's 
mother. 

"  It  is  a  pretty  one  !  "  says  my  lord,  surveying  his  fingers, 
with  a  simper.  "  My  Lord  Hervey's  glove  and  mine  were  of  a 
size.  Yes,  my  hand,  as  you  say,  is  more  fitted  for  cards  than 
for  war.  Yours,  my  Lady  Castlewood,  is  pretty  dexterous, 
too.  How  I  bless  the  day  when  you  bestowed  it  on  my  la- 
mented father ! "  In  this  play  of  sarcasm,  as  in  some  other 
games  of  skill,  his  lordship  was  not  sorry  to  engage,  having  a 
cool  head,  and  being  able  to  beat  his  family  all  round. 

Madame  de  Bernstein,  when  she  heard  of  Mr.  Warrington's 
beviie,  was  exceedingly  angry,  stormed,  and  scolded  her  imme- 
diate household  ;  and  would  have  scolded  George,  but  she  was 
growing  old,  and  had  not  the  courage  of  her  early  days.  More- 
over, she  was  a  little  afraid  of  her  nephew^  and  respectful  in 
her  behavior  to  him.  "  You  will  never  make  your  fortune  at 
Court,  nephew  !  "  she  groaned,  when,  soon  after  his  discomfit- 
ure, the  young  gentleman  went  to  wait  upon  her. 

"It  was  never  my  wish  Madam  !  "  said  Mr.  George,  in  a 
very  stately  manner. 

"  Your  wish  was  to  help  Harrv  t  You  might  hereafter  have 
been  of  service  to  your  brother,  had  you  accepted  the  Duke's 
offer.  Princes  do  not  love  to  have  their  favors  refused,  and  I 
don't  wonder  that  his  Royal  Highness  was  offended." 

"  General  Lambert  said  the  same  thing,"  George  confessed, 
turning  rather  red;  "and  I  see  now  that  I  was  wrong.  But 
you  must  please  remember  that  I  had  never  seen  a  Court  be- 
fore, and  I  suppose  I  am  scarce  likely  to  shine  in  one." 

"I  think  possibly  not,  my  good  nephew,"  says  the  aunt, 
taking  snuff. 

"  And  what  then  ?  "  asked  George.  "  I  never  had  ambition 
for  that  kind  of  glory,  and  can  make  myself  quite  easy  with- 
out It.  When^his  Royal  Highness  spoke  to  me— most  kindly, 
as  I  own— my  thought  was,  I  shall  make  a  very  bad  soldier, 
and  my  brother  v/ould  be  a  very  good  one.  He  has  a  hundred 
good  qualities  for  the  profession,  in  which  I  am  deficient ;  and 
would  have  served  a  Commanding  Officer  far  better  than  I 
ever  could.  Say  the  Duke  is  in  battle,  and  his  horse  is  shot, 
as  my  poor  chief's  was  at  home,  would  he  not  be   better  for  a 


5P^ 


THE   VIRGIXIANS. 


beast  that  had  courage  and  strength  to  bear  him  anywhere, 
than  with  one  that  could  not  carry  his  weight  ?  " 

"  Au  faitc  His  Royal  Highness's  charger  must  be  a  strong 
one,  my  dear !  "  says  the  old  lady. 

"  Expende  Hannibalem,"  mutters  George,  with  a  shrug. 
"  Our  Hannibal  weighs  no  trifle." 

"I  don't  quite  follow  you,  sir,  and  your  Hannibal,"  the 
Baroness  remarks. 

''When  Mr.  Wolfe  and  Mr.  Lambert  remonstrated  with  me 
as  3^ou  have  done,  Madam,"  George  rejoins,  with  a  laugh,  "  I 
made  this  same  defence  which  I  am  making  to  you.  I  said  I 
offered  to  the  Prince  the  best  soldier  in  the  family,  and  the 
two  gentleman  allowed  that  my  blunder  at  least  had  some  ex- 
cuse. Who  knows  but  that  they  may  set  me  right  with  his 
Royal  Highness.''  The  taste  I  have  had  of  battles  has  shown 
me  how  little  my  genius  inclines  that  way.  We  saw  the  Scotch 
play  which  everybody  is  talking  about  t'other  night.  And 
when  the  hero,  young  Norval,  said  how  he  longed  to  follow 
to  the  field  some  warlike  lord,  I  thought  to  myself,  '  How  like 
my  Harry  is  to  him,  except  that  he  doth  not  brag.'  Harry  is 
pining  now  for  a  red  coat,  and  if  we  don't  mind,  will  take  the 
shilling.  He  has  the  map  of  Germany  for  ever  under  his  eyes, 
and  follows  the  King  of  Prussia  everywhere.  He  is  not  afraid 
of  men  or  gods.  As  for  me,  I  love  my  books  and  quiet  best, 
and  to  read  about  battles  in  Homer  or  Lucan." 

"  Then  what  made  a  soldier  of  you  at  all,  my  dear  1  And 
why  did  you  not  send  Harry  with  Mr.  Braddock,  instead  of 
going  yourself  ?  "  asked  Madame  de  Bernstein. 

"  My  mother  loved  her  younger  son  the  best,''  said  George, 
darkly.  "  Besides,  with  the  enemy  invading  our  country,  it 
was  my  duty,  as  the  head  of  our  family,  to  go  on  the  campaign. 
Had  I  been  a  Scotchman  twelve  years  ago,  I  should  have  been 
a " 

"  Hush,  sir,  or  I  shall  be  more  angry  than  ever!  "  said  the 
old  lady  with  a  perfectly  pleased  face. 

George's  explanation  might  thus  appease  Madame  de  Bern- 
stein, an  old  woman  whose  principles,  we  fear,  were  but  loose  : 
but  to  the  loyal  heart  of  Sir  Miles  Warrington  and  his  lady,  the 
young  man's  conduct  gave  a  severe  blow  indeed  !  "  I  should 
have  thought,"  her  ladyship  said,  "  from  my  sister  Esmond 
Warrington's  letter,  that  my  brother's  widow  was  a  woman  of 
good  sense  and  judgment,  and  that  she  had  educated  her  sons 
in  a  becoming  manner.  But  what.  Sir  Miles,  what,  my  dear 
Thomas  Claypool,  can  we  think  of  an  education  which  has 
resulted  so  lam.entably  for  both  these  young  men  ?  " 


THE   VIRGIXrANS. 


5^7 


"  The  elder  seems  to  know  a  power  of  Latin,  though,  and 
speaks  the  French  and  the  German,  too.  I  heard  him  with  the 
Hanover  Envoy,  at  the  Baroness's  rout,"  says  Mr.  Claypool. 
"  The  French  he  jabbered  quite  easy  :  and  when  he  was  at  a 
loss  for  the  High  Dutch,  he  and  the  envoy  began  in  Latin,  and 
talked  away  till  all  the  room  stared." 

"  It  is  not  language,  but  principles,  Thomas  Claypool ! "  ex- 
claims the  virtuous  matron.  "What  must  Mr.  Warrington's 
principles  be,. when  he  could  reject  an  offer  made  him  by  his 
Prince  ?  Can  he  speak  the  High  Dutch  }  So  much  the  more 
ought  he  to  have  accepted  his  Royal  Highness's  condescension, 
and  made  himself  useful  in  the  campaign  !  Look  at  our  son, 
look  at  Miles  !  " 

"  Hold  up  thy  head,  Miley  my  boy  !  "  says  papa. 

"  I  trust.  Sir  Miles,  that,  as  a  member  of  the  House  of  Com- 
mons, as  an  English  gentleman,  you  will  attend  his  Royal  High- 
ness's levee  to-morrow,  and  say,  if  such  an  offer  had  been  made 
to  us  for  that  child,  we  would  have  taken  it,  though  our  boy  is 
but  ten  years  of  age." 

"  Faith,  Miley,  thou  wouldst  make  a  good  little  drummer  or 
fifer  ! "  says  papa.    "  Shouldst  like  to  be  a  little  soldier,  Miley  ? " 

"  Anything,  sir,  anything  !  a  Warrington  ought  to  be  ready 
at  any  moment  to  have  himself  cut  in  pieces  for  his  sovereign !  " 
crie's  the  matron,  pointing  to  the  boy ;  who,  as  soon  as  he  com- 
prehended his  mother's  proposal,  protested  against  it  by  a  loud 
roar,  in  the  midsr  of  which  he  was  removed  by  Screwby.  In 
obedience  to  the  conjugal  orders.  Sir  Miles  went  to  his  Royal 
Highness's  levee  the  next  day,  and  made  a  protest  of  his  love 
and  duty,  which  the  Prince  deigned  to  accept,  saving : 

"  Nobody  ever  supposed  that  Sir  Miles  Warrington  would 
ever  refuse  any  place  offered  to  him." 

A  compliment  gracious  indeed,  and  repeated  everywhere  by 
Lady  Warrington  as  showing  how  implicitly  the  august  family  on 
the  throne  could  rely  on  the  loyalty  of  the  Warringtons. 

Accordingly,  when  this  worthy  couple  saw  George,  they  re- 
ceived him  with  a  ghastly  commiseration,  such  as  our  dear  rela- 
tives or  friends  will  sometimes  extend  to  us  when  we  have  done 
something  fatal  or  clumsy  in  life  ;  when  we  have  come  badly  out 
of  our  lawsuit  ;  when  we  enter  the  room  just  as  the  company  has 
been  abusing  us  ;  when  our  banker  has  broke  ;  or  we  for  our 
sad  part  have  had  to  figure  in  the  commercial  columns  of  the 
London  Gazette ;  when,  in  a  word,  we  are  guilty  of  some  notorious 
fault,  or  blunder,  or  misfortune.  Who  does  not  know  that  face 
of  pity  ?     Whose  dear  relations  have  not  so  deplored   him,  not 


5o8  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

dead,  but  living  ?  Not  yours  ?  Then,  sir,  if  you  have  never 
been  in  scrapes  ;  if  you  have  never  sowed  a  handful  of  wild  oats 
or  two  ;  if  you  have  always  been  fortunate,  and  good,  and  care- 
ful, and  butter  has  never  melted  in  your  mouth,  and  an  impru- 
dent word"  has  never  come  out  of  it ;  if  you  have  never  sinned 
and  repented,  and  been  a  fool  and  been  sorry — then,  sir,  you 
are  a  wiseacre  who  won't  waste  your  time  over  an  idle  novel, 
and  it  is  not  de  te  that  the  fable  is  narrated. 

Not  that  it  was  just  on  Sir  Miles's  part  to  turn  upon  George, 
and  be  angry  with  his  nephew  for  refusing  the  offer  of  promotion 
made  by  his  Royal  Highness,  for  Sir  Miles  himself  had  agreed 
in  George's  view  of  pursuing  quite  other  than  a  military  career, 
and  it  was  in  respect  to  this  plan  of  her  son's  that  ]\Iadam  Es- 
mond had  written  from  Virginia  to  Sir  Miles  ^^'arrington. 
George  had  announced  to  her  his  intention  of  entering  at  the 
Temple,  and  qualifying  himself  for  the  magisterial  and  civi 
duties  which,  in  the  course  of  nature,  he  would  be  called  to  fulfil ; 
nor  could  any  one  applaud  his  resolution  more  cordially  than 
his  uncle  Sir  Miles,  who  introduced  George  to  a  lav.yer  of  rep- 
utation, under  whose  guidance  we  may  fancy  the  young  gentle- 
man reading  leisurely.  Madam  Esmond  from  home  signified 
her  approval  of  her  son's  course,  fully  agreeing  with  Sir  Miles 
(to  w4iom  and  his  lady  she  begged  to  send  her  grateful  remem- 
brances) that  the  British  Constitution  was  the  envy  of  the  world, 
and  the  proper  object  of  every  English  gentleman's  admiring 
study.  The  chief  point  to  which  George's  mother  objected  was 
the  notion  that  Mr.  Warrington  should  have  to  sit  down  in  the 
Temple  dinner-hall,  and  cut  at  a  shoulder  of  mutton,  and  drink 
small-beer  out  of  tin  pannikins,  by  the  side  of  rough  students 
w^ho  wore  gowns  like  the  parish-clerk.  George's  loyal  younger 
brother  shared,  too,  this  repugnance.  Anything  was  good  enough 
for  Iiiin,  Harry  said  ;  he  was  a  younger  son,  and  prepared  to 
rough  it ;  but  George  in  a  gown,  and  dining  in  a  mess  with 
three  nobody's  sons  off  dirty  pewter  platters  !  Harry  never  could 
relish  this  condescension  on  his  brother's  part,  or  fancy  George 
in  his  proper  place  at  any  except  the  high  table  ;  and  was  sorry 
that  a  plan  Aladam  Esmond  hinted  at  in  her  letters  was  not 
feasible — viz.,  that  an  application  should  be  made  to  the  Master 
of  the  Temple,  who  should  be  informed  that  Mr.  George  War- 
rington was  a  gentleman  of  most  noble  birth,  and  of  great  prop- 
erty in  America,  and  ought  only  to  sit  with  the  very  best  company 
in  the  Hall.  Rather  to  Harry's  discomfiture,  when  he  com- 
municated his  own  and  his  mother's  ideas  to  the  gentlemen's 
new  coffee-house  fiiend  Mr.  Spencer,  Mr.  Spencer  received  the 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  509 

proposal  with  roars  of  laughter ;  and  I  cannot  learn,  from  the 
Warrington  papers,  that  any  application  was  made  to  the  Master 
of  the  Temple  on  this  subject.  Besides  his  literary  and  historical 
pursuits,  which  were  those  he  most  especially  loved,  Mr.  War- 
rington studied  the  laws  of  his  country,  attended  the  courts  at 
Westminster,  where  he  heard  a  Henley,  a  Pratt,  a  Murray,  and 
those  other  great  famous  schools  of  eloquence  and  patriotism, 
the  two  Houses  of  Parliament. 

Gradually  Mr.  Warrington  made  acquaintance  with  some  of 
the  members  of  the  House  and  the  Bar  ;  who,  when  they  came 
to  know  him,  spoke  of  him  as  a  young  gentleman  of  good  parts 
and  good  breeding,  and  in  terms  so  generally  complimentary, 
that  his  good  uncle's  heart  relented  towards  him,  and  Dora  and 
Flora  began  once  more  to  smile  upon  him.  This  reconciliation 
dated  from  the  time  when  his  Royal  Highness  the  Duke,  after 
having  been  defeated  by  the  French,  in  the  affair  of  Hasten- 
beck,  concluded  the  famous  capitulation  with  the  French,  which 
his  Majesty  George  H,  refused  to  ratify.  His  Royal  Highness, 
as  'tis  well  known,  flung  up  his  commissions  after  this  disgrace, 
laid  down  his  commander's  baton — which,  it  must  be  confessed, 
he  had  not  wielded  with  much  luck  or  dexterit}' — and  never 
again  appeared  at  the  head  of  armies  or  in  public  life.  The 
stout  warrior  would  not  allow  a  word  of  complaint  against  his 
father  and  sovereign  to  escape  his  lips  ;  but,  as  he  retired  with 
his  wounded  honor,  and  as  he  would  have  no  interest  or  author- 
ity more,  nor  any  places  to  give,  it  may  be  supposed  that  Sir 
Miles  Warrington's  anger  against  his  nephew  diminished  as  his 
respect  for  his  Royal  Highness  diminished. 

As  our  two  gentlemen  were  walking  in  St.  James's  Park, 
one  day,  with  their  friend  Mr.  Lambert,  they  met  his  Royal- 
Highness  in  plain  clothes  and  without  a  star^  and  made  pro- 
found bows  to  the  Prince,  who  was  pleased  to  stop  and  speak 
to  them. 

He  asked  Mr.  Lambert  how  he  liked  my  Lord  Ligonier,  his 
new  chief  at  the  Horse  Guards,  and  the  new  duties  there  in 
which  he  was  engaged  ?  And,  recognizing  the  young  man,  with 
that  fidelity  of  memory  for  which  his  Royal  race  hath  ever  been 
remarkable,  he  said  to  Mr.  Warrington  : 

"  You  did  well,  sir,  not  to  come  with  me  when  I  asked  you 
in  the  spring." 

"  I  was  sorry,  then,  sir,"  Mr.  Warrington  said,  making  a 
very  low  reverence,   "but  I  am  more  sorry  now." 

On  which  the  Prince  said,  "  Thank  you,  sir,"  and,  touching 
his  hat,  walked  away.     And  the  circumstances  of  this  inter- 


5IO  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

view,  and  the  discourse  which  passed  at  it,  being  related  to 
Mrs.  Esmond  Warrington  in  a  letter  from  her  younger  son 
created  so  deep  an  impression  on  that  lady's  mind,  that  she 
.narrated  the  anecdote  many  hundreds  of  times,  until  all  her 
friends  and  acquaintances  knew  and,  perhaps,  were  tired  of  it. 

Our  gentlemen  went  through  the  Park,  and  so  towards  the 
Strand,  where  they  had  business.  And  Mr.  Lambert,  pointing 
to  the  lion  on  the  top  of  the  Earl  of  Northumberland's  house  at 
Charing  Cross,  says  : — 

"  Harry  Warrington  !  your  brother  is  like  yonder  lion." 

"  Because  he  is  as  brave  as  one,"  says  Harry. 

"  Because  I  respect  virgins !  "  says  George,  laughing. 

"  Because  you  are  a  stupid  lion.  Because  you  turn  your 
back  on  the  East,  and  absolutely  salute  the  setting  sun.  Why, 
child,  what  earthly  good  can  you  get  by  being  civil  to  a  man  in 
hopeless  dudgeon  and  disgrace  ?  Your  uncle  will  be  more 
angry  with  you  than  ever — and  so  am  I,  sir."  But  Mr.  Lam- 
bert was  always  laughing  in  his  waggish  way,  and,  indeed,  he 
did  not  look  the  least  angry. 


CHAPTER   LXn. 

ARIMA    VIRUMQUE. 


Indeed,  If  Harry  Warrington  had  a  passion  for  military 
pursuits  and  studies,  there  was  enough  war  stirring  in  Europe, 
and  enough  talk  in  all  societies  which  he  frequented  in  London, 
to  excite  and  inflame  him.  Though  our  own  gracious  Prince 
of  the  house  of  Hanover  had  been  beaten,  the  Protestant  Hero, 
the  King  of  Prussia,  was  filling  the  world  with  his  glory,  and 
winning  those  astonishing  victories  in  which  I  deem  it  fortunate 
on  my  own  account  that  my  poor  Harry  took  ho  part ;  for  then 
his  veracious  biographer  would  have  had  to  narrate  battles  the 
description  whereof  has  been  undertaken  by  another  pen.  I 
am  glad,  1  say,  that  Harry  Warrington  was  not  at  Rossbach  on 
that  famous  Gunpowder  Fete-day,  on  the  5th  of  November,  in 
the  year  1757  ;  nor  at  that  tremendous  slaughtering-match  at 
Leuthen,  which  the  Prussian  king  played  a  month  afterwards  ; 
for  these  prodigious  actions  will  presently  be  narrated  in  other 
volumes,  which  I  and  all  the  world  are  eager  to  behold.    Would 


THE  VIRGINIANS. 


511 


you  have  this  history  complete  with  yonder  book  ?  Could  my 
jaunty  yellow-park  phaeton  run  counter  to  that  grim  chariot  of 
thundering  war?  Could  my  meek  little  jog-trot  Pegasus  meet 
the  shock  of  yon  steed  of  foaming  bit  and  flaming  nostril  ? 
Dear,  kind  reader  (with  whom  I  love  to  talk  from  time  to  time, 
stepping  down  from  the  stage  where  our  figures  are  performing, 
attired  in  the  habits  and  using  the  parlance  of  past  ages), — my 
kind,  patient  reader,  it  is  a  mercy  for  both  of  us  that  Harry 
Warrington  did  not  follow  the  King  of  the  Borussians,  as  he 
was  minded  to  do,  for  then  I  should  have  had  to  describe 
battles  which  Carlyle  is  going  to  paint  :  and  I  don't  wish  you 
should  make  odious  comparisons  betv/een  me  and  that  master. 

Harry  Warrington  not  only  did  not  join  the  King  of  the 
Borussians,  but  he  pined  and  chafed  at  not  going.  He  led  a 
sulky,  useless  life,  that  is  the  fact.  He  dangled  about  the 
military  coffee-houses.  He  did  not  care  for  reading  anything 
save  a  newspaper.  His  turn  was  not  literary.  He  even 
thought  novels  were  stupid  ;  and,  as  for  the  ladies  cr}'ing  their 
eyes  out  over  Mr.  Richardson,  he  could  not  imagine  how  they 
could  be  moved  by  any  such  nonsense.  He  used  to  laugh  in  a 
very  hearty,  jolly  way,  but  a  little  late,  and  some  time  after  the 
joke  was  over.  Pray,  why  should  all  gentlemen  have  a  literary 
taste  ?  and  do  we  like  some  of  our  friends  the  worse  because 
they  never  turned  a  couplet  in  their  lives  }  Ruined,  perforce 
idle,  dependent  on  his  brother  for  supplies,  if  he  read  a  book 
falling  asleep  over  it,  with  no  fitting  work  for  his  great  strong 
hands  to  do — how  lucky  it  is  that  he  did  not  get  into  more 
trouble.  Why,  in  the  case  of  Achilles  himself,  when  he  was 
sent  by  his  mamma  to  the  court  of  King  What  d'ye-call'im  in 
order  to  be  put  out  of  harm's  reach,  what  happened  to  him 
amongst  a  parcel  of  w^omen  with  whom  he  was  made  to  idle 
his  life  away  ?  And  how  did  Pyrrhus  come  into  the  world  ?  A 
powerful  mettlesome  young  Achilles  ought  not  to  be  leading- 
stringed  by  women  too  much  ;  is  out  of  his  place  dawdling 
by  distaffs  or  handing  coffee-cups  ;  and  when  he  is  not  fighting, 
depend  on  it,  is  likely  to  fall  into  much  worse  mischief. 

Those  soft-hearted  women,  the  two  elder  ladies  of  the  Lam- 
bert family,  with  whom  he  mainly  consorted,  had  an  untiring 
pity  and  kindness  for  Harry,  such  as  women  only — and  only  a 
few  of  those — can  give.  If  a  man  is  in  grief,  who  cheers  him  ; 
in  trouble,  who  consoles  him ;  in  wrath,  who  soothes  him  ;  in 
joy,  who  makes  him  doubly  happy  ;  in  prosperity,  who  rejoices  ; 
in  disgrace,  who  backs  him  against  the  world,  and  dresses  with 
gentle  unguents  and  warm  poultices  the  rankling  wounds  made 


512 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


by  the  stings  and  arrows  of  outrageous  Fortune  ?  Who  but 
women,  if  you  please  ?  You  who  are  ill  and  sore  from  the  buf- 
fets of  Fate,  have  you  one  or  two  of  these  sweet  physicians  ? 
Return  thanks  to  the  gods  that  they  have  left  you  so  much  of 
consolation.  What  gentleman  is  not  more  or  less  a  Prome- 
theus ?  Who  has  not  his  rock  (ai,  ai),  his  chain  (ea,  ea),  and 
his  liver  in  a  deuce  of  a  condition  ?  But  the  sea-nymphs  come 
— the  gentle,  the  sympathizing ;  they  kiss  our  writhing  feet  ; 
they  moisten  our  parched  lips  with  their  tears  ;  they  do  their 
blessed  best  to  console  us  Titans;  they  don't  turn  their  backs 
upon  us  after  our  overthrow. 

Now  Theo  and  her  mother  were  full  of  pity  for  Harry;  but 
Hetty's  heart  was  rather  hard  and  seemingly  savage  towards 
him.  She  chafed  that  his  position  was  not  more  glorious  ;  she 
was  angry  that  he  was  still  dependent  and  idle.  The  whole 
world  w^as  in  arms,  and  could  he  not  carry  a  musket  ?  It  was 
harvest  time,  and  hundreds  of  thousands  of  reapers  were  out 
with  their  flashing  sickles  ;  could  he  not  use  his,  and  cut  down 
his  sheaf  or  two  of  glory  ? 

"  Why,  how^  savage  the  little  thing  is  with  him  !  "  says  papa, 
after  a  scene  in  which,  according  to  her  wont.  Miss  Hetty  had 
been  firing  little  shots  into  that  quivering  target  which  came 
and  set  himself  up  in  Mrs.  Lambert's  drawing-room  every  day. 

"  Her  conduct  is  perfectly  abominable  !  "  cries  mamma  ; 
"  she  deserves  to  be  whipped,  and  sent  to  bed." 

"  Perhaps,  mother,  it  is  because  she  likes  him  better  than 
any  of  us  do,"  says  Theo,  "  and  it  is  for  his  sake  that  Hetty 
is  angry.  If  I  were  fond  of — of  some  one,  I  should  like  to  be 
able  to  admire  and  respect  him  always — to  think  everything  he 
did  right — and  my  gentleman  better  than  all  the  gentlemen  in 
the  world  !  " 

"  The  truth  is,  my  dear,"  answers  Mrs.  Lambert,  "  that 
your  father  is  so  much  better  than  all  the  world,  he  has  spoiled 
us.     Did  you  ever  see  any  one  to  compare  with  him  ?  " 

"  Very  few,  indeed,"  owns  Theo,  with  a  blush. 

"  Very  few.     Wlio  is  so  good  tempered  ?  " 

"I  think  nobodv,  mamma,"  Theo  acknowledges. 

"  Or  so  brave  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  dare  say  Mr.  Wolfe,  or  Harr}',  or  Mr.  George,  are 
very  brave." 

"  Or  so  learned  and  witty?  " 

"  I  am  sure  Mr.  George  seems  very  learned,  and  witty  too, 
in  his  way,"  says  Theo  ;  "  and  his  manners  are  ver}'  fine — you 
own  they  are.     Madame  de  Bernstein  says  they  are,  and  she 


THE   VIRGIXIANS.  513 

hath  seen  the  world.  Indeed,  Mr.  George  has  a  lofty  way  with 
him,  which  I  don't  see  in  other  people  ;  and  in  reading  books, 
I  find  he  chooses  the  fine  noble  things  always,  and  loves  them 
in  spite  of  all  his  satire.  He  certainly  is  of  a  satirical  turn, 
but  then  he  is  only  bitter  against  mean  things  and  people.  No 
gentleman  hath  a  more  tender  heart,  I  am  sure  ;  and  but  yes- 
terday, after  he  had  been  talking  so  bitterly  as  you  said,  I  hap- 
pened to  look  out  of  window,  and  saw  him  stop  and  treat  a 
whole  crowd  of  little  children  to  apples  at  the  stall  at  the  corner. 
And  the  day  before  yesterday,  when  he  was  coming  and  brought 
me  the  Moliere,  he  stopped  and  gave  money  to  a  beggar,  and 
how  charmingh^,  sure,  he  reads  the  French  !  I  agree  v/ith  him 
though  about  Tartuffe,  thoudi  'tis  so  wonderfullv  clever  and 
lively,  that  a  mere  villain  and  hypocrite  is  a  figure  too  mean  to 
be  made  the  chief  of  a  great  place.  lago,  Mr.  George  said,  is 
near  as  great  a  villain ;  but  then  he  is  not  the  first  character  of 
the  tragedy,  which  is  Othello,  with  his  noble  weakness.  But 
what  fine  ladies  and  gentlemen  Moliere  represents, — so  Mr. 
George  thinks — and — but  oh,  I  don't  dare  to  repeat  the  verses 
after  //m." 

"  But  you  know  them  by  heart,  my  dear  ?  "  asks  Mrs.  Lam- 
bert. 

And  Theo  replies,  "  O  yes,  ]\Iamma  !  I  know  them  by  *  *  "* 
Nonsense  !  " 

I  here  fancy  osculations,  palpitations,  and  exit  Miss  Theo, 
blushing  like  a  rose.  Why  had  she  stopped  in  her  sentence  ? 
Because  mamma  was  looking  at  her  so  oddly.  And  why  was 
mamma  looking  at  her  so  oddly .''  And  why  had  she  looked 
after  Mr.  George,  when  he  was  going  away,  and  looked  for  him 
when  he  was  coming  .-*  Ah,  and  why  do  cheeks  blush,  and  why 
do  roses  bloom  ?  Old  Time  is  still  a-flying.  Old  spring  and 
bud  time ;  old  summer  and  bloom  time  ;  old  autumn  and  seed 
time  ;  old  winter  time,  when  the  cracking,  shivering  old  tree- 
tops  are  bald  or  covered  with  snow, 

A  few  minutes  after  George  arrived,  Theo  would  come  down 
stairs  with  a  fluttering  heart,  may  be,  and  a  sweet  nosegay  in 
her  cheeks,  just  culled,  as  it  were,  fresh  in  his  honor  ;  and  I 
suppose  she  must  have  been  constantly  at  that  window  which 
commanded  the  street,  and  whece  she  could  espy  his  generosity 
to  the  sweep,  or  his  purchases  from  the  apple-woman.  But  if 
it  was  Harry  who  knocked,  she  remained  in  her  own  apartment 
with  her  work  or  her  books,  sending  her  sister  to  receive  the 
young  gentleman,  or  her  brothers  when  the  elder  was  at  home 
from  college,  or  Doctor  Crusius  from  the  Chartreux  gave  the 


SU 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


younger  leave  to  go  home.  And  what  good  eyes  Theo  must 
have  had — and  often  in  the  evening,  too — to  note  the  difference 
between  Harry's  yellow  hair  and  George's  dark  locks,  and 
between  their  figures,  though  they  were  so  like  that  people 
continually  were  mistaking  one  for  the  other  brother.  Now  it 
is  certain  that  Theo  never  mistook  one  or  t'other  ;  and  that 
Hetty,  for  her  part,  was  not  in  the  least  excited,  or  rude,  or 
pert,  when  she  found  the  black-haired  gentleman  in  her  mother's 
drawing-room. 

Our  friends  could  come  when  they  liked  to  Mr.  Lambert's 
house,  and  stay  as  long  as  they  chose  ;  and,  one  day,  he  of 
the  golden  locks  was  sitting  on  a  couch  there,  in  an  attitude 
of  more  than  ordinary  idleness  and  despondency,  when  who 
should  come  down  to  him  but  Miss  Hetty  ?  I  say  it  was  a 
most  curious  thing  (though  the  girls  would  have  gone  to  the 
rack  rather  than  own  any  collusion),  that  when  Harry  called, 
Hetty  appeared  ;  when  George  arrived,  Theo  somehow  came  ; 
and  so,  according  to  the  usual  dispensation,  it  was  Miss  Lambert, 
junior,  who  now  arrived  to  entertain  the  younger  Virginian. 

After  usual  ceremonies  and  compliments,  we  may  imagine 
that  the  lady  says  to  the  gentleman  : 

"  And  pray,  sir,  what  makes  your  honor  look  so  glum  this 
morning  ? " 

"Ah,  Hetty  !  "  says  he.  "  I  have  nothing  else  to  do  but  to 
look  glum.  I  remember  when  we  were  boys — and  I  a  rare  idle 
one,  you  may  be  sure — I  would  always  be  asking  my  tutor  for 
a  holiday,  which  I  would  pass  very  likely  swinging  on  a  gate,  or 
making  ducks  and  drakes  over  the  pond,  and  those  do-nothing 
days  were  always  the  most  melancholy.  A^'hat  have  I  got  to 
do  now  from  morning  till  night  ?  " 

"  Breakfast,  walk — dinner,  walk — tea,  supper,  I  suppose  ; 
and  a  pipe  of  your  Virginia,"  says  Miss  Hetty,  tossing  her  head. 

"  I  tell  you  what,  when  I  went  back  with  Charley  to  the 
Chartreux  t'other  night,  I  had  a  mind  to  say  to  the  master, 
'  Teach  me,  sir.  Here's  a  boy  knows  a  deal  more  Latin  and 
Greek,  at  thirteen,  than  I  do,  who  am  ten  years  older.  I  have 
nothing  to  do  from  morning  till  night,  and  I  might  as  well  go  to 
my  books  again,  and  see  if  I  can  repair  my  idleness  as  a  boy.' 
Why  do  you  laugh,  Hetty  ?  " 

"  I  laugh  to  fancy  you«at  the  head  of  a  class,  and  called  up 
by  the  master  !  "  cries  Hetty. 

"  I  shouldn't  be  at  the  head  of  the  class,"  Harry  says,  hum- 
bly. "  George  might  be  at  the  head  of  any  class,  but  I  am  not 
a  book-man,  you  see  ;  and  when  I  was  young,  neglected  myself, 


THE  VIRGINIANS. 


515 


and  was  very  idle.  We  would  not  let  our  tutors  cane  us  much 
at  home,  but,  if  we  had,  it  might  have  done  me  good." 

Hetty  drubbed  with  her  little  foot,  and  looked  at  the  young 
man  sitting  before  her — strong,  idle,  melancholy. 

"  Upon  my  word,  it  might  do  you  good  now  !  "  she  was 
minded  to  say.  "  What  does  Charley  say  about  the  caning  at 
school  1  Does  his  account  of  it  set  you  longing  for  it,  pray  ?  " 
she  asked, 

'•  His  account  of  his  school,"  Harry  answered,  simply, 
"  makes  me  see  that  I  have  been  idle  when  I  ought  to  have 
worked,  and  that  I  have  not  a  genius  for  books,  and  for  what 
am  I  good  ?  Only  to  spend  my  patrimony  when  I  come  abroad, 
or  to  lounge  at  coffee-houses  or  race-courses,  or  to  gallop 
behind  dogs  when  I  am  at  home.  I  am  good  for  nothing,  I 
am." 

"  What,  such  a  great,  brave,  strong  fellow  as  you  good  for 
nothing  ?  cries  Het.  "  I  would  not  confess  as  much  to  any 
woman,  if  I  were  twice  as  good  for  nothing !  " 

"  What  am  I  to  do  .''  I  ask  for  leave  to  go  into  the  army, 
and  Madam  Esmond  does  not  answer  me.  'Tis  the  only  thing 
I  am  fit  for.  I  have  no  money  to  buy.  Having  spent  all  my 
own,  and  so  much  of  my  brother's,  I  cannot  and  v/on't  ask  for 
more.  If  my  mother  would  but  send  me  to  the  army,  you  know 
I  would  jump  to  go." 

"  Eh  !  A  gentleman  of  spirit  does  not  want  a  woman  to 
buckle  his  sword  on  for  him,  or  to  clean  his  firelock  !  Wliat 
was  that  our  papa  told  us  of  the  young  gentleman  at  court 
yesterday  ? — Sir  John  Armytage " 

"Sir  John  Armytage.''  I  used  to  know  him  when  I  fre- 
quented White's  and  the  club-houses  —  a  fine,  noble  young 
gentleman,  of  a  great  estate  in  the  North." 

And  engaged  to  be  married  to  a  famous  beauty,  too — Miss 
Howe,  my  Lord  Howe's  sister — but  that^  I  suppose,  is  not  an 
obstacle  to  gentlemen  ?  " 

"  An  obstacle  to  w^hat .?  "  asks  the  gentleman. 

"  An  obstacle  to  glorv^  ?  "  says  Miss  Hetty.  "  I  think  no 
woman  of  spirit  would  say  '  Stay  !  '  though  she  adored  her  lover 
ever  so  much,  when  his  country  said  '  Go !  '  Sir  John  had 
volunteered  for  the  expedition  which  is  preparing,  and  being  at 
court  yesterday  his  Majesty  asked  him  when  he  would  be  ready 
to  go  ?  '  To-morrow,  please  your  Majesty,'  replies  Sir  John, 
and  the  King  said  that  was  a  soldier's  answer.  My  father 
himself  is  longing  to  go,  though  he  has  mamma  and  all  us  brats 
at   home.     O  dear,  O  dear  !     Why  wasn't   I   a  man  myself  ? 


^i6  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

Both  my  brothers  are  for  the  Church ;  but,  as  for  me,  I  know 
I  should  have  made  a  famous  little  soldier  !  "  And  so  speak- 
ing, this  young  person  strode  about  the  room,  wearing  a  most 
courageous  military  aspect,  and  looking  as  bold  as  Joan  of  Arc. 

Harry  beheld  her  with  a  tender  admiration.  "I  think," 
says  he,  "  I  would  hardly  like  to  see  a  musket  on  that  little 
shoulder,  nor  a  wound  on  that  pretty  face,  Hetty." 

"Wounds!  who  fears  wounds?"  cries  the  little  maid. 
'*  Muskets .''  If  I  could  carry  one,  I  would  use  it.  You  men 
fancy  that  we  women  are  good  for  nothing  but  to  make  pud- 
dings or  stitch  samplers.  Why  wasn't  I  a  man,  I  say  ?  George 
was  reading  to  us  yesterday  out  of  Tasso — look,  here  it  is,  and 
I  thought  the  verses  applied  to  me.  See  !  Here  is  the  book, 
with  the  mark  in  it  w'here  w^e  left  off." 

"  With  the  mark  in  it  ?  "  say^  Harry  dutifully. 

"  Yes  !  it  is  about  a  woman  who  is  disappointed  because — 
because  her  brother  does  not  go  to  w^ar,  and  she  says  of  her- 
self— 

"  *  Alas  ?  why  did  not  Heaven  these  members  frail 
With  lively  force  and  vigor  strengthen,  so 
That  I  this  silken  gown  *  *  *  '  " 

"  Silken  gown  ? "  says  downright  Harry,  with  a  look  of 
inquiry. 

"  Well,  sir,  I  know  'tis  but  calimanco ; — but  so  it  is  in  the 
book — 

"  '  *  *  *  this  silken  gown  and  slender  veil 
Might  for  a  breastplate  and  a  helm  forego  ; 
Then  should  not  heat,  nor  cold,  nor  rain,  nor  hail, 
Nor  storms  that  fall,  nor  blust'ring  winds  that  blew, 

Withhold  me  ;  but  I  would,  both  day  and  night. 

In  pitched  field  or  private  combat,  fight — ' 

"  Fight  ?  Yes,  that  I  would  !  Why  are  both  my  brothers  to 
be  parsons,  I  say  ?  One  of  mv  papa's  children  ought  to  be  a 
soldier ! " 

Harry  laughed,  a  very  gentle,  kind  laugh,  as  he  looked  at 
her.  He  felt  that  he  w'ould  not  like  much  to  hit  such  a  tender 
little  warrior  as  that. 

"  Why,"  says  he,  holding  a  finger  out,  "  I  think  here  is  a 
finger  nigh  as  big  as  your  arm.  How  w^ould  you  stand  up 
before  a  great,  strong  man  ?  I  should  like  to  see  a  man  try 
and  injure  you,  though  ;  I  should  just  like  to  see  him  !  You 
little,  delicate,  tender  creature  ?  Do  you  suppose  any  scoundrel 
would  dare  to  do  anything  unkind  to  yoiiV  And,  excited  by 
this  flight  of  his  imagination,  Harry  fell  to  walking  up  and  down 
the  room,  too,  chafing  at  the  idea  of  any  rogue  of  a  Frenchman 
daring  to  be  rude  to  Miss  Hester  Lambert. 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


517 


It  was  a  belief  in  this  silent  courage  of  his  which  subjugated 
Hetty,  and  this  quality  which  she  supposed  him  to  possess, 
which  caused  her  specially  to  admire  him.  Miss  Hetty  was  no 
more  bold,  in  reality,  than  Madam  Erminia,  whose  speech  she 
had  been  reading  out  of  the  book,  and  about  whom.  Mr.  Harry 
Warrington  never  heard  one  single  word.  He  may  have  been 
in  the  room  when  brother  George  was  reading  his  poetry  out 
to  the  ladies,  but  his  thoughts  were  busy  with  his  own  affairs, 
and  he  was  entirely  bewildered  with  your  Clotildas  and  Erminias, 
and  giants,  and  enchanters,  and  nonsense.  No,  Miss  Hetty,  I 
say  and  believe,  had  nothing  of  the  virago  in  her  composition  \ 
else,  no  doubt,  she  would  have  taken  a  fancy  to  a  soft  young 
fellow  with  a  literary  turn,  or  a  genius  for  playing  the  flute, 
according  to  the  laws  of  contrast  and  nature  provided  in  those 
cases  ;  and  who  has  not  heard  how  great,  strong  men  have  an 
affinity  for  frail,  tender  little  women ;  how  tender  little  women 
are  attracted  by  great,  honest,  strong  men  ;  and  how  your  burly 
heroes  and  champions  of  war  are  constantly  henpecked  ?  If 
Mr.  Harry  \A'arrington  falls  in  love  with  a  woman  who  is  like 
Miss  Lambert  in  disposition,  and  if  he  marries  her — without 
being  conjurors,  I  think  we  may  all  see  what  the  end  will  be. 

So,  whilst  Hetty  was  firing  her  little  sarcasms  into  Harry, 
he  for  a  while  scarcely  felt  that  they  were  stinging  him,  and  let 
her  shoot  on  without  so  much  as  taking  the  trouble  to  shake 
the  little  arrows  out  of  his  hide.  Did  she  mean  by  her  sneers 
and  innuendoes  to  rouse  him  into  action  ?  He  was  too  mag:- 
nanimous  to  understand  such  small  hints.  Did  she  mean  to 
sh^me  him  by  saying  that  she,  a  weak  woman,  would  don  the 
casque  and  breastplate  ?  The  simple  fellow,  either  melted  at 
the  idea  of  her  being  in  danger  or  at  the  notion  of  her  fighting, 
fell  a-laughing. 

"  Pray  what  is  the  use  of  having  a  strong  hand  if  you  only 
use  it  to  hold  a  skein  of  silk  for  my  mother?"  cries  Miss 
Hester ;  "  and  what  is  the  good  of  being  ever  so  strong  in  a 
drawing-room  ?  Nobody  wants  you  to  throw  anybody  out  of 
window,  Harry !  A  strong  man,  indeed  !  I  suppose  there's  a 
stronger  at  Bartholomew  Fair.  James  Wolfe  is  not  a  strong 
man.  He  seems  quite  weakly  and  ill.  When  he  was  here  last 
he  was  coughing  the  whole  time,  and  as  pale  as  if  he  had  seen 
a  ghost." 

"  I  never  could  understand  why  a  man  should  be  frightened 
at  a  ghost,"  says  Harr\'. 

"  Pray,  ha\'e  you  seen  one,  sir  ?  "  asks  the  pert  young  lady. 

"  No.     I  thought  I  did  once  at  home — when  we  were  boysj 


2i8  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

but  it  was  only  Nathan  mhis  night-shirt ;  but  I  wasn't  frightened 
wlien  I  thought  he  was  a  ghost.  I  believe  there's  no  such 
things.     Our  nurses  tell  a  pack  of  lies  about  'em,"  says  Harry, 

gravely.     "George  was  a  little  frightened;  but  then  he's " 

Here  he  paused. 

"  Then  George  is  what  ?  "  asked  Hetty. 

"  George  is  different  from  me,  that's  all.  Our  mother's  a 
bold  woman  as  ever  you  saw,  but  she  screams  at  seeing  a  mouse 
— always  does — can't  help  it.  It's  her  nature.  So,  you  see, 
perhaps  my  brother  can't  bear  ghosts.     I  don't  mind  'em." 

"  George  always  says  you  would  have  made  a  better  soldier 
than  he." 

"  So  I  think  I  should,  if  I  had  been  allowed  to  try.  But  he 
can  do  a  thousand  things  better  than  me,  or  anybody  else  in 
the  world.  Why  didn't  he  let  me  volunteer  on  Braddock's  ex- 
pedition ?  I  might^have  got  knocked  on  the  head,  and  then  I 
should  have  been  pretty  much  as  useful  as  I  am  now,  and  then 
I  shouldn't  have  ruined  myself,  and  brought  people  to  point  at 
me  and  say  that  I  had  disgraced  the  name  of  Warrington. 
Why  mayn't  I  go  on  this  expedition,  and  volunteer  like  Sir 
John  Armytage  ?  Oh,  Hetty !  I'm  a  miserable  fellow — that's 
what  I  am."  And  the  miserable  fellow  paced  the  room  at 
double  quick  time.  "  I  wish  I  had  never  come  to  Europe," 
he  groaned  out. 

"  What  a  compliment  to  us  !  Thank  you,  Harry  '  "  But 
presently,  on  an  appealing  look  from  the  gentleman,  she  added, 
"  Are  you — are  you  thinking  of  going  home  .''  " 

"  And  have  all  Virginia  jeering  at  me  !  There's  not  a  gen- 
tleman there  that  wouldn't,  except  one,  and  him  my  mother 
doesn't  like.  I  should  be  ashamed  to  go  home  now,  I  think. 
You  don't  know  my  mother,  Hetty.  I  ain't  afraid  of  most 
things ;  but,  somehow,  I  am  of  her.  What  shall  I  say  to  her, 
when  she  says,  'Harry,  where's  your  patrimony?'  'Spent, 
mother,'  I  shall  have  to  say.  '  What  have  you  done  with  it } ' 
'  Wasted  it,  mother,  and  went  to  prison  after.'  'Who  took  you 
out  of  prison  ? '  '  Brother  George,  Ma'am,  he  took  me  out  of 
prison  ;  and  now  I'm  come  back,  having  done  no  good  for  my- 
self, with  no  profession,  no  prospects,  no  nothing — only  to  look 
after  negroes,  and  be  scolded  at  home  ;  or  to  go  to  sleep  at 
sermons  ;  or  to  play  at  cards,  and  drink,  and  fight  cocks  at  the 
taverns  about.'  How  can  I  look  the  gentlemen  of  the  country 
in  the  face  ?  I'm  ashamed  to  go  home  in  this  way,  I  say.  I 
must  and  will  do  something  !  What  shall  I  do,  Hetty  "i  Ah  I 
what  shall  I  do  ?  " 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  ^ig 

''•  Do  ?  What  did  Mr.  Wolfe  do  at  Louisbourg  ?  Ill  as  he 
was,  and  in  love  as  we  knew  him  to  be,  he  didn't  stop  to  be 
nursed  by  his  mother,  Harry,  or  to  dawdle  with  his  sweetheart. 
He  went  on  the  King's  service,  and  hath  come  back  covered 
with  honor.  If  there  is  to  be  another  great  campaign  in  America, 
papa  says  he  is  sure  of  a  great  command." 

"  I  wish  he  would  take  me  with  him,  and  that  a  ball  would 
knock  me  on  the  head  and  finish  me,"  groaned  Harry.  "  You 
speak  to  me,  Hetty,  as  though  it  were  my  fault  that  I  am  not 
in  the  army,  when  you  know  I  would  give — give,  forsooth,  what 
have  I  to  give .'' — yes  !  my  life  to  go  on  service  !  " 

"Life  indeed!"  says  Miss  Hetty,  with  a  shrug- of  her 
shoulders. 

"  You  don't  seem  to  think  that  of  much  value,  Hetty,"  re- 
marked Harry,  sadly.  "No  more  it  is — to  anybody.  I'm  a 
poor  useless  fellow.  I'm  not  even  free  to  throw  it  away  as  I 
would  like,  being  under  orders  here  and  at  home." 

"  Orders,  indeed  !  Why  under  orders  ?  "  cries  Miss  Hetty. 
"  Aren't  you  tall  enough,  and  old  enough,  to  act  for  yourself, 
and  must  you  have  George  for  a  master  here,  and  your  mother 
for  a  schoolmistress  at  home  "i  If  I  were  a  man,  I  would  do 
something  famous  before  I  was  two-and-twenty  years  old,  that 
I  would  !  I  would  have  the  world  speak  of  me.  I  wouldn't 
dawdle  at  apron-strings.  I  wouldn't  curse  my  fortune — I'd 
make  it     I  vow  and  declare  I  would  !  " 

Now  for  the  first  time,  Harry  began  to  wince  at  the  words 
of  his  young  lecturer. 

"  No  negro  on  our  estate  is  more  a  slave  than  I  am,  Hetty," 
he  said,  turning  very  red  as  he  addressed  her ;  "  but  then, 
Miss  Lambert,  we  don't  reproach  the  poor  fellow  for  not  being 
free.  That  isn't  generous.  Ai  least  that  isn't  the  way  I  under- 
stand honor.  Perhaps  wdth  women  it's  different,  or  I  may  be 
wrong,  and  have  no  right  to  be  hurt  at  a  young  girl  telling  me 
what  my  faults  are.  Perhaps  my  faults  are  not  my  faults — 
only  my  cursed  luck.  You  have  been  talking  ever  so  long 
about  this  gentleman  volunteering,  and  that  man  winning  glory, 
add  cracking  up  their  courage  as  if  I  had  none  of  my  own.  I 
suppose,  for  the  matter  of  that,  I'm  as  well  provided  as  other 
gentlemen.  I  don't  brag :  but  I'm  not  afraid  of  Mr.  Wolfe, 
nor  of  Sir  John  Armytage,  nor  of  anybody  else  that  ever  I  saw. 
How  can  I  buy  a  commission  when  I've  spent  my  last  shilling, 
or  ask  my  brother  for  more  who  has  already  halved  with  me  ? 
A  gentleman  of  my  rank  can't  go  a  common  soldier — else,  by 
Jupiter,  I  would !     And  if  a  ball  finished  me,  I  supppose  Miss 


^20  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

Hetty  Lambert  wouldn't  be  very  sorry.  It  isn't  kind  Hetty — 
I  didn't  think  it  of  you." 

"  Wliat  is  it  I  have  said  ?  "  asks  the  young  lady.  "  I  have 
only  said  Sir  John  Armytage  has  volunteered,  and  Tvlr.  Wolfe 
has  covered  himself  with  honor,  and  you  begin  to  scold  me  ! 
How  can  I  help  it  if  Mr.  Wolfe  is  brave  and  famous  ?  Is  that 
any  reason  you  should  be  angry,  pray  ?  " 

''  I  didn't  sav  angry,"  said  Harrv,  gravelv.  "  I  said  I  was 
hurt." 

"  Oh,  indeed  !  I  thought  such  a  little  creature  as  I  am 
couldn't  hurt  anybody  !  I'm  sure  'tis  mighty  complimentary  to 
me  to  say  that  a  young  lady  whose  arm  is  no  bigger  than  your 
little  finger  can  hurt  such  a  great  strong  man  as  you  !  " 

"  I  scarce  thought  you  would  try,  Hetty,"  the  young  man 
said.  "'  You  see,  I'm  not  used  to  this  kind  of  welcome  in  this 
house." 

"What  is  it,  my  poor  boy?"  asks  kind  Mrs.  Lambert,  look- 
ing in  at  the  door  at  this  juncture,  and  finding  the  youth  with 
a  very  woe-worn  countenance. 

"  Oh,  we  have  heard  the  story  before.  Mamma  !  says  Hetty, 
hurriedly.  "  Harry  is  making  his  old  compliment  of  having 
nothing  to  do.  And  he  is  quite  unhappy ;  and  he  is  telling  us 
so  over  and  over  again,  that's  all." 

"  So  are  you  hungr}^  over  and  over  again,  my  dear  !  Is  that 
a  reason  why  your  papa  and  I  should  lea\e  off  giving  you  din- 
ner ?  "  cries  mamma,  with  some  emotion.  "  Will  you  stay  and 
have  ours,  Harry  ?  'Tis  just  three  o'clock  !  "  Harry  agreed 
to  stay,  after  a  few  faint  negations.  "  My  husband  dines 
abroad.  We  are  but  three  women,  so  you  will  have  a  dull  din- 
ner," remarks  Mrs.  Lambert. 

"  We  shall  have  a  gentleman  to  enliven  us.  Mamma,  I  dare 
say  ! "  says  Madam  Pert,  and  then  looked  in  INIamma's  face 
with  that  admirable  gaze  of  blank  innocence  which  Madam 
Pert  knows  how  to  assume  when  she  has  been  specially  and 
successfully  wicked. 

When  the  dinner  appeared  Miss  Hetty  came  down  stairs, 
and  was  exceedingly  chatty,  lively,  and  entertaining.  Theo 
did  not  know  that  any  little  difference  had  occurred,  (such, 
alas,  my  Christian  friends,  will  happen  in  the  most  charming 
families,)  did  not  know,  I  say,  that  anything  had  happened 
until  Hetty's  uncommon  sprightliness  and  gayety  roused  her 
suspicions.  Hetty  would  start  a  dozen  subjects  of  conversa- 
tion— the  King  of  Prussia,  and  the  news  from  America ;  the 
last  masquerade,  and  the  highwayman  shot  near  Barnet ;  and 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  ^21 

when  her  sister,  admiring  this  vokibility,  inquired  the  reason 
of  it,  with  her  eyes, — 

"Oh,  my  dear,  you  need  not  nod  and  wink  at  me  !  "  cries 
Hetty.  "  Mamma  asked  Harry  on  purpose  to  enliven  us,  and 
I  am  talking  until  he  begins, — just  like  the  fiddles  at  the  play- 
house, you  know,  Theo !  First  the  fiddles.  Then  the  play. 
Pray  begin,  Harry  !  " 

"  Hester  !  "  cries  mamma. 

"  I  merely  asked  Harry  to  entertain  us.  You  said  your- 
self, mother,  that  we  were  only  three  women,  and  the  dinner 
would  be  dull  for  a  gentleman  ;  unless,  indeed,  he  chose  to 
be  very  lively." 

"  I'm  not  that  on  most  days — and  heaven  knows,  on  this 
day  less  than  most,"  says  poor  Harr}^ 

"  Why  on  this  day  less  than  another  ?  Tuesday  is  as  good 
a  day  to  be  lively  as  Wednesday.  The  only  day  when  we 
musn't  be  lively  is  Sunday.  Well,  you  know  it  is.  Ma'am  !  We 
musn't  sing,  nor  dance,  nor  do  anything  on  Sunday." 

And  in  this  naughty  way  the  young  woman  went  on  for  the 
rest  of  the  evening,  and  was  complimented  by  her  mother  and 
and  sister  when  poor  Harry  took  his  leave.  He  was  not  ready 
of  wit,  and  could  not  fling  back  the  taunts  which  Hetty  cast 
against  him.  Nay,  had  he  been  able  to  retort,  he  would  have 
been  silent.  He  was  too  generous  to  engage  in  that  small 
war,  and  chose  to  take  all  Hester's  sarcasms  without  an  at- 
temj^t  to  parry  or  evade  them.  Very  likely  the  young  lady 
watched  and  admired  that  magnanimity,  while  she  tried  it  so 
cruelly.  And  after  one  of  her  fits  of  ill  behavior,  her  parents 
and  friends  had  not  the  least  need  to  scold  her  as  she  can- 
didly told  them,  because  she  suffered  a  great  deal  more  than 
they  would  ever  have  had  her,  and  her  conscience  punished 
her  a  great  deal  more  severely  than  her  kind  elders  Would  have 
thought  of  doing.  I  suppose  she  lies  awake  all  that  night, 
and  tosses  and  tumbles  in  her  bed.  I  suppose  she  wets  her 
pillow  with  tears,  and  should  not  mind  about  her  sobbing : 
unless  it  kept  sister  awake  ;  unless  she  was  unwell  the  next  day, 
and  the  doctor  had  to  be  fetched  ;  unless  the  whole  family  is 
to  be  put  to  discomfort ;  mother  to  choke  over  her  dinner  in 
flurry  and  indignation ;  father  to  eat  his  roast-beef  in  silence 
and  with  bitter  sauce  :  everybody  to  look  at  the  door  each  time 
it  opens,  with  a  vague  hope  that  Harry  is  coming  in.  If  Harry 
does  not  come,  whv  at  least  does  not  George  come  ?  thinks 
Miss  Theo. 

Sometime  in  the  course  of  the  evenina:  comes  a  billet  from 


^2  2  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

George  Warrington,  with  a  large  nosegay  of  lilacs,  per  Mr. 
Gumbo.  "  I  send  my  best  duty  and  regards  to  Mrs,  Lambert 
and  the  ladies,"  George  says,  "  and  humbly  beg  to  present  to 
Miss  Theo  this  nosegay  of  lilacs,  which  she  says  she  loves  in 
the  early  spring.  You  must  not  thank  me  for  them,  please,  but 
the  gardener  of  Bedford  House,  with  whom  I  have  made  great 
friends  by  presenting  him  with  some  dried  specimens  of  a  Vir- 
ginian plant  which  some  ladies  don't  think  as  fragrant  as 
lilacs. 

"  I  have  been  in  the  garden  almost  all  the  day.  It  is  alive 
with  sunshine  and  spring  :  and  I  have  been  composing  two 
scenes  of  you  know  what,  and  polishing  the  verses  which  the 
Page  sings  in  the  fourth  act,  under  Sybilla's  window,  which  she 
cannot  hear,  poor  thing,  because  she  has  just  had  her  head 
off." 

"  Provoking  !  I  wish  he  would  not  always  sneer  and  laugh  ! 
The  verses  are  beautiful,"  says  Theo. 

"  You  really  think  so,  my  dear  ?  How  very  odd  !  "  remarks 
papa. 

Little  Het  looks  up  from  her  dismal  corner  ^vith  a  faint 
smile  of  humor.  Theo's  secret  is  a  secret  for  nobody  in  the 
house,  it  seems.  Can  any  young  people  guess  what  it  is  .''  Our 
young  lady  continues  to  read  : 

''  Spencer  has  asked  the  famous  Mr.  Johnson  to  breakfast 
to-morrow,  who  condescends  to  hear  the  play,  and  who  won't,  I 
hope,  be  too  angry  because  my  heroine  undergoes  the  fate  of 
his  in  '  Irene.'  I  have  heard  he  came  up  to  London  himself  as 
a  young  man  with  only  his  tragedy  in  his  wallet.  Shall  I  ever 
be  able  to  get  mine  played  ?  Can  you  fancy  the  catcall  music 
beginning,  and  the  pit  hissing  at  that  perilous  part  of  the  fourth 
act,  where  my  executioner  comes  out  from  the  closet  with  his 
great  sword,  at  the  awful  moment  when  he  is  called  upon  to 
amputate  ^  They  say  Mr.  Fielding,  when  the  pit  hissed  at  a 
part  of  one  of  his  pieces  about  which  Mr.  Garrick  had  warned 
him.  said,  '  Hang  them,  they  have  found  it  out,  have  they  ?  '  and 
finished  his  punch  in  tranquility.  I  suppose  his  wife  was  not 
in  the  boxes.  There  are  some  women  to  whom  I  would  be 
ver}'  unwilling  to  give  pain,  and  there  are  some  to  whom  I 
would  give  the  best  I  have." 

"  Whom  can  he  mean  t     The  letter  is  to  you.  my  dear.     I 
protest  he  is  making  love  to  your  mother  before  my  face  ! 
cries  papa  to  Hetty,  who  only  gives  a  little  sigh,  puts  her  hand 
in  her  father's  hand,  and  then  withdraws  it. 

"  To  whom  I  would  give  the  best  I  have.     To-day  it  is  only 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


523 


a  bunch  of  lilacs.  To-morrow  it  may  be  what  ? — a  branch  of 
rue — a  sprig  of  ba3^s,  perhaps, — an3^thing,  so  it  be  my  best  and 
my  all. 

"  I  have  had  a  fine  long  day,  and  all  to  myself.  What  do 
you  think  of  Harr}^  playing  truant  ?  "  (Here  we  may  imagine, 
what  they  call  in  France,  or  what  they  used  to  call,  when  men 
dared  to  speak  or  citizens  to  hear,  sefisation  dajis  V auditoire.) 

"  I  suppose  Carpezan  wearied  the  poor  fellow's  existence 
out.  Certain  it  is  he  has  been  miserable  for  weeks  past ;  and 
a  change  of  air  and  scene  may  do  him  good.  This  morning, 
quite  early,  he  came  to  my  room  ;  and  told  me  he  had  taken  a 
seat  in  the  Portsmouth  machine,  and  proposed  to  go  to  the 
Isle  of  Wight,  to  the  army  there." 

The  arm}^ !  Hetty  looks  very  pale  at  this  announcement, 
and  her  mother  continues  : — 

"  And  a  little  portion  of  it,  namely,  the  thirty-second  regi- 
ment, is  commanded  by  Lieutenant-Colonel  Richmond  Webb — 
the  nephew  of  the  famous  old  General  under  whom  my  grand- 
father Esmond  served  in  the  great  wars  of  Marlborough.  Mr. 
Webb  met  us  at  our  uncle's,  accosting  us  very  politely  and 
giving  us  an  invitation  to  visit  him  at  his  regiment.  Let  my 
poor  brother  go  and  listen  to  his  darling  music  of  fife  and 
drum  !  He  bade  me  tell  the  ladies  that  they  should  hear  from 
him.  I  kiss  their  hands,  and  go  to  dress  for  dinner,  at  the 
'  Star  and  Garter,'  in  Pall  Mall.  We  are  to  have  Mr.  Soame 
Jenyns,  Mr.  Cambridge,  Mr.  Walpole,  possibly,  if  he  is  not  too 
fine  to  dine  in  a  tavern  ;  a  young  Irishman,  a  Mr.  Bourke,  who, 
they  say,  is  a  wonder  of  eloquence  and  learning — in  fine,  all 
the  wits  of  Mr.  Dodsley's  shop.  Quick,  Gumbo,  a  coach,  and 
my  French  grey  suit'!  And  if  gentlemen  ask  me,  'Who  gave 
you  that  sprig  of  lilac  you  wear  on  your  heart-side?'  I  shall 
call  a  bumper,  and  give  Lilac  for  a  toast.*' 

I  fear  there  is  no  more  rest  for  Hetty  on  this  night  than  on 
the  previous  one,  when  she  had  behaved  so  mutinously  to  poor 
Harry  Warrington.  Some  secret  resolution  must  have  inspired 
that  gentleman,  for,  after  leaving  Mr.  Lambert's  table,  he  paced 
the  streets  for  a  while,  and  appeared  at  a  late  hour  in  the  even- 
ing at  Madame  de  Bernstein's  house  in  Clarges  Street.  Her 
ladyship's  health  had  been  somewhat  ailing  of  late,  so  that  even 
her  favorite  routs  were  denied  her,  and  she  was  sitting  over  a 
quiet  game  of  ecarte,  with  a  divine  of  whom  our  last  news  were 
from  a  lock-up  house  hard  by  that  in  which  Harry  Warrington 
had  been   himself  confined.     George,  at  Harry's   request,  had 


524 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


paid  the  little  debt  under  which  Mr.  Sampson  had  suffered  tem- 
porarily. He  had  been  at  his  living  for  a  year.  He  may  hav^e 
paid  and  contracted  ever  so  many  debts,  have  been  in  and  out 
of  jail  many  times  since  we  saw  him.  For  some  time  past  he 
had  been  back  in  London  stout  and  hearty  as  usual,  and  ready 
for  any  invitation  to  cards  or  claret.  Madame  de  Bernstein 
did  not  care  to  have  her  game  interrupted  by  her  nephew,  whose 
conversation  had  little  interest  now  for  the  fickle  old  woman. 
Next  to  the  very  young,  I  suppose  the  very  old  are  the  most 
selfish.  Alas,  the  heart  hardens  as  the  blood  ceases  to  run. 
The  cold  snow  strikes  down  from  the  head,  and  checks  the 
glow  of  feeling.  Who  wants  to  survive  into  old  age  after 
abdicating  all  his  faculties  one  by  one,  and  be  sans  teeth,  sans 
eyes,  sans  memor)^,  sans  hope,  sans  sympathy  .''  How  fared  it 
with  those  patriarchs  of  old  who  lived  for  their  nine  centuries, 
and  when  were  life's  conditions  so  changed  that,  after  three- 
score years  and  ten,  it  became  but  a  vexation  and  a  burden  ? 

Getting  no  reply  but  Yes  and  No  to  his  brief  speeches,  poor 
Harry  sat  awhile  on  a  couch,  opposite  his  aunt,  who  shrugged 
her  shoulders,  had  her  back  to  her  nephew,  and  continued  her 
game  with  the  Chaplain.  Sampson  sat  opposite  Mr.  Warring- 
ton, and  could  see  that  something  disturlDed  him.  His  face 
was  very  pale,  and  his  countenance  disturbed  and  full  of  gloom. 
"  Something  has  happened  to  him.  Ma'am,"  he  whispered  to  the 
Baroness. 

"  Bah  !  "  She  shrugged  her  shoulders  again,  and  continued 
to  deal  her  cards.  "What  is  the  matter  with  you,  sir,"  she  at 
last  said,  at  a  pause  in  the  game,  "  that  you  have  such  a  dismal 
countenance  ?  Chaplain,'  that  last  game  makes  us  even,  I 
think  !  " 

Harry  got  up  from  his  place.  "  I  am  going  on  a  journey  : 
I  am  come  to  bid  you  good-by,  aunt,"  he  said,  in  a  very  tragical 
voice. 

"  On  a  journey  !  Are  you  going  home  to  America  ?  I  mark 
the  king,  Chaplain,  and  play  him." 

No,  Harry  said  :  he  was  not  going  to  America  yet :  he  was 
going  to  the  Isle  of  Wight  for  the  present. 

"  Indeed  ! — a  lovely  spot  !  "  says  the  Baroness.  "  Bo7i 
jour,  711011  a?ni,  et  bon  voyage P^  And  she  kissed  a  hand  to  her 
nephew. 

"  I  mayn't  come  back  for  some  time,  aunt,"  he  groaned  out. 

"  Indeed  !  We  shall  be  inconsolable  witlwut  you  !  Unless 
you  have  a  spade,  Mr,  Sampson,  the  game  is  mine.  Good-by, 
my  child  !     No  more  about  your  journey  at  present :  tell  us 


BON    JOUR,    MON    AMI. 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  -2C 

about  it  when  you  come  back  !  "     And  she  gayly  bade  him  fare- 
well.    He  looked  for  a  moment  piteously  at  her,  and  was  gone 
''  Something  grave  has  happened,  Madam,"  says  the  Chap- 
lain. 

"  Oh  1  the  boy  is  always  getting  into  scrapes  !  I  suppose 
he  has  been  falling  in  love  with  one  of  those  country  o-lrls— 
\yhat  are  their  names,  Lamberts  .?— with  whom  he  is  ever^dawd- 
hng  about.  'He  has  been  doing  no  good  here  for  some  time 
I  am  disappointed  in  him,  really  quite  grieved  about  him— I 
will  take  two  cards,  if  you  please— again  .>— quite  grieved 
What  do  you  think  they  say  of  his  cousin— the  Miss  Warrino-ton 
who  made  eyes  at  him  when  she  thought  he  was  a  prize— thev 
say  the  King  has  remarked  her,  and  the  Yarmouth  is  crevin'o- 
with  rage.  He,  he !— those  methodistical  Warringtons  '  They 
are  not  a  bit  less  worldly  than  their  neighbors;  and,  old  as  he 
IS  if_  the  Grand  Signior  throws  his  pocket-handkerchief,  thev 
will  jump  to  catch  it !  "  ^ 

"Ah,  Madam  ;  how  your  ladyship  knows  the  world  '  "  sio-hs 
the  Chaplain.     "  I  propose  if  you  please  !  "  "^ 

''  I  have  lived  long  enough  in  it,  Mr.  Sampson,  to  know 
something  of  it.  'Tis  sadly  selfish,  my  dear  sir,  sadly  selfish  • 
and  everybody  is  struggling  to  pass  his  neighbor  !  No  I  can't 
give  you  any  more  cards.  You  haven't  the  king  ?  I  play  queen 
knave,  and  a  ten,— a  sadly  selfish  world,  indeed.  And  here 
comes  my  chocolate  !  " 

The  more  immediate  interest  of  the  cards  entirely  absorbs 
the  old  woman.  The  door  shuts  out  her  nephew  and  his  cares. 
Under  his  hat,  he  bears  them  into  the  street,  and  paces  the 
dark  town  for  a  while. 

"  Good  God  !  "  he  thinks,  "what  a  miserable  fellow  I  am 
and  what  a  spendthrift  of  my  life  I  have  been !  I  sit  silent 
with  George  and  his  friends.  I  am  not  clever  and  witty  as  he 
IS.  I  am  only  a  burden  to  him  :  and  if  I  would  help  him  ever 
so  much,  don't  know  how.  My  dear  Aunt  Lambert's  kindness 
never  tires,  but  I  begin  to  be  ashamed  of  trving  it.  Why  even 
Hetty  can't  help  turning  on  me  ;  and  when'  she  tells  me  I  am 
Kile  and  should  be  doing  something,  ought  I  to  be  angry  ? 
Ihe  rest  have  left  me.  There's  my  cousins  and  uncle  and  my 
lady  my  aunt,  they  have  showed  me  the  cold  shoulder  this  lono- 
time.  They  didn't  even  ask  me  to  Norfolk  when  they  went 
down  to  the  country,  and  offer  me  so  much  as  a  day's  par- 
tridge-shooting. I  can't  go  to  Castlewood  after  wha^  has  hap- 
pened :  I  should  break  that  scoundrel  William's  bones  :  and, 
taith,  am  well  out  of  the  place  altogether." 


526 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


He  laughs  a  fierce  laugh  as  he  recalls  his  adventures  since 
he  has  been  in  Europe.  Money,  friends,  pleasure,  all  have 
passed  away,  and  he  feels  the  past  like  a  dream.  He  strolls 
into  White's  Chocolate  House,  where  the  waiters  have  scarce 
seen  him  for  a  year.  The  Parliament  is  up.  Gentlemen  are 
away  ;  there  is  not  even  any  play  going  on  ; — not  that  he  would 
join  it,  if  there  were.  He  has  but  a  few  pieces  in  his  pocket ; 
George's  drawer  is  open,  and  he  may  take  what  money  he  likes 
thence  ;  but  very,  very  sparingly  will  he  avail  himself  of  his 
brother's  repeated  invitation.  He  sits  and  drinks  his  glass  in 
moody  silence.  Two  or  three  officers  of  the  Guards  enter  from 
St.  James's.  He  knew  them  in  former  days,  and  the  young 
men,  who  have  been  already  dining  and  drinking  on  guard, 
insist  on  more  drink  at  the  club.  The  other  battalion  of  their 
regiment  is  at  Winchester  :  it  is  going  on  this  great  expedition, 
no  one  knows  whither,  which  everybody  is  talking  about. 
Cursed  fate  that  they  do  not  belong  to  the  other  battalion  ; 
and  must  stay  and  do  duty  in  London  and  at  Kensington  ! 
There  is  Webb,  who  was  of  their  regiment :  he  did  well  to 
exchange  his  company  in  the  Coldstreams  for  the  lieutenant- 
colonelcy  of  the  thirty-second.  He  will  be  of  the  expedition. 
Why,  ever)-body  is  going  ;  and  the  young  gentlemen  mention  a 
score  of  names  of  men  of  the  first  birth  and  fashion,  who  have 
volunteered.  "  It  ain't  Hanoverians  this  time,  commanded  by 
the  big  Prince,"  says  one  young  gentleman  (whose  relatives 
may  have  been  Tories  forty  years  ago) — "  it's  Englishmen,  with 
the  Guards  at  the  head  of  'em,  and  a  Marlborough  for  a  leader ! 
Will  the  Frenchmen  ever  stand  against  tJie7n  ?  No,  by  George, 
they  are  irresistible."  And  a  fresh  bowl  is  called,  and  loud 
toasts  are  drunk  to  the  success  of  the  expedition. 

Mr.  Warrington,  who  is  a  cup  too  low,  the  young  Guards- 
men say,  walks  away  when  they  are  not  steady  enough  to  be 
able  to  follow  him,  thinks  over  the  matter  on  his  way  to  his 
lodgings,  and  lies  thinking  of  it  all  through  the  night. 

"  What  is  it,  my  boy,"  asks  George  Warrington  of  his 
brother,  when  the  latter  enters  his  chamber  very  early  on  a 
blushing  May  morning. 

"  I  want  a  little  money  out  of  the  drawer,"  says  Harry, 
looking  at  his  brother.     "  I  am  sick  and  tired  of  London." 

"  Good  heavens  !  can  anybody  be  tired  of  London  ? " 
George  asks,  who  has  reasons  for  thinking  it  the  most  delight- 
ful place  in  the  world. 

"I  have  for  one.     I  am  sick  and  ill,"  says  Harry. 

"  You  and  Hetty  have  been  quarrelling.?  " 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  ^27 

*'  She  don't  care  a  penny-piece  about  me,  nor  I  for  her 
neither,"  says  Harry,  nodding  his  head.  "  But  I  am  ill,  and  a 
little  country  air  will  do  me  good."  And  he  mentions  how  he 
thinks  of  going  to  visit  Mr.  Webb  in  the  Isle  of  Wight,  and 
how  a  Portsmouth  coach  starts  from  Holborn. 

"There's  the  till,  Harr}-,"  says  George,  pointing  from  his 
bed.  "  Put  your  hand  in  and  take  what  you  will.  What  a 
lovely  morning,  and  how  fresh  the  Bedford  House  garden 
looks." 

"  God  bless  you  brother  ! "  Harry  says. 

"  Have  a  good  time,  Harry !  "  and  down  goes  George's 
head  on  the  pillow  again,  and  he  takes  his  pencil  and  note- 
book from  under  his  bolster,  and  falls  to  polishing  his  verses, 
as  Harry,  with  his  cloak  over  his  shoulder  and  a  little  vaHse  in 
his  hand,  walks  to  the  inn  in  Holborn  whence  the  Portsmouth 
machine  starts. 


CHAPTER    LXin. 

MELPOMENE. 


George  Warrington  by  no  means  allowed  his  legal  studies 
to  obstruct  his  comfort  and  pleasures,  or  interfere  with  his  pre- 
cious health.  Madame  Esmond  had  pointed  out  to  him  in  her 
letters  that  though  he  wore  a  student's  gown,  and  sat  down  with 
a  crowd  of  nameless  people  to  hall-commons,  he  had  himself  a 
name,  and  a  very  ancient  one,  to  support,  and  could  take  rank 
with  the  first  persons  at  home  or  in  his  own  country  ;  and 
desired  that  he  would  study  as  a  gentleman,  not  a  mere  profes- 
sional drudge.  With  this  injunction  the  young  man  complied 
obediently  enough  :  so  that  he  may  be  said  not  to  have  belonged 
to  the  rank  and  file  of  the  law,  but  may  be  considered  to  have 
been  a  volunteer  in  her  service,  like  some  young  gentlemen  of 
whom  we  have  just  heard.  Though  not  so  exacting  as  she 
since  has  become — though  she  allowed  her  disciples  much  more 
leisure,  much  more  pleasure,  much  more  punch,  much  more  fre- 
quenting of  coffee-houses  and  holiday-making,  than  she  admits 
now-a-days,  when  she  scarce  gives  her  votaries  time  for  amuse- 
ment, recreation,  instruction,  sleep,  or  dinner — the  law  a  hun- 
dred years  ago  was  still  a  jealous  mistress,  and  demanded  a 
pretty  exclusive  attention.     Murray,  we  are  told,   might  have 


2 28  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

been  an  Ovid,  but  be  preferred  to  be  Lord  Chief  Justice,  and 
to  wear  ermine  instead  of  bays.  Perhaps  Mr.  Warrington  might 
have  risen  to  a  peerage  and  the  woolsack,  had  he  studied  very- 
long  and  assiduously, — had  he  been  a  dexterous  courtier,  and  a 
favorite  of  attorneys  :  had  he  been  other  than  he  was,  in  a  word. 
He  behaved  to  Themis  with  a  very  decent  respect  and  atten- 
tion ;  but  he  loved  letters  more  than  law  always  ;  and  the  black 
letter  of  Chaucer  was  infinitely  more  agreeable  to  him  than  the 
Gothic  pages  of  Hale  and  Coke. 

Letters  were  loved  indeed  in  those  quaint  times,  and  authors 
were  actually  authorities.  Gentlemen  appealed  to  Virgil  or 
Lucan  in  the  Courts  or  the  House  of  Commons.  What  said 
Statins,  Juvenal — let  alone  Tully  or  Tacitus — on  such  and  such 
a  point  t  Their  reign  is  over  now,  the  good  old  Heathens :  the 
worship  of  Jupiter  and  Juno  is  not  more  out  of  mode  than  the 
cultivation  of  Pagan  poetry  or  ethics.  The  age  of  economists 
and  calculators  has  succeeded,  and  Tooke's  Pantheon  is  de- 
serted and  ridiculous.  Now  and  then,  perhaps,  a  Stanley  kills 
a  kid,  a  Gladstone  hangs  up  a  wreath,  a  Lytton  burns  incense, 
in  honor  of  the  Olympians.  But  what  do  they  care  at  Lambeth, 
Birmingham,  the  Tower  Hamlets,  for  the  ancient  rites,  divini- 
ties, worship  ?  Who  the  plague  are  the  Muses,  and  what  is  the 
use  of  all  that  Greek  and  Latin  rubbish  ?  Wliat  is  Elicon,  and 
who  cares  t  Who  was  Thalia,  pray,  and  what  is  the  length  of 
her  i  ?  Is  Melpomene's  name  in  three  syllables  or  four  ?  And 
do  you  know  from  whose  design  I  stole  that  figure  of  Tragedy 
which  adorns  the  initial  G  of  this  chapter  ? 

Now,  it  has  been  said  how  Mr.  George  in  his  youth,  and  in 
the  long  leisure  which  he  enjoyed  at  home,  and  during  his  im- 
prisonment in  the  French  fort  on  the  banks  of  Monongahela, 
had  whiled  away  his  idleness  by  paying  court  to  Melpomene  ; 
and  the  result  of  their  union  was  a  tragedy,  which  has  been 
omitted  in  "  Bell's  Theatre,"  though  I  dare  say  it  is  no  worse 
than  some  of  the  pieces  printed  there.  Most  young  men  pay 
their  respects  to  the  Tragic  Muse  first,  as  they  fall  in  love  with 
women  who  are  a  great  deal  older  than  themselves.  Let  the 
candid  reader  own,  if  ever  he  had  a  literary  turn,  that  his  ambi- 
tion was  of  the  very  highest,  and  that  however  in  his  riper  age 
he  might  come  down  in  his  pretensions,  and  think  that  to  trans- 
late an  ode  of  Horace,  or  to  turn  a  song  of  Waller  or  Prior  into 
decent  alcaics  or  sapphics,  was  about  the  utmost  of  his  capa- 
bility, tragedy  and  epic  only  did  his  green  unknowing  youth 
engage,  and  no  prize  but  the  highest  was  fit  for  him. 

George  Warrington,  then,  on   coming  to  London,  attended 


THE  VIRGINIANS.  ^29 

the  theatrical  performances  at  both  houses,  frequented  the 
theatrical  coiiee-houses,  and  heard  the  opinions  of  the  critics, 
and  might  be  seen  at  the  "  Bedford  "  between  the  plays,  or  sup- 
ping at  the  "  Cecil "  along  with  the  wits-  and  actors  when  the 
performances  were  over.  Here  he  gradually  became  acquainted 
with  the  players  and  such  of  the  writers  and  poets  as  were 
known  to  the  public.  The  tough  old  Macklin,  the  frolicsome 
Foote,  the  vivacious  Hippisley,  the  sprightly  Mr.  Garrick  him- 
self, might  occasionally  be  seen  at  these  houses  of  entertain- 
ment ;  and  our  gentleman,  by  his  wit  and  modesty,  as  well,  per- 
haps, as  for  the  high  character  for  wealth  which  he  possessed, 
came  to  be  very  much  liked  in  the  coffee-house  circles,  and 
found  that  the  actors  would  drink  a  bowl  of  punch  wiih  him, 
and  the  critics  sup  at  his  expense  with  great  affability.  To  be 
on  terms  of  intimacy  with  an  author  or  an  actor  has  been  an 
object  of  delight  to  many  a  young  man  ;  actually  to  hob  and  nob 
with  Bobadil  or  Henry  the  Fifth  or  Alexander  the  Great,  to 
accept  a  pinch  out  of  Aristarchus's  own  box,  to  put  Juliet  into 
her  coach,  or  hand  Monimia  to  her  chair,  are  privileges  which 
would  delight  most  young  men  of  a  poetic  turn  ;  and  no  wonder 
George  Warrington  loved  the  theatre.  Then  he  had  the  satis- 
faction of  thinking  that  his  mother  only  half  approved  of  plays 
and  playhouses,  and  of  feasting  on  fruit  forbidden  at  home. 
He  ga\-e  more  than  one  elegant  entertainment  to  the  players, 
and  it  was  even  said  that  one  or  two  distinguished  geniuses  had 
condescended  to  borrow  money  of  him. 

And  as  he  polished  and  added  new  beauties  to  his  master- 
piece, we  may  be  sure  that  he  took  advice  of  certain  friends  of 
his,  and  that  they  gave  him  applause  and  counsel.  Mr.  Spencer, 
his  new  acquaintance  of  the  Temple,  gave  a  breakfast  at  his 
chambers  in  Fig  Tree  Court,  when  Mr.  Warrington  read  part 
of  his  play,  and  the  gentlemen  present  pronounced  that  it  had 
uncommon  merit.  Even  the  learned  Mr.  Johnson,  who  was 
invited,  was  good  enough  to  say  that  the  piece  showed  talent. 
It  warred  against  the  unities,  to  be  sure ;  but  these  had  been 
violated  by  other  authors,  and  Mr.  Warrington  might  sacrifice 
them  as  well  as  another.  There  was  in  Mr.  W.'s  tragedy  a 
something  which  reminded  him  both  of  Coriolanus  and  Othello. 
"And  two  very  good  things  too,  sir!"  the  author  pleaded. 
"  Well,  well,  there  was  no  doubt  on  that  point '^;  and  'tis  certain 
your  catastrophe  is  terrible,  just,  and  being  in  part  true,  is  not 
the  less  awful,"  remarks  Mr.  Spencer. 

Now  the  plot  of  Mr.  Warrington's  tragedy  was  quite  full 
indeed  of  battle  and  murder.     A  fa\-orite  book  of  his  grand- 

34 


^3o  THE  VIRGINIANS. 

father  had  been  the  life  of  old  George  Frundsberg  of  Mindel- 
heim,  a  colonel  of  foot-folk  in  the  Imperial  service  at  Pavia 
fight,  and  during  the  wars  of  the  Constable  Bourbon :  and  one 
of  Frundsberg's  military  companions  was  a  certain  Carpzow,  or 
Carpezan,  whom  our  friend  selected  as  his  tragedy  hero. 

His  first  act,  as  it  at  present  stands  in  Sir  George  Warring- 
ton's manuscript,  is  supposed  to  take  place  before  a  convent 
on  the  Rhine,  wdiich  the  Lutherans,  under  Carpezan,  are  besieg- 
ing. A  godless  gang  these  Lutherans  are.  They  have  pulled 
the  beards  of  Roman  friars,  and  torn  the  veils  of  hundreds  of 
religious  women.  A  score  of  these  are  trembling  within  the 
walls  of  the  convent  yonder,  of  which  the  garrison,  unless  the 
expected  succors  arrive  before  mid-day,  has  promised  to  sur- 
render. Meanwhile  there  is  armistice,  and  the  sentries  within 
look  on  with  hungry  eyes,  as  the  soldiers  and  camp  people 
gambol  on  the  grass  before  the  gate.  Twelve  o'clock,  ding, 
ding,  dong  !  it  sounds  upon  the  convent  bell.  No  succors 
have  arrived.  Open  gates,  warder  !  and  give  admission  to  the 
famous  Protestant  hero,  the  terror  of  Turks  on  the  Danube, 
and  Papists  in  the  Lombard  plains — Colonel  Carpezan  /  See, 
here  he  comes,  clad  in  complete  steel,  his  hammer  of  battle 
over  his  shoulder,  with  which  he  has  battered  so  many  infidel 
sconces,  his  flags  displayed,  his  trumpets  blowing.  "  No  rude- 
ness, my  men,"  says  Carpezan,  "  the  wine  is  you-rs,  and  the  con- 
vent larder  and  cellar  are  good  :  the  church  plate  shall  be 
melted  :  any  of  the  garrison  who  choose  to  take  service  with 
Caspar  Carpezan  are  welcome,  and  shall  have  good  pay.  No 
insult  to  the  religious  ladies  !  I  have  promised  them  a  safe 
conduct,  and  he  who  lays  a  finger  on  them,  hangs  !  Mind  that, 
Provost  Marshal !  "  The  Provost  Marshal,  a  huge  fellow  in  a 
red  doublet,  nods  his  head. 

"We  shall  see  more  of  that  Provost  Marshal,  or  execu- 
tioner," Mr.  Spencer  explains  to  his  guests. 

"  A  very  agreeable  acquaintance,  I  am  sure, — shall  be  de- 
lighted to  meet  the  gentleman  again  !  "  says  Mr.  Johnson,  wag- 
ging his  head  over  his  tea.  "  This  scene  of  the  mercenaries, 
the  camp-followers,  and  their  wild  sports,  is  novel  and  stirring, 
Mr.  Warrington,  and  I  make  you  my  compliments  on  it.  Tne 
Colonel  has  gone  into  the  convent,  I  think  ?  Now  let  us  hear 
what  he  is  going  to  do  there." 

The  Abbess,  and  one  or  two  of  her  oldest  ladies,  make  their 
appearance  before  the  conqueror.  Conqueror  as  he  is,  they 
beard  him  in  their  sacred  halls.  They  have  heard  of  his 
violent  behavior  in  conventual   establishments  before.     Tliat 


THE  VIRGINIANS.  c^i 

hammer,  which  he  ahvays  carries  in  action,  has  smashed  many 
sacred  images  in  religious  houses.  Pounds  and  pounds  of 
convent  plate  is  he  known  to  have  melted,  the  sacrilegious 
plunderer !  No  wonder  the  Abbess-Princess  of  St.  Mary's,  a 
lady  of  violent  prejudices,  free  language,  and  noble  birth,  has 
a  dislike  to  the  low-born  heretic  who  lords  it  in  her  convent, 
and  tells  Carpezan  a  bit  of  her  mind,  as  the  phrase  is.  This 
scene,  in  which  the  lady  gets  somewhat  better  of  the  Colonel, 
was  liked  not  a  little  by  Mr.  Warrington's  audience  at  the  Tem- 
ple. Terrible  as  he  might  be  in  war,  Carpezan  was  shaken  at 
first  by  the  Abbess's  brisk  opening  charge  of  words  ;  and,  con- 
queror as  he  was,  seemed  at  first  to  be  conquered  by  his  actual 
prisoner.  But  such  an  old  soldier  was  not  to  be  beaten  ulti- 
mately by  any  woman.  ''  Pray,  Madam,"  says  he,  "  how  many 
ladies  are  there  in  your  convent,  for  whom  my  people  shall 
provide  conveyance .? "  The  Abbess,  with  a  look  of  much 
trouble  and  anger,  says  that,  ''  besides  herself,  the  noble  Sis- 
ters of  Saint  Mary's  House  are  twenty— twenty-three."  She 
was  going  to  say  twenty-four,  and  now  says  twenty-three? 
'^  Ha  !  why  this  hesitation  .?  "  asks  Captain  Ulric,  one  of  Car- 
pezan's  gayest  officers. 

The  dark  chief  pulls  a  letter  from  his  pocket.  "  I  require 
from  you.  Madam,"  he  says  sternly  to  the  Lady  Abbess,  "  the 
body  of  the  noble  lady  Sybilla  of  Hoya.  Her  brother  was  my 
favorite  captain  slain  by  my  side,  in  the  Milanese.  By  his 
death,  she  becomes  heiress  of  his  lands.  'Tis  said  a  greedy 
uncle  brought  her  hither ;  and  fast  immured  the  lady  against 
her  will.  The  damsel  shall  herself  pronounce  her  fate— to  stay 
a  cloistered  sister  of  Saint  Mary's,  or  to  return   to  home  and 

liberty,  as   Lady  Sybil,   Baroness  of "  Ha  !      The   Abbess 

was  greatly  disturbed  by  this  question.  She  says  haughtily  : 
''  There  is  no  Lady  Sybil  in  this  house  :  of  which  every  inmate 
IS  under  your  protection,  and  sworn  to  go  free.  The  Sister 
Agnes  was  a  nun  professed,  and  what  was  her  land  and  wealth 
revert  to  this  Order." 

"Give  me  straightway  the  body  of  the  Lady  Sybil  of 
Hoya  !  "  roars  Carpezan  in  great  wrath.  "  If  not,  I  make  a 
signal  to  my  reiters,  and  give  you  and  your  convent  up  to 
war." 

"  Faith,  if  I  lead  the  storm  and  have  my  right,  'tis  not  my 
Lady  Abbess  that  I'll  choose,"  says  Captain  Ulric,  "  but  rather 

some  plump,  smiling,   red-lipped  maid  like— like "     Here, 

as  he,  the  sly  fellow,  is  looking  under  the  veils  of  the  two  at- 
tendant nuns,  the  stern  Abbess  cries,  "  Silence,  fellow,  with  thy 


^32  THE  VIRGINIANS. 

ribald  talk  !  The  lady,  warrior,  whom  you  asked  of  me  is 
passed  away  from  sin,  temptation,  vanity,  and  three  days  since 
our  Sister  Agnes — diedr 

At  this  announcement  Carpezan  is  immensely  agitated. 
The  Abbess  calls  upon  the  Chaplain  to  confirm  her  statement. 
Ghastly  and  pale,  the  old  man  has  to  own  that  three  days  since 
the  wretched  Sister  Agnes  was  buried. 

This  is  too  much  !  In  the  pocket  of  his  coat  of  mail  Car- 
pezan has  a  letter  from  Sister  Agnes  herself,  in  which  she  an- 
nounces that  she  is  going  to  be  buried  indeed,  but  in  an  oub- 
liette of  the  convent,  where  she  may  either  be  kept  on  water  and 
bread,  or  die  starved  outright.  He  seizes  the  unflinching 
Abbess  by  the  arm,  wdiilst  Captain  Ulric  lays  hold  of  the  Chap- 
lain by  the  throat.  The  Colonel  blows  a  blast  upon  his  horn  : 
in  rush  his  furious  lanzknechts  from  without.  Crash,  bang  ! 
They  knock  the  convent  walls  about.  And  in  the  midst  of 
flames,  screams,  and  slaughter,  who  is  presently  brought  in  by 
Carpezan  himself,  and  fainting  on  his  shoulder,  but  Sybilla 
herself .''  A  little  sister  nun  (that  gay  one  wdth  red  lips)  had 
pointed  out  to  the  Colonel  and  Ulric  the  way  to  Sister  Agnes's 
dungeon,  and,  indeed,  had  been  the  means  of  making  her 
situation  known  to  the  Lutheran  chief. 

"  The  convent  is  suppressed  with  a  vengeance,"  says  Mr. 
Warrington.  ''  We  end  our  first  act  with  the  burning  of  the 
place,  the  roars  of  triumph  of  the  soldier}-,  and  the  outcries  of 
the  nuns.  They  had  best  go  change  their  dresses  immediately, 
for  they  will  have  to  be  court  ladies  in  the  next  act — as  you 
will  see."  Here  the  gentlemen  talked  the  matter  over.  If  the 
piece  were  to  be  done  at  Drur}'-  Lane,  Mrs.  Pritchard  would 
hardly  like  to  be  Lady  Abbess,  as  she  doth  but  appear  in  the 
first  act.  Miss  Pritchard  might  make  a  pretty  Sybilla,  and 
Miss  Gates  the  attendant  nun.  Mr.  Garrick  was  scarce  tall 
enough  for  Carpezan — though,  when  he  is  excited,  nobody  ever 
thinks  of  him  but  as  big  as  a  grenadier.  Mr.  Johnson  owns 
Woodward  will  be  a  good  Ulric,  as  he  plays  the  Mercutio  parts 
very  gayly  ;  and  so,  by  one  and  t'other,  the  audience  fancies  the 
play  already  on  the  boards,  and  casts  the  characters. 

In  act  the  second,  Carpezan  has  married  Sybilla.  He  has 
enriched  himself  in  the  wars,  has  been  ennobled  by  the  Em- 
peror, and  lives  at  his  castle  on  the  Danube  in  state  and 
splendor. 

But,  truth  to  say,  though  married,  rich,  and  ennobled,  the 
Lord  Carpezan  was  not  happy.  It  may  be  that  in  his  wild  life, 
as  condottieri  on  both  sides,  he  had  committed  crimes  which 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


533 


agitated  his  mind  with  remorse.  It  may  be  that  his  rough 
soldier-manners  consorted  ill  with  his  imperious  high-born 
bride.  She  led  him  such  a  life — I  am  narrating  as  it  were  the 
Warrington  manuscript,  which  is  too  long  to  print  in  entire — 
taunting  him  with  his  low  birth,  his  vulgar  companions,  whom 
the  old  soldier  loved  to  see  about  him,  and  so  forth — that  there 
were  times  when  he  rather  wished  that  he  had  never  rescued 
this  lovely,  quarrelsome,  wayward  vixen  from  the  oubliette  out 
of  which  he  fished  her.  After  the  bustle  of  the  first  act  this  is 
a  quiet  one,  and  passed  chiefly  in  quarrelling  between  the 
Baron  and  Baroness  Carpezan,  until  horns  blow,  and  it  is 
announced  that  the  young  King  of  Bohemia  and  Hungary  is 
coming  hunting  that  way. 

Act  III.  is  passed  at  Prague,  whither  his  Majesty  has  invited 
Lord  Carpezan  and  his  wife,  with  noble  offers  of  preferment  to 
the  Baron.  From  Baron  he  shall  be  promoted  to  be  Count, 
from  Colonel  he  shall  be  General-in-Chief.  His  wife  is  the 
most  brilliant  and  fascinating  of  all  the  ladies  of  the  court — and 

as  for  Carpzoff " 

"Oh,  stay — I  have  it — I  know  your  stor)',  sir,  now,"  says 
Mr.  Johnson.  " 'Tis  in  '  Meteranus,' in  the  'Theatrum  Uni- 
versum.'  I  read  it  in  Oxford  as  a  boy — Carpezanus  or  Carp- 
zoff  " 

"  That  is  the  fourth  act,"  says  Mr.  Warrington.  In  the 
fourth  act  the  young  King's  attentions  towards  Sybilla  grow 
more  and  more  marked ;  but  her  husband,  battling  against  his 
jealousy,  long  refuses  to  yield  to  it,  until  his  wife's  criminality 
is  put  beyond  a  doubt — and  here  he  read  the  act,  which  closes 
with  the  terrible  tragedy  which  actually  happened.  Being  con- 
vinced of  his  wife's  guilt,  Carpezan  caused  the  executioner  who 
followed  his  regiment  to  slay  her  in  her  own  palace.  And  the 
curtain  of  the  act  falls  just  after  the  dreadful  deed  is  done,  in 
a  side-chamber  illuminated  by  the  moon  shining  through  a  great 
oriel  window,  under  which  the  King  comes  with  his  lute,  and 
plays  the  song  w'hich  was  to  be  the  signal  between  him  and  his 
guilty  victim. 

This  song  (writ  in  the  ancient  style,  and  repeated  in  the 
piece,  being  sung  in  the  third  act  previously  at  a  great  festival 
given  by  the  King  and  Queen)  was  pronounced  by  Mr.  John- 
son to  be  a  happy  imitation  of  Mr.  Waller's  manner,  and  its 
gay  repetition  at  the  moment  of  guilt,  murder,  and  horror,  very 
much  deepened  the  tragic  gloom  of  the  scene. 

"  But  whatever  came  afterwards  }  "  he  asked.  "  I  remem- 
ber in  the  '  Theatrum,'  Carpezan  is  said  to  have  been  taken 


^34  ^-^-^   VIRGINIANS. 

into  favor  again  by  Count  Mansfield,  and  doubtless  to  have 
murdered  other  folks  on  the  reformed  side." 

"  Here  our  poet  has  departed  from  historic  truth.  In  the 
fifth  act  of  "  Carpezan  "  King  Louis  of  Hungary  and  Bohemia 
(sufficiently  terror-stricken,  no  doubt,  by  the  sanguinary  termin- 
ation of  his  intrigue)  has  received  word  that  the  Emperor  Soly- 
man  is  invading  his  Hungarian  dominions.  Enter  two  noble- 
men who  relate  how,  in  the  council  which  the  King  held  upon 
the  news,  the  injured  Carpezan  rushed  infuriated  into  the  royal 
presence,  broke  his  sword,  and  flung  it  at  the  King's  feet — 
along  with  a  glove  which  he  dared  him  to  wear,  and  which  he 
swore  he  would  one  day  claim.  After  that  wild  challenge  the 
rebel  fled  from  Prague,  and  had  not  since  been  heard  of;  but 
it  was  reported  that  he  had  joined  the  Turkish  invader,  assumed 
the  turban,  and  was  now  in  the  camp  of  the  Sultan,  whose  white 
tents  glance  across  the  river  yoncler,  and  against  whom  the 
King  was  now  on  his  march.  Then  the  King  comes  to  his  tent 
with  his  generals,  prepares  his  order  of  battle,  and  dismisses 
them  to  their  posts,  keeping  by  his  side  an  aged  and  faithful 
knight,  his  master  of  the  horse,  to  whom  he  expresses  his  repent- 
ance for  his  past  crimes,  his  esteem  for  his  good  and  injured 
Queen,  and  his  determination  to  meet  the  day's  battle  like  a 
man. 

"  What  is  this  field  called  .?  " 

"  Mohacz,  my  liege  !  "  says  the  old  warrior,  adding  the  re- 
mark that  "  Ere  set  of  sun,  Mohacz  will  see  a  battle  bravely 
won." 

Trumpets  and  alarms  now  sound ;  they  are  the  cymbals  and 
barbaric  music  of  the  janissaries  :  we  are  in  the  Turkish  camp, 
and  yonder,  surrounded  by  turbaned  chiefs,  walks  the  Sultan 
Solyman's  friend,  the  conqueror  of  Rhodes,  the  redoubted 
Grand  Vizier. 

Who  is  that  warrior  in  an  Eastern  habit,  but  with  a  glove 
in  his  cap?  'Tis  Carpezan.  Even  Solyman  knew  his  courage 
and  ferocity  as  a  soldier.  He  knows  the  ordnance  of  the  Hun- 
garian host ;  in  what  arms  King  Louis  is  weakest  :  how  his 
cavalry,  of  which  the  shock  is  tremendous,  should  be  received, 
and  inveigled  into  yonder  morass,  where  certain  death  may 
await  them — he  prays  for  a  command  in  the  front,  and  as  near 
as  possible  to  the  place  where  the  traitor  King  Louis  will 
engage.  "  'Tis  well,"  says  the  grim  Vizier,  "  our  invincible 
Emperor  surveys  the  battle  from  yonder  tower.  At  the  end  of 
of  the  da}',  he  will  know  how  to  reward  3'our  valor."  The 
signal-guns    fire  —  the  trumpets  blow  —  the  Turkish  captains 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  ^3^ 

retire,  vowing  deatli  to  the  infidel,  and  eternal  fidelity  to  the 
Sultan. 

And  now  the  battle  begins  in  earnest,  and  with  those 
various  incidents  which  the  lover  of  the  theatre  knoweth. 
Christian  knights  and  Turkish  warriors  clash  and  skirmish 
over  the  stage.  Continued  alarms  are  sounded.  Trops  on 
both  sides  advance  and  retreat.  CarjDezan,  with  his  glove  in  his 
cap,  and  his  dreadful  hammer  smashing  all  before  him,  rages 
about  the  field,  calling  for  King  Louis.  The  renegade  is  about 
to  slay  a  warrior  who  faces  him,  but  recognizing  young  Ulric, 
his  ex-captain,  he  drops  the  uplifted  hammer,  and  bids  him  fly, 
and  think  of  Carpezan.  He  is  softened  at  seeing  his  young  friend, 
and  thinking  of  former  times  when  they  fought  and  conquered 
together  in  the  cause  of  Protestantism.  Ulric  bids  him  to  re- 
turn, but  of  course  that  is  now  out  of  the  question.  They  fight, 
Ulric  will  have  it,  and  down  he  goes  under  the  hammer.  The 
renegade  melts  in  sight  of  his  wounded  comrade,  when  who 
appears  but  King  Louis,  his  plumes  torn,  his  sword  hacked,  his 
shield  dented  with  a  thousand  blows  which  he  has  received  and 
delivered  during  the  day's  battle.  Ha  !  who  is  this  t  The 
guilty  monarch  would  turn  away  (perhaps  Macbeth  may  have 
done  so  before),  but  Carpezan  is  on  him.  All  his  softness  is 
gone.  He  rages  like  a  fury.  "An  equal  fight  !  "  he  roars.  "  A 
traitor  against  a  traitor !  Stand,  King  Louis  !  False  King, 
false  knight,  false  friend — by  this  glove  in  my  helmet,  I  chal- 
lenge you !  "  And  he  tears  the  guilty  token  out  of  his  cap,  and 
flings  it  at  the  King. 

Of  course  they  set  to,  and  the  monarch  falls  under  the  ter- 
rible arm  of  the  man  whom  he  has  injured.  He  dies,  uttering 
a  few  incoherent  words  of  repentance,  and  Carpezan,  leaning 
upon  his  murderous  mace,  utters  a  heart-broken  soliloquy  over 
the  royal  corpse.  The  Turkish  warriors  have  gathered  mean- 
while :  the  dreadful  day  is  their  own.  Yonder  stands  the  dark 
Vizier,  surrounded  by  his  janissaries,  whose  bows  and  swords 
are  tired  of  drinking  death.  He  surveys  the  renegade  standing 
over  the  corpse  of  the  King. 

"  Christian  renegade  !  "  he  says,  "  Allah  has  given  us  a  great 
victor}'.  The  arms  of  the  Sublime  Emperor  are  everywhere 
triumphant.     The  Christian  King  is  slain  by  you." 

"  Peace  to  his  soul !  He  died  like  a  good  knight,"  gasps 
Ulric,  himself  dying  on  the  field. 

"In  this  day's  battle,"  the  grim  Vizier  continues,  "no  man 
hath  comported  himself  more  bravely  than  you.  You  are  made 
Bassa  of  Transvlvania  !     Advance  bowmen — Fire  ! " 


536 


THE  VIRGINIANS. 


fej 


An  arrow  quivers  in  the  breast  of  Carpezan. 

"  Bassa  of  Transylvania,  you  were  a  traitor  to  your  King 
who  lies  murdered  by  your  hand  ! '"'  continues  grim  Vizier.  "  You 
contributed  more  than  any  soldier  to  this  day's  great  victory. 
'Tis  thus  my  sublime  Emperor  meetly  rewards  you.  Sound 
trumpets  !     We  march  for  Vienna  to-night !  " 

And  the  curtain  drops  as  Carpezan,  crawling  towards  his 
dying  comrade,  kisses  his  hands,  and  gasps — 

"  Forgive  me,  Ulric  !  " 

When  Mr.  Warrington  has  finished  reading  his  tragedy,  he 
turns  round  to  Mr.  Johnson,  modestly,  and  asks, — 

"  What  say  you,  sir  .'*     Is  there  any  chance  for  me  ?  " 

But  the  opinion  of  this  most  eminent  critic  is  scarce  to  be 
given,  for  Mr.  Johnson  had  been  asleep  for  some  time,  and 
frankly  owned  that  he  had  lost  the  latter  part  of  the  play. 

The  little  auditory  begins  to  hum  and  stir  as  the  noise  of 
the  speaker  ceased.  George  may  have  been  very  nervous  when 
he  first  commenced  to  read  ;  but  ever^'body  allows  that  he  read 
the  last  two  acts  uncommonly  well,  and  makes  him  a  compli- 
ment upon  his  matter  and  manner.  Perhaps  everybody  is  in 
good  humor  because  the  piece  has  come  to  an  end.  Mr.  Spen- 
cer's servant  hands  about  refreshing  drinks.  The  Templars 
speak  out  their  various  opinions  whilst  they  sip  the  negus. 
They  are  a  choice  band  of  critics,  familiar  with  the  pit  of  the 
theatre,  and  they  treat  Mr.  Warrington's  play  with  the  gravity 
which  such  a  subject  demands. 

Mr.  Fountain  suggests  that  the  Vizier  should  not  say 
"  Fire  !  "  when  he  bids  the  archers  kill  Carpezan,  —  as  you 
certainly  Aoxitjire  with  a  bow  and  arrows.  A  note  is  taken  of 
the  objection. 

Mr.  Figtree,  who  is  of  a  sentimental  turn,  regrets  that 
Ulric  could  not  be  saved,  and  married  to  the  comic  heroine. 

"  Nay,  sir,  there  was  an  utter  annihilation  of  the  Hungarian 
army  at  Mohacz,"  says  Mr.  Johnson,  "  and  Ulric  must  take  his 
knock  on  the  head  with  the  rest.  He  could  only  be  saved  by 
flight,  and  you  wouldn't  have  a  hero  run  away !  Pronounce 
sentence  of  death  against  Captain  Ulric,  but  kill  him  with 
honors  of  war." 

Messrs.  Essex  and  Tanfield  wonder  to  one  another  who  is 
this  queer-looking//// whom  Spencer  has  invited,  and  who  con- 
tradicts everybody ;  and  they  suggest  a  boat  up  the  river  and 
a  little  fresh  air  after  the  fatigues  of  the  tragedy. 

The  general  opinion  is  decidedly  favorable  to   Mr.  War- 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


537 


rington's  performance;  and  Mr.  Johnson's  opinion,  on  which 
he  sets  a  special  value,  is  the  most  favorable  of  all.  Perhaps 
Mr.  Johnson  is  not  sorry  to  compliment  a  young  gentleman  of 
fashion  and  figure  like  Mr.  W.  "  Up  to  the  death  of  the 
heroine,"  he  says,  "  I  am  frankly  with  you,  sir.  And  I  may 
speak,  as  a  playwright  who  have  killed  my  own  heroine,  and 
had  my  share  of  tXiQ  plausiis  in  theatro.  To  hear  your  own  lines 
nobly  delivered  to  an  applauding  house,  is  indeed  a  noble 
excitement.  I  like  to  see  a  young  man  of  good  name  and 
lineage  who  condescends  to  think  that  the  Tragic  Muse  is  not 
below  his  advances.  It  was  to  a  sordid  roof  that  I  invited  her, 
and  I  asked  her  to  rescue  me  from  poverty  and  squalor. 
Happy  you,  sir,  who  can  meet  her  upon  equal  terms,  and  can 
afford  to  marry  her  without  a  portion !  " 

"  I  doubt  whether  the  greatest  genius  is  not  debased  who 
has  to  make  a  bargain  with  Poetry,"  remarks  Mr.  Spencer. 

"  Nay,  sir,"  Mr.  Johnson  answered,  "  I  doubt  if  many  a  great 
genius  would  work  at  all  without  bribes  and  necessities ;  and 
so  a  man  had  better  marry  a  poor  Muse  for  good  and  all,  for 
better  or  worse,  than  dally  with  a  rich  one.  I  make  you  my 
compliment  of  your  play,  Mr.  Warrington,  and  if  you  want  an 
introduction  to  the  stage,  shall  be  ver}^  happy  if  I  can  induce 
my  friend  Mr.  Garrick  to  present  you." 

"  Mr.  Garrick  shall  be  his  sponsor,"  cried  the  florid  Mr. 
Figtree.  "  Melpomene  shall  be  his  godmother,  and  he  shall 
have  the  witches'  cauldron  in  Macbeth  for  a  christening  font." 

"  Sir,  I  neither  said  font  nor  godmother,"  remarks  the  man 
of  letters.  "  I  would  have  no  play  contrary  to  morals  or  reli- 
gion ;  nor,  as  I  conceive,  is  Mr.  Warrington's  piece  otherwise 
than  friendly  to  them.  Vice  is  chastised,  as  it  should  be, 
even  in  kings,  though  perhaps  we  judge  their  temptations  too 
lightly.  Revenge  is  punished — as  not  to  be  lightly  exercised 
by  our  limited  notion  of  justice.  It  may  have  been  Carpe- 
zan's  wife  who  perverted  the  King,  and  not  the  King  who 
led  the  woman  astray.  At  any  rate,  Louis  is  rightly  humil- 
iated for  his  crime,  and  the  Renegade  most  justly  executed 
for  his.  I  wish  you  a  good  afternoon,  gentlemen  !  "  And 
with  these  remarks,  the  great  author  took  his  leave  of  the  com- 
pany. 

Towards  the  close  of  the  reading,  General  Lambert  had  made 
his  appearance  at  Mr.  Spencer's  chambers,  and  had  listened  to 
the  latter  part  of  the  tragedy.  The  performance  over,  he  and 
George  took  their  way  to  the  latter's  lodgings  in  the  first  place, 
and  subsequently  to  the  General's  own  house,  where  the  young 


^38  THE  VIRGINIANS. 

author  was  expected,  in   order  to  recount  the  reception  which 
his  play  had  met  from  his  Temple  critics. 

At  Mr.  Warrington's  apartments  in  Southampton  Row,  they 
found  a  letter  awaiting  George,  which  the  latter  placed  in  his 
pocket  unread,  so  that  he  might  proceed  immediately  with  his 
companion  to  Soho.  We  may  be  sure  the  ladies  there  were 
eager  to  know  about  the  Carpezan's  fate  in  the  morning's  small 
rehearsal.  Hetty  said  George  was  so  shy,  that  perhaps  it 
would  be  better  for  all  parties  if  some  other  person  had  read 
the  play.     Theo,  on  the  contrary,  cried  out : 

"  Read  it,  indeed  !  Who  can  read  a  poem  better  than  the 
author  who  feels  it  in  his  heart  ?  And  George  had  his  whole 
heart  in  the  piece  !  " 

Mr.  Lambert  very  likely  thought  somebody  else's  whole 
heart  was  in  the  piece,  too,  but  did  not  utter  this  opinion  to 
Miss  Theo. 

"  I  think  Harry  would  look  very  well  in  your  figure  of  a 
Prince,"  says  the  General.  "  That  scene  where  he  takes  leave 
of  his  wife  before  departing  for  the  wars  reminds  me  of  your 
brother's  manner  not  a  little." 

"  Oh,  Papa  !  surely  Mr.  Warrington  himself  would  act  the 
Prince's  part  best !  "  cries  Miss  Theo. 

"  And  be  deservedly  slain  in  battle  at  the  end  ?  "  asks  the 
father  of  the  house. 

"  I  did  not  say  that ;  only  that  Mr.  George  would  make  a 
very  good  Prince,  Papa  ! "  cries  Miss  Theo. 

"  In  which  case  he  would  find  a  suitable  Princess,  I  have 
no  doubt.     What  news  of  your  brother  Harry  ?  " 

George,  who  has  been  thinking  about  theatrical  triumphs  ; 
about  monwneiitic77i  cere  peremtius ;  about  lilacs  ;  about  love 
whispered  and  tenderly  accepted,  remembers  that  he  has  a 
letter  from  Harry  in  his  pocket,  and  gayly  produces  it. 

"  Let  us  hear  what  Mr,  Truant  says  for  himself.  Aunt  Lam- 
bert !  "  cries  George,  breaking  the  seal. 

W^iy  is  he  so  disturbed,  as  he  reads  the  contents  of  his 
letter  ?  Why  do  the  women  look  at  him  with  alarmed  eyes  ? 
And  why,  above  all,  is  Hett}^  so  pale  ? 

"  Here  is  the  letter,"  says  George,  and  begins  to  read  it  : 

RvDE,  Jtine  I,  1758. 
"  I  DID  not  tell  my  dearest  George  what  I  hoped  and  intended,  when  I  left  home  on  Wed- 
nesday. 'Twas  to  see  Mr.  W^ebb  at  Portsmouth  or  the  Isle  of  Wight,  wherever  his  Regt 
was,  and  if  need  was  to  go  do7v>i  on  my  knees  to  him  to  take  me  as  volunteer  with  him  on 
the  Expedition,  I  took  boat  from  Portsmouth,  where  I  learned  that  he  was  with  our  reei- 
metit  incampt  at  the  village  of  Ryde.  Was  received  by  him  most  kindly,  and  my  petition 
granted  out  of  hand.  That  is  why  I  say  our  regiment.  We  are  eight  gentlemen  volunteers 
with  Mr.  Webb,  ail  men  of  birth,  Awd,  good/oritmes  except  poor  me,  who  don't  deserve  one. 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


539 


We  are  to  mess  with  the  officers  ;  we  take  the  right  of  the  collumn,  and  have  always  the 
right  to  be  i?t/roftt,  and  in  an  hour  we  embark  on  board  his  Majesty's  Ship  the  '  Rochester  ' 
of  60  guns,  while  our  Commodore's,  Mr.  Howe's,  is  the  '  Essex,'  70.  His  squadron  is 
about  20  ships,  and  I  should  think  100  transports  at  least.  Though  'tis  a  secret  expedition, 
we  make  no  doubt  France  is  our  destination — where  I  hope  to  see  my  friend  the  Monsieurs 
once  more,  and  win  my  colors  a  la  poi7ict  de  nion  ej>ee,  as  we  used  to  say  in  Canada.  Per- 
haps my  service  as  interpreter  may  be  useful ;  I  speaking  the  language  not  so  well  as  some 
one  I  know,  but  better  than  most  here- 

"  I  scarce  venture  to  write  to  our  mother  to  tell  her  of  this  step.  Will  you,  who  have  a 
coxing  to7tgiie  tuill  w/icadle  any  07ze,  write  to  her  as  soon  as  you  have  finisht  the  famous 
tradgedy  ?  Will  you  give  my  affectionate  respects  to  dear  General  Lambert  and  ladies  ; 
and  if  any  accident  should  happen,  I  know  you  will  take  care  of  poor  Gumbo  as  belonging  to 
my  dearest  best  George's  most  affectionate  brother, 

"  Henry  E.  Warrington. 

"  P.  S. — Love  to  all  at  home  when  you  write,  including  Dempster,  Mountain,  and 
Fanny  M.  and  all  tlie  people,  and  duty  to  my  honored  mother,  wishing  I  had  pleased  her 
better.  And  if  I  said  anything  unkind  to  dear  Miss  Hester  Lambert,  I  know  she  will  for- 
give me,  and  pray  God  bless  ail. — H.  E.  W. 

"  To  G-  Esmond  Warrington,  Esq., 

*  At  Mr.  Scrace's  house  in  Southampton  Row, 

"  Opposite  Bedford  House  Gardens,  London." 

He  has  not  read  the  last  words  with  a  very  steady  voice. 
Mr.  Lambert  sits  silent,  though  not  a  little  moved.  Theo  and 
her  mother  look  at  one  another  :  but  Hetty  remains  with  a  cold 
face  and  a  stricken  heart.  She  thinks,  "  He  is  gone  to  danger, 
perhaps  to  death,  and  it  was  I  sent  him  ! " 


CHAPTER  LXIV. 

IN    WHICH    HARRY    LIVES    TO    FIGHT   ANOTHER    DAY. 

The  trusty  Gumbo  could  not  console  himself  for  the  departure 
of  his  beloved  master :  at  least,  to  judge  from  his  tears  and 
howls  on  first  hearing  the  news  of  Mr.  Harry's  enlistment,  you 
would  have  thought  the  negro's  heart  must  break  at  the  sepa- 
ration. No  wonder  he  went  for  sympathy  to  the  maid-servants 
at  Mr.  Lambert's  lodgings.  Wherever  that  dusky  youth  was, 
he  sought  comfort  in  the  society  of  females.  Their  fair  and 
tender  bosoms  knew  how  to  feel  pity  for  the  poor  African,  and 
the  darkness  of  Gumbo's  complexion  was  no  more  repulsive  to 
them  than  Othello's  to  Desdemona.  I  believe  Europe  has 
never  been  so  squeamish  in  regard  to  Africa,  as  a  certain  other 
respected  Quarter.  Nay,  some  Africans — witness  the  Chev- 
alier de  St.  Georges,  for  instance — have  been  notorious  favorites 
with  the  fair  sex. 

So,  in  his  humbler  walk,  was  Mr.  Gumbo.     The  Lambert 


240  ^-^^  VIRGINIANS. 

servants  wept  freely  in  his   company  :  the   maids  kindly  con- 
sidered him  not  only  as  Mr.  Harry's  man,  but  their  brother. 
Hetty  could  not  help  laughing  when  she  found  Gumbo  roaring 
because   his  master  had  gone  a  volumteer,  as  he  called  it,  and 
had  not  taken  him.     He  was  ready  to  save  Master  Harry's  life 
any  day,  and  would  have  done  it,  and  had  himself  cut  in  twenty 
tousand    hundred    pieces  for   Master  Harry,  that  he  would ! 
Meanwhile,  Nature  must  be  supported,  and  he  condescended 
to  fortify  her  by  large  supplies  of  beer  and  cold  meat  in  the 
kitchen.     That  he  was   greedy,  idle,  and  told  lies,  is  certain  ; 
but  yet  Hetty  gave  him   half-a-crown,  and  was  especially  kind 
to  him.      Her  tongue,  that  was  wont  to  wag  so  pertly,  was  so 
gentle  now,  that  you  might  fancy  it  had  never  made  a  joke. 
She  moved  about  the  house  mum  and  meek.     She  was  humble 
to  mamma ;  thankful  to  John   and  Betty  when  they  waited  at 
dinner  ;  patient  to  Polly  when  the  latter  pulled  her  hair  in  comb- 
ing it ;  long-suffering  when   Charley  from  school  trod  on  her 
toes,  or  deranged  her  workbox  ;  silent  in  papa's  company, — oh, 
such  a  transmogrified  litde  Hetty  !     If  papa  had  ordered  her  to 
roast  the   leg  of  mutton,  or  walk  to   church  arm-in-arm  with 
Gumbo,  she  would  have  made  a  curtsey,  and  said,  "  Yes,  if  you 
please,  dear  papa  !  "     Leg  of  mutton  !     What  sort  of  meal  were 
some  poor  volunteers  having,  with  the  cannon-balls  flying  about 
th^ir  heads  ?     Church  ?     When  it  comes  to  the  prayer  in  time 
of  war,  of  how  her  knees  smite  together  as  she  kneels,  and 
hides  her  head  in  the  pew  !     She  holds  dow^n  her  head  w^hen  the 
parson  reads  out,  "  Thou  shalt  do  no  murder,"  from  the  com- 
munion-rail, and  fancies  he  must  be  looking  at  her.     How  she 
thinks  of  all  travellers  by  land  or  by  water  !     How  she  sickens 
as  she  runs  to  the  paper  to  read  if  there  is  news  of  the  Expe- 
dition !     How  she  watches  papa  when  he  comes  home  from  his 
Ordnance  Office,  and  looks  in  his  face  to  see  if  there  is  good 
news  or  bad  !     Is  he  well  ?     Is  he  made  a  General  yet  ?     Is  he 
wounded  and  made  a  prisoner  ?  ah  me  !  or,  perhaps,  are  both 
his  legs  taken  off  by  one  shot,  like  that  pensioner  they  saw  in 
Chelsea  Garden  t'other  day  ?     She  would  go  on  wooden  legs 
all  her  life,  if  his  can  but  bring  him  safe  home ;  at  least,  she 
ought  never  to  get  up    off   her   knees   until   he    is    returned. 
"  Haven't  3'ou  heard  of  people,  Theo,"  says  she,  ''  whose  hair 
has  growni  gray  in  a  single  night  ?      I  shouldn't  wonder  if  mine 
did, — shouldn't  wonder  in  the  least."     And  she  looks  in  the 
glass  to  ascertain  that  phenomenon. 

"  Hetty  dear,  vou  used  not  to  be  so  nervous  when  papa  was 
away  in  Minorca,"  remarks  Theo. 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


541 


"  Ah,  Theo  !  one  may  very  well  see  that  George  is  not  with 
the  army,  but  safe  at  home,"  rejoins  Hetty ;  whereat  the  elder 
sister  blushes,  and  looks  very  pensive.  Anfaif,  if  Mr.  George 
had  been  in  the  army,  that,  you  see,  would  have  been  another 
pair  of  boots.  Meanwhile,  we  don't  intend  to  harrow  any- 
body's kind  feelings  any  longer,  but  may  as  well  state  that 
Harry  is,  for  the  present,  as  safe  as  any  officer  of  the  Life 
Guards  at  Regent's  Park  Barracks. 

The  first  expedition  in  which  our  gallant  volunteer  was  en- 
gaged may  be  called  successful,  but  certainly  was  not  glorious. 
The  British  Lion,  or  any  other  lion,  cannot  always  have  a 
worthy  enemy  to  combat,  or  a  battle  royal  to  deliver.  Suppose 
he  goes  forth  in  quest  of  a  tiger  who  won't  come,  and  lays  his 
paws  on  a  goose,  and  gobbles  him  up  ?  Lions,  we  know,  must 
live  like  any  other  animals.  But  suppose,  advancing  into  the 
forest  in  search  of  the  tiger  aforesaid,  and  bellowing  his  chal- 
lenge of  war,  he  espies  not  one  but  six  tigers  coming  towards 
him?  This  manifestly  is  not  his  game  at  all.  He  puts  his 
tail  between  his  royal  legs,  and  retreats  into  his  own  snug  den 
as  quickly  as  he  may.  Were  he  to  attempt  to  go  and  fight  six 
tigers,  you  might  write  that  Lion  down  an  Ass. 

Now  Harry  Warrington's  first  feat  of  war  was  in  this  wise. 
He  and  about  13,000  other  fighting  men  embarked  in  various 
ships  and  transports  on  the  ist  of  June,  from  the  Isle  of  Wight, 
and  a<  daybreak  on  the  5th  the  fleet  stood  in  to  the  Bay  of  Can- 
cale  in  Brittany.  For  a  while  he  and  the  gentlemen  volunteers 
had  the  pleasure  of  examining  the  French  coast  from  their 
ships,  whilst  the  Commander-in-Chief  and  the  Commodore 
reconnoitred  the  bay  in  a  cutter.  Cattle  were  seen,  and  some 
dragoons,  who  trotted  off  into  the  distance  ;  and  a  little  fort 
with  a  couple  of  guns  had  the  audacity  to  fire  at  his  Grace  of 
Marlborough  and  the  Commodore  in  the  cutter.  By  two 
o'clock  the  whole  British  fleet  was  at  anchor,  and  signal  was 
made  for  ail  the  grenadier  companies  of  eleven  regiments  to 
embark  on  board  flat- bottomed  boats  and  assemble  round  the 
Commodore's  ship,  the  "  Essex."  Meanwhile,  Mr.  Howe, 
hoisting  his  broad  pennant  on  board  the  ''  Success  "  frigate, 
went  in  as  near  as  possible  to  shore,  followed  by  the  other 
frigates,  to  protect  the  landing  of  the  troops  ;  and,  no\v,  with 
Lord  George  Sackville  and  General  Dury  in  command,  the 
gentlemen  volunteers,  the  Grenadier  companies,  and  three  bat- 
talions of  guards  pulled  to  shore. 

The  gentlemen  volunteers   could   not  do  any  heroic   deed 
upon  this  occasion,  because  the  French,  who  should  have  stayed 


242  THE   VTRGINIANS. 

to  fight  them,  ran  away,  and  the  frigates  having  silenced  the  fire 
of  the  Uttle  fort  which  had  disturbed  the  reconnaissance  of  the 
Commander-in-Chief,  the  army  presently  assaulted  it,  taking 
the  whole  garrison  prisoner,  and  shooting  him  in  the  leg. 
Indeed  he  was  but  one  old  gentleman,  who  gallantly  had 
fired  his  two  guns,  and  who  told  his  conquerors,  "  If  every 
Frenchman  had  acted  like  me,  you  would  not  have  landed  at 
Cancale  at  all." 

The  advanced  detachment  of  invaders  took  possession  of 
the  village  of  Cancale,  where  they  lay  upon  their  arms  all  night : 
and  our  volunteer  was  joked  by  his  comrades  about  his  eager- 
ness to  go  out  upon  the  war-path,  and  bring  in  two  or  three 
scalps  of  P'renchmen.  None  such,  however,  fell  under  his  toma- 
hawk ;  the  only  person  slain  on  the  whole  day  being  a  French 
gentleman,  who  was  riding  with  his  servant,  and  was  surprised 
by  volunteer  Lord  Downe,  marching  in  the  front  with  a  com- 
pany of  Kingsley's.  My  lord  Downe  offered  the  gentleman 
quarter,  which  he  foolishly  refused,  wherupon  he,  his  servant, 
and  the  two  horses,  were  straightway  shot. 

Next  day  the  whole  force  was  landed,  and  advanced  from 
Cancale  to  St.  Malo.  All  the  villages  were  emptied  through 
which  the  troops  passed,  and  the  roads  were  so  narrow  in  many 
places  that  the  men  had  to  march  single  file,  and  might  have 
been  shot  down  from  behind  the  tall  leafy  hedges  had  there 
been  any  enemy  to  disturb  them. 

At  nightfall  the  army  arrived  before  St.  Malo,  and  were 
saluted  by  a  fire  of  artillery  from  that  town,  which  did  little 
damage  in  the  darkness.  Under  cover  of  this,  the  British  set 
fire  to  the  ships,  wooden  buildings,  pitch  and  tar  magazines  in 
the  harbor,  and  made  a  prodigious  conflagration  that  lasted  the 
whole  night. 

This  feat  was  achieved  without  any  attempt  on  the  part  of 
the  French  to  molest  the  British  force  :  but,  as  it  was  con- 
fidently asserted  that  there  was  a  considerable  French  force  in 
the  town  of  St.  Malo,  though  they  wouldn't  come  out,  his  Grace 
the  Duke  of  Marlborough  and  my  Lord  George  Sackville  deter- 
mined not  to  disturb  the  garrison,  marched  back  to  Cancale 
again,  and — and  so  got  on  board  their  ships. 

If  this  were  not  a  veracious  histor}',  don't  you  see  that  it 
would  have  been  easy  to  send  our  Virginian  on  a  more  glorious 
campaign  !  Exactly  four  weeks  after  his  departure  from  Eng- 
land, Mr.  Warrington  found  himself  at  Portsmouth  again,  and 
addressed  a  letter  to  his  brother  George,  with  which  the  latter 
ran  off  to  Dean  Street  so  soon  as  ever  he  received  it. 


THE  VIRGINIANS. 


543 


^^  Glorious  news,  ladies  !  "  cries  he,  finding  the  Lambert 
family  all  at  breakfast.  "  Our  champion  has  come  back.  He 
has  undergone  all  sorts  of  dangers,  but  has  survived  them  all. 
He  has  seen  dragons — upon  my  word,  he  says  so." 

"  Dragons  !     What  do  you  mean,  Mr.  Warrington  ?  " 
"  But  not  killed  any — he   says  so,  as  you  shall  hear      He 
writes  : — 

"  Dearest  Brother, — I  think  you  will  be  glad  to  hear  that  I  am  returned,  without 
any  commission  as  yet  ;  without  any  wounds  or  glory  ;  \>\^\.?i\.2iX\y  r^X^,  alive  a7id  harty. 
Oa  board  our  ship,  we  were  almost  as  crowded  as  poor  Mr.  Holwell  and  his  friends  in  their 
Black  Hole  at  Calicutta.  We  had  rough  weather,  and  some  of  the  gentlemen  volunteers, 
who  prefer  smooth  water,  grumbled  not  a  little.  My  gentlemen's  stomachs  are  dainty  ;  and 
after  Braund's  cookery  and  White's  kick-shaws,  they  don't  like  plain  sailor's  ricin  and  bisket. 
But  I,  who  have  been  at  sea  before,  took  my  rations  and  can  of  flip  veiy  contentedly  :  being 
determined  to  put  a  good  face  on  everything  before  our  fine  English  macaronis,  and  show 
that  a  Virginia  gentleman  is  as  good  as  the  best  of  'em.  I  wish,  for  the  honor  of  old  Vir- 
ginia, that  I  had  more  to  brag  about.  But  all  I  can  say  in  truth  is,  that  we  have  been  to 
France  and  come  back  again.  Why,  I  don't  think  even  your  tragick  pen  could  make  any- 
thing of  such  a  campaign  as  ours  as  been.  We  landed  on  the  6  at  Cancalle  Bay,  we  saw  a 
few  dragons  on  a  hill    *     *    *" 

"  There  !  Did  I  not  tell  you  there  were  dragons  ?  "  asks 
George,  laughing. 

"  Mercy  !  What  can  he  mean  by  dragons  ?  "  cries  Hetty. 

"  Immense,  long-tailed  monsters,  with  steel  scales  on  their 
backs,  who  vomit  fire,  and  gobble  up  a  virgin  a-day.  Haven't 
you  read  about  them  in  '  The  Seven  Champions  ? '  "  says  papa. 
"  Seeing  St.  George's  flag,  I  suppose,  they  slunk  off." 

"I  have  read  of  'em,"  says  the  little  boy  from  Chartreux, 
solemnly.  "  They  like  to  eat  women.  One  was  going  to  eat 
Andromeda,  you  know  papa  :  and  Jason  killed  another,  who 
was  guarding  the  apple-tree." 

"  *  *  *  A  few  dragons  on  a  hill,"  George  resumes,  "  who  rode  away  from  us  without 
engaging.  We  slept  under  canvass.  We  marched  to  St.  Malo,  and  burned  ever  so  many 
privateers  there.  And  we  went  on  board  shipp  again,  without  ever  crossing  swords  with  an 
enemy  or  meeting  any  except  a  few  poor  devils  ^vhom  the  troops  plundered.  Better  luck 
next  time  !  This  hasn't  been  very  much  nor  particidar  glorious  ;  but  I  have  liked  it  for 
my  part.  I  have  smell  powder,  besides  a  deal  of  rosn  and  pitch  we  burned.  I've  seen  the 
enemy  ;  have  sleppt  under  canvass,  and  been  dreadful  crowdid  and  sick  at  sea.  I  like  it. 
My  best  compliments  to  dear  Aunt  Lambert,  and  tell  Miss  Hetty  I  wasn't  very  much 
/ritened\\\\e.n  I  saw  the  French  horse. 

"  Your  most  affectionate  brother, 

"  H.  E.  Warrington." 

We  hope  Miss  Hetty's  qualms  of  conscience  were  allayed 
by  Harr}^'s  announcement  that  his  expedition  was  over,  and 
that  he  had  so  far  taken  no  hurt.  Far  otherwise.  Mr. 
Lambert,  in  the  course  of  his  official  duties,  had  occasion  to 
visit  the  troops  at  Portsmouth  and  the  Isle  of  Weight,  and 
George  Warrington  bore  him   company.     They  found   Harry 


544  ^^^  VIRGINIANS. 

vastly  improved  in  spirits  and  health  from  the  excitement  pro- 
duced by  the  little  campaign,  quite  eager  and  pleased  to  learn 
his  new  military  duties,  active,  cheerful,  anp  healthy,  and 
altogether  a  different  person  from  the  listless  mojoing  lad  who 
had  dawdled  in  London  coffee-houses  and  Mrs.  Lambert's 
drawing-room.  The  troops  were  under  canvas  ;  the  weather 
was  glorious,  and  George  found  his  brother  a  ready  pupil  in  a 
fine  brisk  open-air  school  of  war.  Not  a  little  amused,  the 
elder  brother,  arm-in-arm  with  the  young  volunteer,  paced  the 
streets  of  the  warlike  city,  recalled  his  own  brief  military 
experiences  of  two  years  back,  and  saw  here  a  much  greater 
army  than  that  ill-fated  one  of  which  he  had  shared  the  disas- 
ters. The  expedition,  such  as  we  have  seen  it,  was  certainly 
not  glorious,  and  yet  the  troops  and  the  nation  were  in  high 
spirits  with  it.  We  were  said  to  have  humiliated  the  proud 
Gaul.  We  should  have  vanquished  as  as  well  as  humbled  him 
had  he  dared  to  appear.  What  valor,  after  all,  is  like  British 
valor  .^  I  dare  say  some  such  expressions  have  been  heard  in 
later  times.  Not  that  I  would  hint  that  our  people  brag  much 
more  than  any  other,  or  more  now  than  formerly.  Have  not 
these  e3.TS  beheld  the  battle-grounds  of  Leipzig,  Jena,  Dresden 
Waterloo,  Blenheim,  Bunker's  Hill,  New  Orleans .?  What 
heroic  nation  has  not  fought,  has  not  conquered,  has  not  run 
away,  has  not  bragged  in  its  turn  t  Well,  the  British  nation 
was  much  excited  by  the  glorious  victory  of  St.  Malo.  Captured 
treasures  were  sent  home  and  exhibited  in  London.  The 
people  were  so  excited,  that  more  laurels  and  more  victories  were 
demanded,  and  the  enthusiastic  army  went  forth  to  seek  some. 

With  this  new  expedition  went  a  volunteer  so  distinguished 
that  we  must  give  him  precedence  of  all  other  amateur  soldiers 
or  sailors.  This  v/as  our  sailor  Prince,  H.R.H.  Prince  Edward, 
who  was  conveyed  on  board  the  "  Essex  "  in  the  ship's  twelve- 
oared  barge,  the  standard  of  England  flying  in  the  bow  of  the 
boat,  the  Admiral  with  his  flag  and  boat  following  the  Prince's 
and  all  the  captains  following  in  seniority. 

Away  sails  the  fleet,  Harry,  in  high  health  and  spirits, 
waving  his  hat  to  his  friends  as  they  cheer  from  the  shore.  He 
must  and  will  have  his  commission  before  long.  There  can  be  no 
difficulty  about  that,  George  thinks.  There  is  plenty  of  money 
in  his  little  store  to  buy  his  brother's  ensigncy ;  but  if  he  can 
win  it  without  purchase  by  gallantry  and  good  conduct,  that 
were  best.  The  colonel  of  the  regiment  reports  highly  of  his 
recruit ;  men  and  officers  like  him.  It  is  easy  to  see  that  he  is 
a  young  fellow  of  good  promise  and  spirit. 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


545 


Hip,  hip,  huzzay  !  What  famous  news  are  these  which  arrive 
ten  days  after  the  expedition  has  sailed  ?  On  the  7th  and  8th 
of  August  his  Majesty's  troops  have  effected  a  landing  in  the 
Bay  des  ]\Iarais,  two  leagues  westward  of  Cherbourg,  in  the  face 
of  a  large  body  of  the  enemy.  Awed  by  the  appearance  of 
British  valor,  that  large  body  of  the  enemy  has  disappeared. 
Cherbourg  has  surrendered  at  discretion  ;  and  the  English 
colors  are  hoisted  on  the  three  outlying  forts.  Seven-and- 
twenty  ships  have  been  burned  in  the  harbors,  and  a  prodigious 
number  of  fine  brass  cannon  taken.  As  for  your  common  iron 
guns,  we  have  destroyed  'em,  likewise  the  basin  (about  which 
the  Mounseers  bragged  so),  and  the  two  piers  at  the  entrance 
to  the  harbor. 

There  is  no  end  of  jubilation  in  London  ;  just  as  Mr.  Howe's 
guns  arrive  from  Cherbourg,  come  Mr.  Wolfe's  colors  captured 
at  Louisbourg.  The  colors  are  taken  from  Kensington  to  St. 
Paul's,  escorted  by  fourscore  life-guards  and  fourscore  horse- 
grenadiers  with  officers  in  proportion,  their  standards,  kettle- 
drums, and  trumpets.  At  St.  Paul's  they  are  received  by  the 
Dean  and  Chapter  at  the  West  Gate,  and  that  minute — bang, 
bong,  bung — the  Tower  and  Park  guns  salute  them  !  Next  day 
is  the  turn  of  the  Cherbourg  cannon  and  mortars.  These  are 
the  guns  we  took.  Look  at  them  with  their  carving  and  flaunt- 
ing emblems — their  lilies,  and  crowns,  and  mottoes  !  Here 
they  are,  the  Te'me'raire,  the  Malfaisant,  the  Vainqueur  (the 
Vainqueur,  indeed!  a  pretty  vainqueer  of  Britons  !),  and  ever  so 
many  more.  How  the  people  shout  as  the  pieces  are  trailed 
through  the  streets  in  procession  !  As  for  Hetty  and  Mrs. 
Lambert,  I  believe  they  are  of  opinion  that  Harry  took  every 
one  of  the  guns  himself,  dragging  them  out  of  the  batteries,  and 
destroying  the  artillerymen.  He  has  immensely  risen  in  the 
general  estimation  in  the  last  few  days.  Madame  de  Bernstein 
has  asked  about  him.  Lady  Maria  has  begged  her  dear  Cousin 
George  to  see  her,  and,  if  possible,  give  her  news  of  his  brother. 
George,  who  was  quite  the  head  of  the  family  a  couple  of  months 
since,  finds  himself  deposed,  and  of  scarce  any  account,  in  Miss 
Hetty's  eyes  at  least.  Your  wit,  and  your  learning,  and  your 
tragedies,  may  be  all  very  well ;  but  what  are  these  in  compari- 
son to  victories  and  brass  cannon  ?  George  takes  his  deposi- 
tion very  meekly.  They  are  fifteen  thousand  Britons.  Why 
should  they  not  march  and  take  Paris  itself?  Nothing  more 
probable,  think  some  of  the  ladies.  They  embrace  \  they  con- 
gratulate each  other ;  they  are  in  a  high  state  of  excitement. 
For  once,  they  long  that  Sir  Miles  and  Lady  Warrington  were 


546  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

\\\  town,  so  that  they  might  pay  her  ladyship  a  visit,  and  ask, 
"  What  do  you  say  to  your  nephew  now,  pray  ?  Has  he  not 
taken  twenty-one  finest  brass  cannon ;  flung  a  hundred  and 
twenty  iron  guns  into  the  water,  seized  twenty-seven  ships  in 
the  harbor,  and  destroyed  the  basin  and  the  two  piers  at  the 
entrance  ? "  As  the  whole  town  rejoices  and  illuminates,  so 
these  worthy  folks  display  brilliant  red  hangings  in  their  cheeks, 
and  light  up  candles  of  joy  in  their  eyes,  in  honor  of  their  cham- 
pion and  conqueror. 

But  now,  I  grieve  to  say,  comes  a  cloudy  day  after  the  fait 
weather.  The  appetite  of  our  commanders,  growing  by  what 
it  fed  on,  led  them  to  think  they  had  not  feasted  enough  on  the 
plunder  of  St.  Malo ;  and  thither,  after  staying  a  brief  time  at 
Portsmouth  and  the  Wight,  the  conquerors  of  Cherbourg  re- 
turned. They  were  landed  in  the  Bay  of  St.  Lunar,  at  the 
distance  of  a  few  miles  from  the  place,  and  marched  towards 
it,  intending  to  destroy  it  this  time.  Meanwhile  the  harbor  of 
St.  Lunar  was  found  insecure,  and  the  fleet  moved  up  to  St. 
Cas,  keeping  up  its  communication  wdth  the  invading  army. 

Now  the  British  Lion  found  that  the  town  of  St.  Malo — 
which  he  had  proposed  to  swallow  at  a  single  mouthful — was 
guarded  by  an  army  of  French,  which  the  Governor  of  Brittany 
had  brought  to  the  succor  of  his  good  town,  and  the  meditated 
coup  de  7naifi  being  thus  impossible,  our  leaders  marched  for 
their  ships  again,  which  lav  dulv  awaiting  our  warriors  in  the 
Bay  of  St.  Cas. 

Hide,  blushing  glory,  hide  St.  Cas's  day  !  As  our  troops 
were  marching  down  to  their  ships  they  became  aware  of  an 
army  following  them  which  the  French  governor  of  the  province 
had  sent  from  Brest.  Two-thirds  of  the  troops,  and  all  the  ar- 
tillery, were  already  embarked,  when  the  Frenchmen  came  down 
upon  the  remainder.  Four  companies  of  the  First  Regiment 
of  Guards  and  the  Grenadier  companies  of  the  army,  faced 
about  on  the  beach  to  await  the  enemy,  whilst  the  remaining 
troops  were  carried  off  in  their  boats.  As  the  French  descended 
from  the  heights  round  the  bay,  these  Guards  and  Grenadiers 
marched  out  to  attack  them,  leaving  an  excellent  position  which 
they  had  occupied — a  great  dyke  raised  on  the  shore,  and  be- 
hind which  they  might  have  resisted  to  advantage.  And  now, 
eleven  hundred  men  were  engaged  with  six — nay,  ten  times 
their  number  and,  after  a  while,  broke  and  made  for  the  boats 
with  a  saiive  qui  pent  I  Seven  hundred  out  of  the  eleven  were 
killed,  drowned,  or  taken  prisoners — the  General  himself  was 
killed — and,  ah  !  where  were  Ihe  volunteers  ? 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  c^.^ 

A  man  of  peace  myself,  and  little  intelligent  of  the  practice 
or  the  details  of  war,  I  own  I  think  less  of  the  engaged  troops 
than  of  the  people  they  leave  behind.  Jack  the  Guardsman 
and  La  Tulipe  of  the  Royal  Bretagne  are  face  to  face,  and  striv^ 
ing  to  knock  each  other's  brains  out.  Bon  !  It  is  their  nature 
to — like  the  bears  and  lions — and  we  will  not  say  heaven,  but 
some  power  or  other  has  made  them  so  to  do.  But  the  girl  of 
Tower  Hill,  who  hung  on  Jack's  neck  before  he  departed ;  and 
the  lass  at  Quimper,  who  gave  the  Frenchman  his  brule-gueule 
and  tobacco-box  before  he  departed  on  the  noi?'  trajed  ?  What 
have  you  done,  poor  little  tender  hearts,  that  you  should  grieve 
so  t  My  business  is  not  with  the  army,  but  with  the  people  left 
behind.  What  a  fine  state  Miss  Hetty  Lambert  must  be  in, 
when  she  hears  of  the  disaster  to  the  troops  and  the  slaughter 
of  the  Grenadier  companies  !  What  grief  and  doubt  are  in 
George  Warrington's  breast ;  what  commiseration  in  Martin 
Lambert's,  as  he  looks  into  his  little  girl's  face,  and  reads  her 
piteous  story  there  ?  Howe,  the  brave  Commodore,  rowing  in 
his  barge  under  the  enemy's  fire,  has  rescued  with  his  boat 
scores  and  scores  of  our  flying  people.  More  are  drowned ; 
hundreds  are  prisoners,  or  shot  on  the  beach.  Among  these, 
where  is  our  Virginian  1 


CHAPTER  LXV. 

soldier's   return. 


Great  Powers  !  will  the  vain  glor}-  of  men,  especially  of 
Frenchmen,  never  cease  ?  Will  it  be  believed,  that  after  the  action 
of  St.  Cas — a  mere  affair  of  cutting  off  a  rear-guard,  as  you  are 
aware — they  were  so  unfeeling  as  to  fire  away  I  don't  know  how 
much  powder  at  the  Invalides  at  Paris,  and  brag  and  bluster  over 
our  misfortune  1  Is  there  any  magnanimity  in  hallooing  and 
huzzaying  because  five  or  six  hundred  brave  fellows  have  been 
caught  by  ten  thousand  on  a  sea-shore,  and  that  fate  has  over- 
taken them  which  is  said  to  befall  the  hindmost  ?  I  had  a  mind 
to  design  an  authentic  picture  of  the  rejoicings  at  London  upon 
our  glorious  success  at  St.  Malo.  I  fancied  the  polished  guns 
dragged  in  procession  by  our  gallant  tars  ;    the   stout  horse- 


^48  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

grenadiers  prancing  by  ;  the  mob  waving  hats,  roaring  cheers, 
picking  pockets,  a'nd  our  friends  in  a  balcony  in  Fleet  Street 
looking  on  and  blessing  this  scene  of  British  triumph.  But  now 
that  the  French  Invalides  have  been  so  vulgar  as  to  imitate  the 
Tower,  and  set  up  their  St.  Cas  against  our  St.  Malo,  I  scorn 
to  allude  to  the  stale  subject.  I  say  Nolo,  not  Malo  :  content, 
for  my  part,  if  Harry  has  returned  from  one  expedition  and 
t'other  with  a  whole  skin.  And  have  I  ever  said  he  was  so  much 
as  bruised  ?  Have  I  not,  for  fear  of  exciting  my  fair  young 
reader,  said  that  he  was  as  well  as  ever  he  had  been  in  his  life  ? 
The  sea  air  had  browned  his  cheek,  and  the  ball  whistling  by 
his  side-curl  had  spared  it.  The  ocean  had  wet  his  gaiters  and 
other  garments,  without  swallowing  up  his  body.  He  had,  it  is 
true,  shown  the  lapels  of  his  coat  to  the  enemy  ;  but  for  as 
short  a  time  as  possible,  withdrawing  out  of  their  sight  as  quick 
as  might  be.  And  what,  pray,  are  lapels  but  reverses  ?  Coats 
have  them  as  well  as  men  ;  and  our  duty  is  to  wear  them 
with  courage  and  good-humor. 

"I  can  tell  you,"  said  Harry,  "we  all  had  to  run  for  it ;  and 
when  our  line  broke,  it  was  he  could  get  to  the  boat  who  was 
most  lucky.  The  French  horse  and  foot  pursued  us  down  to 
the  sea,  and  were  mingled  among  us,  cutting  our  men  down,  and 
bayoneting  them  on  the  ground.  Poor  Armytage  was  shot  in 
advance  of  me,  and  fell  :  and  I  took  him  up  and  staggered 
through  the  surf  to  a  boat.  It  was  lucky  that  the  sailors  in  our 
boat  weren't  afraid  ;  for  the  shot  were  whistling  about  their 
ears,  breaking  the  blades  of  their  oars,  and  riddling  their  flag 
with  shot ;  but  the  ofhcer  in  command  was  as  cool  as  if  he  had 
been  drinking  a  bowl  of  punch  at  Portsmouth,  which  we  had  one 
on  landing,  I  can  promise  you.  Poor  Sir  John  was  less  lucky 
than  me.  He  never  lived  to  reach  the  ship,  and  the  service  has 
lost  a  fine  soldier,  and  Miss  Howe  a  true  gentleman  to  her 
husband.  There  must  be  these  casualties,  you  see  ;  and  his 
brother  gets  the  promotion — the  baronetcy." 

''  It  is  of  the  poor  lady  I  am  thinking,"  says  Miss  Hetty  (to 
whom  haply  our  volunteer  is  telling  his  story)  ;  "  and  the  King. 
Why  did  the  King  encourage  Sir  John  Armytage  to  go  ?  A 
gentleman  could. not  refuse  a  command  from  such  a  quarter. 
And  now  the  poor  gentleman  is  dead  !  Oh,  what  a  state  his 
Majesty  must  be  in  !  " 

"  I  have  no  doubt  his  Majesty  will  be  in  a  deep  state  of 
grief,"  says  papa,  wagging  his  head 

"  Now  you  are  laughing  !  Do  you  mean,  sir,  that  when  a 
gentleman  dies  in  his  service,  almost   at  his  feet,  the   King  of 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  549 

England  won't  feel  for  him  ?  "  Hetty  asks.  "  If  I  thought  that, 
I  vow  I  would  be  for  the  Pretender  !  " 

"  The  sauce-box  would  make  a  pretty  little  head  for  Temple 
Bar,"  says  the  General,  who  could  see  Miss  Hetty's  meaning 
behind  her  words,  and  was  aware  in  what  a  tumult  of  remorse, 
of  consternation,  of  gratitude  that  the  danger  was  over,  the  little 
heart  was  beating.  "  No,"  says  he,  ''  my  dear.  Were  kings  to 
w^eep  for  every  soldier,  what  a  life  you  would  make  for  them ! 
I  think  better  of  his  Majesty  than  to  suppose  him  so  weak  ; 
and,  if  Miss  Hester  Lambert  got  her  Pretender,  I  doubt  wdiether 
she  would  be  any  the  happier.  That  family  was  never  famous 
for  too  much  feeling." 

"  But  if  the  King  sent  Harry — I  mean  Sir  John  Armytage 
— actually  to  the  war  in  which  he  lost  his  life,  oughtn't  his 
Majesty  to  repent  very  much  ? "  asks  the  young  lady. 

"  If  Harry  had  fallen,  no  doubt  the  Court  would  have  gone 
into  mourning :  as  it  is,  gentlemen  and  ladies  were  in  colored 
clothes  yesterday,"  remarks  the  General. 

"  Why  should  we  not  make  bonfires  for  a  defeat,  and  put  on 
sackcloth  and  ashes  after  a  victory  ?  "  asks  George.  "  I  protest 
I  don't  want  to  thank  heaven  for  helping  us  to  burn  the  ships 
at  Cherbourg." 

"  Yes,  you  do,  George  !  Not  that  I  have  a  right  to  speak, 
and  you  ain't  ever  so  much  cleverer.  But  when  you're  country 
wins  you're  glad — I  know  /am.  When  I  run  away  before  French- 
men I'm  ashamed — I  can't  help  it,  though  I  ^^;/,f  it,"  says  Harry. 
It  don't  seem  to  me  right  somehow  that  Englishmen  should 
have  to  do  it,"  he  added,  gravely.  And  George  smiled ;  but 
did  not  choose  to  ask  his  brother  what,  on  the  other  hand,  was 
the  Frenchman's  opinion. 

"  'Tis  a  bad  business,"  continued  Harry,  gravely  :  ''but  'tis 
lucky  'twas  no  worse.  The  story  about  the  French  is,  that  their 
Governor,  the  Duke  of  Aiguillon,  was  rather  what  you  call  a 
77ioistened  chickeji.  Our  whole  retreat  might  have  been  cut  off, 
only,  to  be  sure,  we  ourselves  were  in  a  mighty  hurry  to  move. 
The  French  local  militia  behaved  famous,  I  am  happy  to  say ; 
and  there  were  ever  so  many  gentlemen  volunteers  with  'em, 
who  showed,  as  they  ought  to  do,  in  the  front.  They  say  that 
the  Chevalier  of  Tour  d'Auvergne  engaged  in  spite  of  the  Duke 
of  Aiguillon's  orders.  Officers  told  us,  who  came  off  with  a 
list  of  our  prisoners  and  wounded  to  General  Bligh  and  Lord 
Howe.  He  is  a  lord  now,  since  the  news  came  of  his  brother's- 
death  to  home,  George.  He  is  a  brave  fellow,  whether  lord  or 
commoner." 


55©  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

"  And  his  sister,  who  was  to  have  married  poor  Sir  John 
Armytage,  think  what  her  state  must  be  1  "  sighs  Miss  Hetty, 
who  has  grown  of  late  so  sentimental. 

"And  his  mother !  "  cries  Mrs.  Lambert.  "  Have  you  seen 
her  ladyship's  address  in  the  papers  to  the  electors  of  Notting- 
ham ?  'Lord  Howe  being  now  absent  upon  the  publick  ser- 
vice, and  Lieutenant -Colonel  Howe  with  his  regiment  at 
Louisbourg,  it  rests  upon  me  to  beg  the  favor  of  your  votes 
and  interests  that  Lieutenant-Colonel  Howe  may  supply  the 
place  of  his  late  brother  as  your  representative  in  Parliament.' 
Isn't  this  a  gallant  woman  ?  " 

"A  laconic  woman,"  says  George. 

"  How  can  sons  help  being  brave  who  have  been  nursed  by 
such  a  mother  as  that,"  asks  the  General. 

Our  two  young  men  looked  at  each  other. 

"  If  one  of  us  were  to  fall  in  defence  of  his  country,  we  have 
a  mother  in  Sparta  who  would  think  and  write  so  too,"  says 
George. 

"  If  Sparta  is  anywhere  Virginia  way,  I  reckon  we  have," 
remarks  Mr.  Harry.  "  And  to  think  that  w^e  should  both  of  us 
have  met  the  enemy,  and  both  of  us  been  whipped  by  him, 
brother,"  he  adds  pensively. 

Hetty  looks  at  him,  and  thinks  of  him  only  as  he  was  the 
other  day,  tottering  through  the  water  tow^ards  the  boats,  his 
comrade  bleeding  on  his  shoulder,  the  enemy  in  pursuit,  the 
shot  flying  round.  And  it  was  she  who  drove  him  into  the 
danger !  Her  words  provoked  him.  He  never  rebukes  her 
now  he  is  returned.  Except  when  asked,  he  scarcely  speaks 
about  his  adventures  at  all.  He  is  very  grave  and  courteous 
with  Hetty ;  with  the  rest  of  the  family  especially  frank  and 
tender.  But  those  taunts  of  hers  wounded  him.  "  Little 
hand!"  his' looks  and  demeanor  seem  to  say,  " //z<?z/ shouldst 
not  have  been  lifted  against  me  !  It  is  ill  to  scorn  any  one, 
much  more  one  who  has  been  so  devoted  to  you  and  all  yours. 
I  may  not  be  over  quick  of  wit,  but  in  as  far  as  the  heart  goes, 
I  am  the  equal  of  the  best,  and  the  best  of  my  heart  your 
family  has  had." 

Harry's  wrong,  and  his  magnanimous  endurance  of  it, 
served  him  to  regain  in  Miss  Hetty's  esteem  that  place  which 
he  had  lost  during  the  previous  month's  inglorious  idleness. 
The  respect  which  the  fair  pay  to  the  brave  she  gave  him.  She 
was  no  longer  pert  in  her  answers,  or  sarcastic  in  her  observa- 
tions regarding  his  conduct.  In  a  word,  she  was  a  humiliated, 
an  altered,  an  improved  Miss  Hetty. 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


551 


And  all  the  world  seemed  to  change  towards  Harry,  as  he 
towards  the  world.  He  was  no  longer  sulky  and  indolent :  he 
no  more  desponded  about  hhnself,  or  defied  his  neighbors. 
The  colonel  of  his  regiment  reported  his  behavior  as  exemplary, 
and  recommended  him  for  one  of  the  commissions  vacated  by 
the  casualties  during  the  expedition.  Unlucky  as  the  termina- 
tion was,  it  at  least  was  fortunate  to  him.  His  brother  volun- 
teers, when  they  came  back  to  St.  James's  Street,  reported 
highly  of  his  behavior.  These  volunteers  and  their  actions 
were  the  theme  of  everybody's  praise.  Had  he  been  a  general 
commanding,  and  slain  in  the  moment  of  victory.  Sir  John 
Armytage  could  scarce  have  had  more  sympathy  than  that 
which  the  nation  showed  him.  The  papers  teemed  with  letters 
about  him,  and  men  of  wit  and  sensibility  vied  with  each  other 
in  composing  epitaphs  in  his  honor.  The  fate  of  his  affianced 
bride  was  bewailed.  She  was,  as  we  have  said,  the  sister  of 
the  brave  Commodore  who  had  just  returned  from  this  unfor- 
tunate expedition,  and  succeeded  to  the  title  of  his  elder 
brother,  an  officer  as  gallant  as  himself,  who  had  just  fallen  in 
America. 

My  Lord  Howe  was  heard  to  speak  in  special  praise  of  Mr. 
Warrington,  and  so  he  had  a  handsome  share  of  the  fashion 
and  favor  which  the  town  now  bestowed  on  the  volunteers. 
Doubtless  there  were  thousands  of  men  employed  who  were  as 
good  as  they  :  but  the  English  ever  love  their  gentlemen,  and 
love  that  they  should  distinguish  themselves ;  and  these  volun- 
teers were  voted  Paladins  and  heroes  by  common  accord.  As 
our  young  noblemen  will,  they  accepted  their  popularity  very 
affably.  White's  and  Almack's  illuminated  when  they  returned, 
and  St.  James's  embraced  its  young  knights.  Harry  was  re- 
stored to  full  favor  amongst  them.  Their  hands  were  held  out 
eagerly  to  him  again.  Even  his  relations  congratulated  him  \ 
and  there  came  a  letter  from  Castlewood,  whither  Aunt  Bern- 
stein had  by  this  time  betaken  herself,  containing  praises  of 
his  valor,  and  a  pretty  little  bank-bill,  as  a  token  of  his  affec- 
tionate aunt's  approbation.  This  was  under  my  Lord  Castle- 
wood's  frank,  who  sent  his  regards  to  both  his  kinsmen,  and 
an  offer  of  the  hospitality  of  his  country  house,  if  they  were 
minded  to  come  to  him.  And  besides  this  there  came  to  him 
a  private  letter  through  the  post — not  very  well  spelt,  but  in  a 
handwriting  which  Harry  smiled  to  see  again,  in  which  his 
affectionate  cousin,  Maria  Esmond,  told  him  she  always  loved 
to  hear  his  praises  (which  were  in  everybody's  mouth  now), 
and  sympathized  in  his  good  or  evil  fortune  ;  and  that,  what- 


^^2  THE   VIRGIA^IAiVS. 

ever  occurred  to  him,  she  begged  to  keep  a  little  place  in  his 
heart.  Parson  Sampson,  she  wrote,  had  preached  a  beautiful 
sermon  about  the  horrors  of  war,  and  the  noble  actions  of  men 
who  volunteered  to  face  battle  and  danger  in  the  service  of 
their  countr}\  Indeed,  the  Chaplain  wrote  himself,  presently, 
a  letter  full  of  enthusiasm,  in  which  he  saluted  Mr.  Harry  as 
his  friend,  his  benefactor,  his  glorious  hero.  Even  Sir  Miles 
Warrington  despatched  a  basket  of  game  from  Norfolk  :  and 
one  bird  (shot  sitting),  with  love  to  my  cousin,  had  a  string  and 
paper  round  the  leg,  and  was  sent  as  the  first  victim  of  young 
Miles's  fowling-piece. 

And  presently,  with  joy  beaming  in  his  countenance,  Mr. 
Lambert  came  to  visit  his  young  friends  at  their  lodgings  in 
Southampton  Row,  and  announced  to  them  that  Mr.  Henry 
Warrington  was  forthwith  to  be  gazetted  as  Ensign  in  the 
Second  Battalion  of  Kingsley's,  the  20th  Regiment,  which  had 
been  engaged  in  the  campaign,  and  which  now  at  this  time  was 
formed  into  a  separate  regiment,  the  67th.  Its  colonel  was 
not  with  his  regiment  during  its  expedition  to  Brittany.  He 
was  away  at  Cape  Breton,  and  was  engaged  in  capturing  those 
guns  at  Louisbourg,  of  which  the  arrival  in  England  had  caused 
such  exultation. 


CHAPTER    LXVI. 

IN    WHICH    WE    GO  A-COURTING. 


Some  of  my  amiable  readers  no  doubt  are  in  the  custom  of 
visiting  that  famous  garden  in  the  Regent's  Park,  in  which  so 
many  of  our  finned,  feathered,  four-footed  fellow-creatures  are 
accommodated  with  board  and  lodging,  in  return  for  which 
they  exhibit  themselves  for  our  instruction  and  amusement : 
and  there,  as  a  man's  business  and  private  thoughts  follow  him 
ever\'where  and  mix  themselves  with  all  life  and  nature  round 
about  him,  I  found  myself,  whilst  looking  at  some  fish  in  the 
aquarium,  still  actually  thinking  of  our  friends  the  Virginians. 
One  of  the  most  beautiful  motion-masters  I  ever  beheld, 
sweeping  through  his  green  bath  in  harmonious  curves,  now 
turning  his  black  glistening  back  to  me,  now  exhibiting  his  fair 
white  chest,  in  every  movement  active  and  graceful,  turned  out 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  ^^3 

to  be  our  old  homely  friend  the  flounder,  whom  we  have  all 
gobbled  up  out  of  his  bath  of  water  souchy  at  Greenwich, 
without  having  the  slightest  idea  that  he  was  a  beauty. 

As  is  the  race  of  man,  so  is  the  race  of  flounders.  If  you 
can  but  see  the  latter  in  his  right  element,  you  may  view  him 
agile,  healthy  and  comely :  put  him  out  of  his  place,  and  behold 
his  beauty  is  gone,  his  motions  are  disgraceful  :  he  flaps  the 
unfeeling  ground  ridiculously  with  his  tail,  and  will  presently 
gasp  his  feeble  life   out.     Take  him  up  tenderly,  ere  it  be  too 

late,  and   cast  him   into  his   native   Thames   again But 

stop  :  I  believe  there  is  a  certain  proverb  about  fish  out  of 
water,  and  that  other  profound  naturalists  have  remarked  on 
them  before  me.  Now  Harry  Warrington  had  been  flounder- 
ing for  ever  so  long  a  time  past,  and  out  of  his  proper  element. 
As  soon  as  he  found  it,  health,  strength,  spirits,  energy, 
returned  to  him,  and  with  the  tap  of  the  epaulet  on  his 
shoulder  he  sprang  up  an  altered  being.  He  delighted  in  his 
new  profession  ;  he  engaged  in  all  its  details,  and  mastered 
them  with  eager  quickness.  Had  I  the  skill  of  my  friend 
Lorrequer,  I  would  follow  the  other  Harry  into  camp,  and  see 
him  on  the  march,  at  the  mess,  on  the  parade-ground  ;  I  would 
have  many  a  carouse  with  him  and  his  companions  ;  I  would 
cheerfully  live  with  him  under  the  tents  ;  I  would  knowingly 
explain  all  the  manoeuvres  of  war,  and  all  the  details  of  the 
life  military.  As  it  is,  the  reader  must  please,  out  of  his 
experience  and  imagination,  to  fill  in  the  colors  of  the  picture 
of  which  I  can  give  but  meagre  hints  and  outlines,  and,  above 
all,  fancy  Mr.  Harry  Warrington  in  his  new  red  coat  and 
yellow  facings,  very  happy  to  bear  the  King's  colors,  and 
pleased  to  learn  and  perform  all  the  duties  of  his  new 
profession. 

As  each  young  man  delighted  in  the  excellence  of  the 
other,  and  cordially  recognized  his  brother's  superior  qualities, 
George,  we  may  be  sure,  was  proud  of  Harry's  success,  and 
rejoiced  in  his  returning  good  fortune.  He  wrote  an  affection- 
ate letter  to  his  mother  in  Virginia,  recounting  all  the  praises 
which  he  had  heard  of  Harr3%  and  which  his  brother's 
modesty,  George  knew,  would  never  allow  him  to  repeat.  He 
described  how  Harry  had  won  his  own  first  step  in  the  army, 
and  how  he,  George,  would  ask  his  mother  leave  to  share  with 
her  the  expense  of  purchasing  a  higher  rank  for  him. 

Nothing,  said  George,  could  give  him  a  greater  delight, 
than  to  be  able  to  help  his  brother,  and  the  more  so,  as,  by  his 
sudden  return  into  life  as  it  were,  he  had  deprived  Harry  of  an 


254  ^^^   VIRGINIANS. 

inheritance  which  he  had  legitimately  considered  as  his  own. 
Laboring  under  that  misconception,  Harry  had  indulged  in 
greater  expenses  than  he  ever  would  have  thought  of  incurring 
as  a  younger  brother :  and  George  thought  it  was  but  fair,  and 
as  it  were,  as  a  thank-offering  for  his  own  deliverance,  that  he 
should  contribute  liberall-y  to  any  scheme  for  his  brother's 
advantage. 

And  now,  having  concluded  his  statement  respecting 
Harry's  affairs,  George  took  occasion  to  speak  of  his  own,  and 
addressed  his  honored  mother  on  a  point  which  very  deeply 
concerned  himself.  She  was  aware  that  the  best  friends  he 
and  his  brother  had  found  in  England,  were  the  good  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Lambert,  the  latter  Madam  Esmond's  school-fellow  in 
earlier  3'ears.  Where  their  own  blood  relations  had  been 
worldly  and  unfeeling,  these  true  friends  had  ever  been 
generous  and  kind.  The  General  was  respected  by  the  whole 
army,  and  beloved  by  all  who  knew  him.  No  mother's 
affection  could  have  been  more  touching  than  Mrs.  Lambert's 
for  both  Madam  Esmond's  children  ;  and  now,  wrote  Mr. 
George,  he  himself  had  formed  an  attachment  for  the  elder 
Miss  Lambert,  on  which  he  thought  the  happiness  of  his  life 
depended,  and  which  he  besought  his  honored  mother  to 
approve.  He  had  made  no  precise  offers  to  the  young  lady  or 
her  parents  ;  but  he  was  bound  to  say  that  he  had  made  little 
disguise  of  his  sentiments,  and  that  the  young  lady,  as  well  as 
her  parents,  seemed  favorable  to  him.  She  had  been  so 
admirable  and  exemplar}^  a  daughter  to  her  own  mother,  that 
he  felt  sure  she  would  do  her  duty  by  his.  In  a  word,  Mr. 
Warrington  described  the  young  lady  as  a  model  of  perfection, 
and  expressed  his  firm  belief  that  the  happiness  or  misery  of 
his  own  future  life  depended  upon  possessing  or  losing  her. 
Why  do  you  not  produce  this  letter  ?  haply  asks  some  senti- 
mental reader,  of  the  present  Editor,  who  has  said  how  he  has 
the  whole  Warrington  correspondence  in  his  hands.  Why 
not  ?  Because  'tis  cruel  to  babble  the  secrets  of  a  young  man's 
love  :  to  overhear  his  incoherent  vows  and  wild  raptures,  and 
to  note,  in  cold  blood,  the  secrets — it  may  be,  the  follies — ^of 
his  passion.  Shall  we  play  eaves-dropper  at  twilight  em- 
brasures, count  sighs  and  hand  shakes,  bottle  hot  tears  :  lay 
our  stethoscope  on  delicate  young  breasts,  and  feel  their  heart 
throbs  t  I  protest  for  one,  love  is  sacred.  Wherever  I  see  it 
(as  one  sometimes  may  in  this  world)  shooting  suddenly  out  of 
two  pair  of  eyes  ;  or  glancing  sadly  even  from  one  pair  ;  oi 
looking  down  from  the  mother  to  the  baby  in  her  lap  ;  or  from 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


555 


papa  at  his  girl's  happiness  as  she  is  whirling  round  the  room 
with  the  captain  ;  or  from  John  Anderson,  as  his  old  wife 
comes  into  the  room — the  bonne  vieille,  the  ever  peerless  among 
women  ;  wherever  we  see  that  signal,  I  say,  let  us  salute  it.  It 
is  not  only  wrong  to  kiss  and  to  tell,  but  to  tell  about  kisses. 
Everybody  who  has  been  admitted  to  the  mystery-, — hush 
about  it.  Down  with  him  qui  DecE  sacrum  vnlgarit  a?'cance. 
Beware  how  you  dine  with  him,  he  will  print  your  private  talk  : 
as  sure  as  you  sail  with  him,  he  will  throw  you  over. 

Whilst  Harry's  love  of  battle  has  led  him  to  smell  powder — 
to  rush  upon  reludantes  dracones^  and  to  carry  wounded  com- 
rades out  of  fire,  George  has  been  pursuing  an  amusement  much 
more  peaceful  and  delightful  to  him  :  penning  sonnets  to  his 
mistress's  eyebrow,  mayhap  ;  pacing  in  the  darkness  under  her 
window,  and  watching  the  little  lamp  which  shone  upon  her  in 
her  chamber ;  finding  all  sorts  of  pretexts  for  sending  little 
notes  which  don't  seem  to  require  little  answers,  but  get  them  ; 
culling  bits  out  of  his  favorite  poets,  and  flowers  out  of  Covent 
Garden  for  somebody's  special  adornment  and  pleasure  ;  walk- 
ing to  St.  James's  Church,  singing  very  likely  out  of  the  same 
Prayer-book,  and  never  hearing  one  word  of  the  sermon,  so 
much  do  other  thoughts  engross  him ;  being  prodigiously  affec- 
tionate to  all  Miss  Theo's  relations — to  her  little  brother  and 
sister  at  school ;  to  the  elder  at  college  ;  to  Miss  Hetty  with 
whom  he  engages  in  gay  passages  of  wit ;  and  to  mamma,  who 
is  half  in  love  with  him  herself,  Martin  Lambert  says  ;  for  if 
fathers  are  sometimes  sulky  at  the  appearance  of  the  destined 
son-in-law,  is  it  not  a  fact  that  mothers  become  sentimental  and, 
as  it  were,  love  their  own  loves  over  again  ? 

Gumbo  and  Sady  are  for  ever  on  the  trot  between  South- 
ampton Row  and  Dean  Street.  In  the  summer  months  all  sorts 
of  junketings  and  pleasure  parties  are  devised ;  and  there  are 
countless  proposals  to  go  to  Ranelagh,  to  Hampstead,  to  Vaux- 
hall,  to  ]\Iarylebone  Gardens,  and  what  not  ?  George  wants 
the  famous  tragedy  copied  out  fair  for  the  stage,  and  who  can 
write  such  a  beautiful  Italian  hand  as  Miss  Theo  ?  As  the 
sheets  pass  to  and  fro  they  are  accompanied  by  little  notes  of 
thanks  of  interrogation,  of  admiration,  always.  See,  here  is  the 
packet,  marked  in  Warrington's  neat  hand,  "  T's  letters, 
1758-9."  Shall  we  open  them  and  reveal  their  tender  secrets 
to  the  public  gaze  ?  Those  virgin  words  were  whispered  for 
one  ear  alone.  Years  after  they  were  written,  the  husband  read, 
no  doubt  with  sweet  pangs  of  remembrance,  the  fond  lines 
addressed  to  the  lover.     It  were  a  sacrilege  to  show  the  pair  to 


556  THE   VTRCrXTANS. 

public  eyes  :  only  let  kind  readers  be  pleased  to  take  our  word 
that  the  young  lady's  letters  are  modest  and  pure,  the  gentle- 
man's most  respectful  and  tender.  In  fine,  you  see,  we  have 
said  very  little  about  it ;  but,  in  these  few  last  months,  Mr. 
George  Warrington  has  made  up  his  mind  that  he  has  found 
the  woman  of  women.  She  mayn't  be  the  most  beautiful.  Why, 
there  is  Cousin  Flora,  there  is  Coelia,  and  Ardelia,  and  a  hun- 
dred more,  who  are  ever  so  much  more  handsome  :  but  her 
sweet  face  pleases  him  better  than  any  other  in  the  world.  She 
mayn't  be  the  most  clever,  but  her  voice  is  the  dearest  and 
pleasantest  to  hear ;  and  in  her  company  he  is  so  clever  himself  ; 
he  has  such  fine  thoughts ;  he  uses  such  eloquent  words ;  he  is 
so  generous,  noble,  witt}',  that  no  wonder  he  delights  in  it. 
And,  in  regard  to  the  young  lady, — as  thank  heaven  I  never 
thought  so  ill  of  women  as  to  suppose  them  to  be  just, — we 
may  be  sure  that  there  is  no  amount  of  wit,  of  wisdom,  of  beauty, 
of  valor,  of  virtue  with  which  she  does  not  endow  her  young 
hero. 

When  George's  letter  reached  home,  we  may  fancy  that  it 
created  no  small  excitement  in  the  little  circle  round  Madam 
Esmond's  fireside.  So  he  was  in  love,  and  wished  to  marry  ! 
It  was  but  natural,  and  would  keep  him  out  of  harm's  way.  If 
he  proposed  to  unite  himself  with  a  well-bred  Christian  young 
woman.  Madam  saw  no  harm. 

"  I  knew  they  would  be  setting  their  caps  at  him,"  says 
Mountain.  "They  fancy  that  his  wealth  is  as  great  as  his 
estate.  He  does  not  say  whether  the  young  lady  has  money. 
I  fear  otherwise." 

"People  would  set  their  caps  at  him  here,  I  dare  say,"  says 
Madam  Esmond,  grimly  looking  at  her  dependant,  "  and  try 
and  catch  Mr.  Esmond  Warrington  for  their  own  daughters, 
who  are  no  richer  than  Miss  Lambert  may  be." 

"  I  suppose  your  ladyship  means  me ! "  says  Mountain. 
"  My  Fanny  is  poor,  as  you  say ;  and  'tis  kind  of  3'ou  to  remind 
me  of  her  poverty  !  " 

"  I  said  people  would  set  their  caps  at  him.  If  the  cap  fits 
you,  tant pis  !  as  my  papa  used  to  say." 

"You  think,  Madam,  I  am  scheming  to  keep  George  for 
my  daughter  ?  I  thank  you,  on  my  word  !  A  good  opinion  you 
seem  to  have  of  us  after  the  years  we  have  lived  together ! " 

"  My  dear  Mountain,  I  know  you  much  better  than  to  sup- 
pose you  could  ever  fancy  your  daughter  would  be  a  suitable 
match  for  a  gentleman  of  Mr.  Esmond's  rank  and  station,"  says 
Madam,  with  much  dignity. 


777^   VIRGINIANS.  557 

"  Fanny  Parker  was  as  good  as  Molly  Benson  at  school, 
and  Mr.  Mountain's  daughter  is  as  good  as  Mr.  Lambert's  ! " 
Mrs.  Mountain  cries  out, 

''  Then  you  did  think  of  marrying  her  to  my  son  ?  I  shall 
write  to  Mr.  Esmond  Warrington,  and  say  how  sorry  I  am 
that  you  should  be  disappointed !  "  says  the  mistress  of  Castle- 
wood.  And  we,  for  our  parts,  may  suppose  that  Mrs.  Moun- 
tain was  disappointed,  and  had  some  ambitious  views  respect- 
ing her  daughter — else,  why  should  she  have  been  so  angry  at 
the  notion  of  Mr.  Warrington's  marriage  t 

In  reply  to  her  son,  Madam  Esmond  wrote  back  that  she 
was  pleased  with  the  fraternal  love  George  exhibited ;  that  it 
was  indeed  but  right  in  some  measure  to  compensate  Harry, 
whose  expectations  had  led  him  to  adopt  a  more  costly  mode  of 
life  than  he  would  have  entered  on  had  he  known  he  was  only 
a  younger  son.  And  with  respect  to  purchasing  his  promotion, 
she  would  gladly  halve  the  expense  with  Harry's  elder  brother, 
being  thankful  to  think  his  own  gallantry  had  won  him  his  first 
step.  This  bestowal  of  George's  money.  Madam  Esmond 
added,  was  at  least  much  more  satisfactor}^  than  some  other 
extravagances  to  which  she  would  not  advert. 

The  other  extravagance  to  which  Madam  alluded  was  the 
payment  of  the  ransom  to  the  French  captain's  family,  to  which 
tax  George's  mother  never  would  choose  to  submit.  She  had 
a  determined  spirit  of  her  own,  which  her  son  inherited.  His 
persistence  she  called  pride  and  obstinacy.  What  she  thought 
of  her  own  pertinacity,  her  biographer  who  lives  so  far  from 
her  time  does  not  pretend  to  say.  Only  I  dare  say  people  a 
hundred  years  ago  pretty  much  resembled  their  grand-children 
of  the  present  date,  and  loved  to  have  their  own  way,  and  to 
make  others  follow  it. 

Now,  after  paying  his  own  ransom,  his  brother's  debts,  and 
half  the  price  of  his  promotion,  George  calculated  that  no  in- 
considerable portion  of  his  private  patrimony  would  be  swal- 
lowed up  :  nevertheless  he  made  the  sacrifice  with  a  perfect 
good  heart.  His  good  mother  always  enjoined  him  in  her 
letters  to  remember  who  his  grandfather  was,  and  to  support 
the  dignity  of  his  family  accordingly.  She  gave  him  various 
commissions  to  purchase  goods  in  England,  and  though  she  as 
yet  had  sent  him  very  trifling  remittances,  she  alluded  so  con- 
stantly to  the  exalted  rank  of  the  Esmonds,  to  her  desire  that 
he  should  do  nothing  unworthy  of  that  illustrious  family  ;  she 
advised  him  so  peremptorily  and  frequently  to  appear  in  the  first 
society  of  the  country,  to  frequent  the  Court  where  his  ances- 


258  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

tors  had  been  accustomed  to  move,  and  to  appear  always  in  the 
world  in  a  manner  worthy  of  his  name,  that  George  made  no 
doubt  his  mother's  money  would  be  forthcoming  when  his  own 
ran  short,  and  generously  obeyed  her  injunctions  as  to  his  style 
of  life.  I  find  in  the  Esmond  papers  of  this  period,  bills  for 
genteel  entertainments,  tailors'  bills  for  Court  suits  supplied, 
and  liveries  for  his  honor's  negro  servants  and  chairmen,  horse- 
dealers'  receipts,  and  so  forth  ;  and  am  thus  led  to  believe  that 
the  elder  of  our  Virginians  was  also  after  a  while  living  at  a 
considerable  expense. 

He  was  not  wild  or  extravagant  like  his  brother.  There 
was  no  talk  of  gambling  or  race-horses  against  Mr.  George  ; 
his  table  was  liberal,  his  equipages  handsome,  his  purse  always 
full,  the  estate  to  which  he  was  heir  was  known  to  be  immense. 
I  mention  these  circumstances  because  they  may  probably  have 
influenced  the  conduct  both  of  Ge'orge  and  his  friends  in  that 
very  matter  concerning  which,  as  I  have  said,  he  and  his 
mother  had  been  just  corresponding.  The  young  heir  of  Vir- 
ginia was  travelling  for  his  pleasure  and  improvement  in  foreign 
kingdom.  The  queen  his  mother  was  in  daily  correspondence 
with  his  Highness,  and  constantly  enjoined  him  to  act  as 
became  his  lofty  station.  There  could  be  no  doubt  from  her 
letters  that  she  desired  he  should  live  liberally  and  magnifi- 
cently. He  was  perpetually  making  purchases  at  his  parent's 
order.  She  had  not  settled  as  yet :  on  the  contrary,  she  had 
wrote  out  by  the  last  mail  for  twelve  new  sets  of  wagon-har- 
ness, and  an  organ  that  should  play  fourteen  specified  psalm 
tunes ;  which  articles  George  dutifully  ordered.  She  had  not 
paid  as  yet,  and  might  not  to-day  or  to-morrow,  but  eventually, 
of  course,  she  would  :  and  Mr.  Warrington  never  thought  of 
troubling  his  friends  about  these  calculations,  or  discussing 
with  them  his  mother's  domestic  affairs.  They,  on  their  side, 
took  for  granted  that  he  was  in  a  state  of  competence  and  ease, 
and,  without  being  mercenary  folks,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lambert 
were  no  doubt  pleased  to  see  an  attachment  growing  up  between 
their  daughter  and  a  young  gentleman  of  such  good  principles, 
talents,  family,  and  expectations.  There  was  honesty  in  all  Mr. 
Edmond  Warrington's  words  and  actions,  and  in  his  behavior 
to  the  world  a  certain  grandeur  and  simplicity,  which  showed 
him  to  be  a  true  gentleman.  Somewhat  cold  and  haughty  in 
his  demeanor  to  strangers,  especially  towards  the  great,  he  was 
not  in  the  least  supercilious  :  he  was  perfectly  courteous  towards 
women,  and  with  those  people  whom  he  loved,  especially,  kind, 
amiable,  lively,  and  tender. 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  -- 

No  wonder  that  one  young  woman  we  know  of  got  to  think 
him  the  best  man  in  all  the  world— alas !  not  even  excepting 
papa.  A  great  love  felt  by  a  man  towards  a  woman  makes  him 
better,  as  regards  her,  than  all  other  men.  We  have  said  that 
George  used  to  wonder  himself  when  he  found  how  witty,  how 
eloquent,  how  wise  he  was,  when  he  talked  with  the  fair  youno- 
creature  whose  heart  had  become  all  his  *  *  *  *  I  say  we  will 
not  again  listen  to  their  love  whispers.  Those  soft  words  do 
not  bear  being  written  down.  If  you  please— good  sir,  or  mad- 
am, who  are  sentimentally  inclined— lay  down  the  book  and 
thmk  over  certain  things  for  yourself.  You  may  be  ever  so  old 
now  ;  but  you  remember.  It  may  be  all  dead  and  buried  ;  but 
m  a  moment,  up  it  springs  out  of  its  grave,  and  looks,  and 
smiles,  and  whispers  as  of  yore  when  it  clung  to  your  arm,  and 
dropped  fresh  tears  on  your  heart.  It  is  here,  and  alive,  did  I 
say .?  O  far,  far  away !  O  lonely  hearth  and  cold  ashes ! 
Here  is  the  vase,  but  the  roses  are  gone  ;  here  is  the  shore,  and 
yonder  the  ship  was  moored  ;  but  the  anchors  are  up,  and  it 
has  sailed  away  for  ever. 

Et  cetera,  et  cetera,  et  cetera.  This,  however,  is  mere 
sentimentality  ;  and  as  regards  George  and  Theo,  is  neither 
here  nor  there.  What  I  mean  to  say  is,  that  the  young  lady's 
family  w^re  perfectly  satisfied  with  the  state  of  affairs  between 
her  and  Mr.  Warrington  ;  and  though  he  had  not  as  yet  asked 
the  decisive  question,  everybody  else  knew  what  the  answer 
would  be  when  it  cam.e. 

Mamma  perhaps  thought  the  question  was  a  long  time 
coming. 

"Psha!  my  dear!"  says  the  General.  "There  is  time 
enough  in  all  conscience.  Theo  is  not  much  more  than  seven- 
teen ;  George,  if  I  mistake  not,  is  under  forty ;  and,  besides 
he  must  have  time  to  write  to  Virginia,  and  ask  mamma." 

"  But  suppose  she  refuses  ?  " 

"  That  will  be  a  bad  day  for  old  and  young,"  says  the 
General.  "  Let  us  rather  say,  suppose  she  consents,  my  love  t 
—I  can't  fancy  anybody  in  the  world  refusing  Theo  anything 
she  has  set  her  heart  on,"  adds  the  father  :  "  and  I  am  sure  'tis 
bent  upon  this  match." 

So  they  all  waited  with  the  utmost  anxietv  until  an  answer 
from  Madam  Esmond  should  arrive  ;  and  trembled  lest  the 
French  privateers  should  take  the  packet-ship  by  which  the 
the  precious  letter  was  conveyed. 


560 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


CHAPTER  LXVII. 

IN    WHICH    A    TRAGEDY    IS    ACTED,    AND    TWO    MORE    ARE    BEGUN. 

James  Wolfe,  Harry's  new  Colonel,  came  back  from  America 
a  few  weeks  after  our  Virginian  had  joined  his  regiment.  Wolfe 
had  previously  been  Lieutenant-Colonel  of  Kingsley's,  and  a 
second  battalion  of  the  regiment  had  been  formed  and  given  to 
him.  in  reward  for  his  .distinguished  gallantry  and  services  at 
Cape  Breton.  Harry  went  with  quite  unfeigned  respect  and 
cordiality  to  pay  his  duty  to  his  new  commander,  on  whom  the 
eyes  of  the  world  began  to  be  turned  now, — the  common 
opinion  being  that  he  was  likely  to  become  a  great  general.  In 
the  late  affairs  in  France,  several  officers  of  great  previous  re- 
pute had  been  tried  and  found  lamentably  wanting.  The  Duke 
of  Marlborough  had  shown  himself  no  unworthy  descendant  of 
his  great  ancestor.  About  my  Lord  George  Sackville's  military 
genius  there  were  doubts,  even  before  his  unhappy  behavior  at 
Minden  prevented  a  great  victory.  The  nation  was  longing  for 
military  glory,  and  the  Minister  was  anxious  to  find  a  General 
who  might  gratify  the  eager  desire  of  the  people.  Mr.  Wolfe's 
and  Mr.  Lambert's  business  keeping  them  both  in  London,  the 
friendly  intercourse  between  those  officers  was  renewed,  no  one 
being  more  delighted  than  Lambert  at  his  younger  friend's  good 
fortune. 

Harr}^,  when  he  was  away  from  his  duty,  was  never  tired  of 
hearing  Mr.  Wolfe's  details  of  the  military  operations  of  the 
last  year,  about  which  Wolfe  talked  very  freely  and  openly. 
Whatever  thought  was  in  his  mind,  he  appears  to  have  spoken 
it  out  generously.  He  had  that  heroic  simplicity  which  distin- 
guished Nelson  afterwards  :  he  talked  frankly  of  his  actions. 
Some  of  the  fine  gentlemen  at  St.  James's  might  wonder  and 
sneer  at  him ;  but  amongst  our  litttle  circle  of  friends  we  may 
be  sure  he  found  admiring  listeners.  The  young  General  had 
the  romance  of  a  boy  on  many  matters.  He  delighted  in  music 
and  poetry.  On  the  last  day  of  his  life  he  said  he  would  rather 
have  written  Gray's  "  Elegy "  than  have  won  a  battle.  We 
may  be  sure  that  with  a  gentleman  of  such  literary  tastes  our 
friend  George  would  become  familiar  ;  and  as  they  were  both 
in  love,  and  both  accepted  lovers,  and  both  eager  for  happi- 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  561 

ness,  no  doubt  they  must  have  had  many  sentunental  conversa- 
tions together  which  would  be  very  interesting  to  report  could 
we  only  have  accurate  accounts  of  them.  In  one  of  his  later 
letters,  Warrington  writes  : 

"  I  had  the  honor  of  knowing  the  famous  General  Wolfe, 
and  seeing  much  of  him  during  his  last  stay  in  London.  We 
had  a  subject  of  conversation  then  which  was  of  unfailing  in- 
terest to  both  of  us,  and  I  could  not  but  admire  Mr.  Wolfe's 
simplicity,  his  frankness,  and  a  sort  of  glorious  bravery  which 
characterized  him.  He  was  much  in  love,  and  he  wanted 
heaps  and  heaps  of  laurels  to  take  to  his  mistress.  '  If  it  be  a 
sin  to  covet  honor,'  he  used  to  say  with  Harry  the  Fifth  (he 
was  passionately  fond  of  plays  and  poetry),  '  I  am  the  most 
offending  soul  alive.'  Surely  on  his  last  day  he  had  a  feast 
which  \vas  enough  to  satisfy  the  greediest  appetite  for  glory. 
He  hungered  after  it.  He  seemed  to  me  not  merely  like  a 
soldier  going  resolutely  to  do  his  duty,  but  rather  like  a  knight 
in  quest  of  dragons  and  giants.  My  own  country  has  furnished 
of  late  a  chief  of  a  very  different  order,  and  quite  an  opposite 
genius.  I  scarce  know  which  to  admire  most,  the  Briton's 
chivalrous  ardor,  or  the  more  than  Roman  constancy  of  our 
great  Virginian." 

As  Mr.  Lambert's  official  duties  detained  him  in  London, 
his  family  remained  contentedly  with  him,  and  I  suppose  Mr. 
Warrington  was  so  satisfied  with  the  rural  quiet  of  Southampton 
Row  and  the  beautiful  flowers  and  trees  of  Bedford  Gardens, 
that  he  did  not  care  to  quit  London  for  any  long  jDcriod.  He 
made  his  pilgrimage  to  Castlewood,  and  passed  a  few  days 
there,  occupying  the  chamber  of  which  he  had  often  heard  his 
grandfather  talk,  and  which  Colonel  Esmond  had  occupied  as 
a  boy :  and  he  was  received  kindly  enough  by  such  members 
of  the  family  as  happened  to  be  at  home.  But  no  doubt  he 
loved  better  to  be  in  London  by  the  side  of  a  young  person  in 
whose  society  he  found  greater  pleasure  than  any  which  my 
Lord  Castlewood's  circle  could  afford  him,  though  all  the  ladies 
were  civil,  and  Lady  Maria  especially  gracious,  and  enchanted 
with  the  tragedy  which  George  and  Parson  Sampson  read  out 
to  the  ladies.  The  Chaplain  was  enthusiastic  in  its  praises, 
and  indeed  it  was  through  his  interest,  and  not  through  Mr. 
Johnson's  after  all,  that  Mr.  Warrington's  piece  ever  came  on 
the  stage.  Mr.  Johnson,  it  is  true,  pressed  the  play  on  his 
friend  ^Ir.  Garrick  for  Drury  Lane,  but  Garrick  had  just  made 
an  arrangement  with  the  famous  Mr.  Home  for  a  tragedy  from 
the  pen  of  the  author  of  "  Douglas."    Accordingly,  "  Carpezan  " 

^6 


562  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

was  carried  to  Mr.  Rich  at  Covent  Garden,  ana  accepted  by 
that  manager. 

On  the  night  of  the  production  of  the  piece,  Mr.  War- 
rington gave  an  elegant  entertainment  to  his  friends  at  the 
"  Bedford  Head  "  in  Covent  Garden,  whence  they  adjourned 
in  a  body  to  the  theatre ;  leaving  only  one  or  two  with  our 
young  author,  who  remained  at  the  Coffee-house,  where  friends 
from  time  to  time  came  to  him  with  an  account  of  the  perform- 
ance. The  part  of  Carpezan  was  filled  by  Barr}',  Shuter  was 
the  old  nobleman,  Reddish,  I  need  scarcely  say,  made  an  excel- 
lent Ulric,  and  the  King  of  Bohemia  was  by  a  young  actor  from 
Dublin,  Mr.  Geoghegan,  or  Hagan  as  he  was  called  on  the 
stage,  and  who  looked  and  performed  the  part  to  admiration. 
Mrs.  Woffington  looked  too  old  in  the  first  act  as  the  heroine, 
but  her  murder  in  the  fourth  act,  about  which  great  doubts 
were  expressed,  went  off  to  the  terror  and  delight  of  the  au- 
dience. Miss  Wayn  sang  the  ballad  which  is  supposed  to  be 
sung  by  the  king's  page,  just  at  the  moment  of  the  unhappy 
wife's  execution,  and  all  agreed  that  Barry  was  ver}'  terrible 
and  pathetic  as  Carpezan,  especially  in  the  execution  scene. 
The  grace  and  elegance  of  the  young  actor,  Hagan,  won  general 
applause.  The  piece  was  put  very  elegantly  on  the  stage  by 
Mr.  Rich,  though  there  was  some  doubt  whether,  in  the  march 
of  janissaries  in  the  last,  the  manager  was  correct  in  introducing 
a  favorite  elephant,  which  had  figured  in  various  pantomimes, 
and  by  which  one  of  Mr.  Warrington's  black  servants  marched 
in  a  Turkish  habit.  The  other  sat  in  the  footman's  gallery, 
and  uproariously  wept  and  applauded  at  the  proper  intervals. 

The  execution  of  Sybilla  was  the  turning  point  of  the  j^iece. 
Her  head  off,  George's  friends  breathed  freely,  and  one  mes- 
senger after  another  came  to  him  at  the  Coffee-house,  to 
announce  the  complete  success  of  the  tragedy.  Mr.  Barry, 
amidst  general  applause,  announced  the  play  for  repetition,  and 
that  it  was  the  work  of  a  young  gentleman  of  Virginia,  his  first 
attempt  in  the  dramatic  style. 

We  should  like  to  have  been  in  the  box  where  all  our  friends 
were  seated  during  the  performance,  to  have  watched  Theo's 
flutter  and  anxiety  whilst  the  success  of  the  play  seemed 
dubious,  and  have  beheld  the  blushes  and  the  sparkles  in  her 
eyes,  when  the  victory  was  assured.  Harry,  during  the  little 
trouble  in  the  fourth  act,  was  deadly  pale — whiter,  Mrs.  Lambert 
said,  than  Barry,  with  all  his  chalk.  But  if  Briareus  could  have 
clapped  hands,  he  could  scarcely  have  made  more  noise  than 
Harry    at  the   end  of  the    piece.      Mr.    Wolfe    and    General 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  t^^^^, 

Lambert  huzzayed  enthusiastically.  Mrs.  Lambert,  of  course, 
cried  :  and  though  Hetty  said,  "  why  do  you  cr}%  Mamma  ?  you 
don't  want  any  of  them  aUve  again  j  you  know  it  serves  them 
all  right  :  " — the  girl  was  really  as  much  delighted  as  any  person 
present,  including  little  Charley  from  the  Chartreux,  who  had 
leave  from  Dr.  Crusius  for  that  evening,  and  Miss  Lucy,  who 
had  been  brought  from  boarding-school  on  purpose  to  be  pres- 
ent on  the  great  occasion.  ]\Iy  Lord  Castlewood  and  his  sister. 
Lady  Maria,  were  present ;  and  his  lordship  went  from  his  box 
and  complimented  Mr.  Barry  and  the  other  actors  on  the  stage  ; 
and  Parson  Sampson  was  invaluable  in  the  pit,  where  he  led 
the  applause,  having,  I  believe,  given  previous  instructions  to 
Gumbo  to  keep  an  eye  upon  him  from  the  gallery,  and  do  as  he 
did. 

Be  sure  there  was  a  very  jolly  supper  of  Mr.  Warrington's 
friends  that  night — much  more  jolly  than  Mr.  Garrick's,  for 
example,  who  made  but  a  very  poor  success  with  his  "  Agis  " 
and  its  dreary  choruses,  and  who  must  have  again  felt  that  he 
had  missed  a  good  chance,  in  preferring  Mr.  Home's  tragedy  to 
our  young  author's.  A  jolly  supper,  did  we  say  ? — many  jolly 
suppers.  Mr.  Gumbo  gave  an  entertainment  to  several  gentle- 
men of  the  shoulder-knot,  who  had  concurred  in  supporting  his 
master's  masterpiece  :  Mr.  Henry  Warrington  gave  a  supper  at 
the  "  Star  and  Garter,"  in  Pall  Mall,  to  ten  officers  of  his  new 
regiment,  who  had  come  up  for  the  express  purpose  of  backing 
"  Carpezan  ;  "  and  finally,  Mr.  Warrington  received  the  three 
principal  actors  of  the  tragedy,  our  family-party  from  the  side- 
box,  Mr.  Johnson  and  his  ingenious  friend,  Mr.  Reynolds  the 
painter,  my  Lord  Castlewood  and  his  sister,  and  one  or  two 
more.  My  Lady  Maria  happened  to  sit  next  to  the  young 
actor  who  had  performed  the  part  of  the  king.  Mr.  Warrington 
somehow  had  Miss  Theo  for  a  neighbor,  and  no  doubt  passed 
a  pleasant  evening  beside  her.  The  greatest  animation  and 
cordiality  prevailed,  and  when  toasts  were  called,  Lady  Maria 
gayly  gave  "  The  King  of  Hungary  "  for  hers.  That  gentleman, 
who  had  plenty  of  eloquence  and  fire,  and  excellent  manners, 
on  as  well  as  off  the  stage,  protested  that  he  had  already  suffered 
death  in  the  course  of  the  evening,  hoped  that  he  should  die  a 
hundred  times  more  on  the  same  field  ;  but,  dead  or  living, 
vowed  he  knew  whose  humble  servant  he  ever  should  be.  Ah, 
if  he  had  but  a  real  crown  in  place  of  his  diadem  of  paste- 
board and  tinsel,  with  what  joy  would  he  lay  it  at  her  lady- 
ship's feet !  Neither  my  lord  nor  Mr.  Esmond  were  over 
well  pleased  with  the  gentleman's  exceeding  gallantry — a  part 


5^4 


THE   VTRGINTANS. 


of  which  they  attributed,  no  doubt  justly,  to  the  wine  and  punch, 
of  which  he  had  been  partaking  veiy  freely.  Theo  and  her 
sister,  who  were  quite  new  to  the  world,  were  a  little  frightened 
by  the  exceeding  energy  of  Mr.  Hagan's  manner — but  Lady 
Maria,  much  more  experinced,  took  it  in  perfectly  good  part. 
At  a  late  hour  coaches  were  called,  to  which  the  gentlemen 
attended  the  ladies,  after  whose  departure  some  of  them 
returned  to  the  supper-room,  and  the  end  was  that  Carpezan 
had  to  be  carried  away  in  a  chair,  and  that  the  King  of  Hungary 
had  a  severe  headache  ;  and  that  the  Poet,  though  he  remem- 
bered making  a  great  number  of  speeches,  was  quite  astounded 
when  half-a-dozen  of  his  guests  appeared  at  his  house  the  next 
day,  whom  he  had  invited  overnight  to  come  and  sup  with  him 
once  more. 

As  he  put  Mrs.  Lambert  and  her  daughters  into  their  coach 
on  the  night  previous,  all  the  ladies  were  flurried,  delighted, 
excited  ;  and  you  may  be  sure  our  gentleman  was  with  them 
the  next  day,  to  talk  of  the  audience,  and  the  actors,  and  the 
beauties  of  the  piece,  over  and  over  again.  Mrs.  Lambert  had 
heard  that  the  ladies  of  the  theatre  were  dangerous  company 
for  young  men.  She  hoped  George  would  have  a  care,  and 
not  frequent  the  greenroom  too  much. 

George  smiled,  and  said  he  had  a  preventive  against  all 
green-room  temptations,  of  which  he  was  not  in  the  least 
afraid  ;  and  as  he  spoke  he  looked  in  Theo's  face,  as  if  in  those 
eyes  lay  the  amulet  which  was  to  preserve  him  from  all  danger. 

"  Why  should  he  be  afraid.  Mamma .''  "  asks  the  maiden 
simply.     She  had  no  idea  of  danger  or  of  guile. 

"  No,  my  darling,  I  don't  think  he  need  be  afraid,"'  says  the 
mother,  kissing  her. 

"You  don't  suppose  Mr.  George  would  fall  in  love  with 
that  painted  old  creature  who  performed  the  chief  part  ?  "  asks 
Miss  Hetty,  with  a  toss  of  her  head.  "  She  must  be  old  enough 
to  be  his  mother." 

"  Pray,  do  you  suppose  that  at  our  age  nobody  can  care  for 
us,  or  that  we  have  no  hearts  left  t  "  asks  Mamma,  very  tartly. 
"  I  believe,  or  I  may  say,  I  hope  and  trust,  your  father  thinks 
otherwise.  He  is,  I  imagine,  perfectly  satisfied.  Miss.  He  does 
not  sneer  at  age,  whatever  little  girls  out  of  the  schoolroom 
may  do.  And  they  had  much  better  be  back  there,  and  they 
had  much  better  remember  what  the  fifth  commandment  is — 
that  they  had,  Hetty  !  " 

"  I  don't  think  I  was  breaking  it  by  saying  that  an  actress 
was  as  old  as  George's  mother,"  pleaded  Hetty. 


THE  VIRGINIANS. 


565 


"  George's  mother  is  as  old  as  I  am,  Miss  ! — at  least  slie 
was  when  we  were  at  school.  And  Fanny  Parker — Mrs.  Moun- 
tain who  now  is— was  seven  months  older,  and  we  were  in  the 
French  class  together  ;  and  I  have  no  idea  that  our  age  is  to 
be  made  the  subject  of  remarks  and  ridicule  by  our  children, 
I  will  thank  you  to  sjDare  it,  if  you  please  !  Do  you  consider 
your  mother  too  old,  George  ?  " 

"  I  am  glad  my  mother  is  of  your  age.  Aunt  Lambert,"  says 
George,  in  the  most  sentimental  manner. 

Strange  infatuation  of -passion — singular  perversity  of  reason  ! 
At  some  period  before  his  marriage,  it  not  unfrequently  happens 
that  a  man  actually  is  fond  of  his  mother-in-law  !  At  this  time 
our  good  General  vowed,  and  with  some  reason,  that  he  was 
jealous.  ]\Irs.  Lambert  made  much  more  of  George  than  of 
any  other  person  in  the  family.  She  dressed  up  Theo  to  the 
utmost  advantage  in  order  to  meet  him  ;  she  was  for  ever 
caressing  her,  and  appealing  to  her  w^hen  he  spoke.  It  was, 
"  Don't  you  think  he  looks  well  ?  " — "  Don't  you  think  he  looks 
pale,  Theo,  to-day  ?  " — "  Don't  you  think  he  has  been  sitting 
up  over  his  books  too  much  at  night  ?  "  and  so  forth.  If  he 
had  a  cold,  she  would  have  liked  to  make  gruel  for  him  and 
see  his  feet  in  hot  water.  She  sent  him  recipes  of  her  own  for 
his  health.  When  he  was  away,  she  never  ceased  talking  about 
him  to  her  daughter.  I  dare  say  Miss  Theo  liked  the  subject 
well  enough.  When  he  came  she  was  sure  to  be  wanted  in 
some  other  part  of  the  house,  and  would  bid  Theo  take  care  of 
him  till  she  returned.  Why,  before  she  returned  to  the  room, 
could  you  hear  her  talking  outside  the  door  to  her  youngest 
innocent  children,  to  her  servants  in  the  upper  regions,  and  so 
forth  1  When  she  reappeared,  was  not  Mr.  George  always 
standing  or  sitting  at  a  considerable  distance  from  Miss  Theo 
— except,  to  be  sure,  on  that  one  day  when  she  had  just  hap- 
pened to  drop  her  scissors,  and  he  had  naturally  stooped  down 
to  pick  them  up  ?  Wh}'  was  she  blushing  .?  Were  not  youthful 
cheeks  made  to  blush,  and  roses  to  bloom  in  the  spring  ?  Not 
that  mamma  ever  noted  the  blushes,  but  began  quite  an  artless 
conversation  about  this  or  that,  as  she  sat  down  brimful  of  hap- 
piness to  her  work-table. 

And  at  last  there  came  a  letter  from  Virginia  in  Madam 
Esmond's  neat,  well-known  hand,  and  over  which  George 
trembled  and  blushed  before  he  broke  the  seal.  It  was  in 
answer  to  the  letter  which  he  had  sent  home,  respecting  his 
brother's  commission  and  his  own  attachment  to  Miss  Lambert. 
Of   his    intentions    respecting    Harry,    Madam    Esmond   fully 


566  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

approved.  As  for  his  marriage,  she  ^vas  not  against  earl}^  mar- 
riages. She  would  take  his  picture  of  Miss  Lambert  with  the 
allowance  that  was  to  be  made  for  lovers'  portraits,  and  hope, 
for  his  sake,  that  the  3^oung  lady  was  all  he  described  her  to  be. 
With  money,  as  Madam  Esmond  gathered  from  her  son's  letter, 
she  did  not  appear  to  be  provided  at  all,  which  was  a  pity,  as 
though  wealthy  in  land,  their  family  had  but  little  ready-money. 
However,  by  heaven's  blessing,  there  was  plenty  at  home  for 
children  and  children's  children,  and  the  wives  of  her  sons 
should  share  all  she  had.  AVhen  she  heard  more  at  length  from 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lambert,  she  would  reply  for  her  part  more  fully. 
She  did  not  pretend  to  say  that  she  had  not  greater  hopes  for 
her  son,  as  a  gentleman  of  his  name  and  prospect  might  pretend 
to  the  hand  of  the  first  lady  of  the  land  ;  but  as  heaven  had 
willed  that  her  son's  choice  should  fall  upon  her  old  friend's 
daughter,  she  acquiesced,  and  would  welcome  George's  wife  as 
her  own  child.  This  letter  was  brought  by  Mr.  Van  den  Bosch 
of  Albany,  who  had  lately  bought  a  very  large  estate  in  Virginia, 
and  who  was  bound  for  England  to  put  his  granddaughter  to  a 
boarding-school.  She,  Madam  Esmond,  was  not  mercenary, 
nor  was  it  because  this  young  lady  was  heiress  of  a  very  great 
fortune  that  she  desired  her  sons  to  pay  Mr.  Van  d.  B.  every 
attention.  Their  properties  lay  close  together,  and  could  Harry 
find  in  the  young  lady  those  qualities  of  person  and  mind  suitable 
foi'  a  co77ip  anion  for  life,  at  least  she  would  have  the  satisfaction 
of  seeing  both  her  children  near  her  in  her  declining  years. 
Madam  Esmond  concluded  by  sending  her  affectionate  com- 
pliments to  Mrs.  Lambert,  from  whom  she  begged  to  hear 
further,  and  her  blessing  to  the  young  lady  who  was  to  be  her 
daughter-in-law. 

The  letter  was  not  cordial,  and  the  writer  evidently  but 
half-satisfied  ;  but,  such  as  it  was,  her  consent  was  here  formally 
announced.  How  eagerly  George  ran  av/ay  to  Soho  with  the 
long-desired  news  in  his  pocket  !  I  suppose  our  worthy  friends 
there  must  have  read  his  news  in  his  countenance — else  why 
should  Mrs.  Lambert  take  her  daughter's  hand  and  kiss  her 
with  such  uncommon  warmth,  when  George  announced  that  he 
had  received  letters  from  home  ?  Then,  with  a  break  in  his 
voice,  a  pallid  face,  and  a  considerable  tremor,  turning  to  Mr. 
Lambert,  he  said :  "  Madam  Esmond's  letter,  sir,  is  in  reply  to 
one  of  mine,  in  which  I  acquainted  her  that  I  had  formed  an 
attachment  in  England,  for  which  I  asked  my  mother's  approval. 
She  gives  her  consent,  I  am  grateful  to  say,  and  I  have  to  pray 
my  dear  friends  to  be  equally  kind  to  me." 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


567 


"  God  bless  thee,  my  dear  boy  1 "'  says  the  good  General, 
laying  a  hand  on  the  young  man's  head.  "I  am  glad  to  have 
thee  for  a  son,  George.  There,  there,  don't  go  down  on  your 
knees,  young  folks  !  George  may,  to  be  sure,  and  thank  God 
for  giving  him  the  best  little  wife  in  all  England.  Yes,  my 
dear,  except  when  you  were  ill,  you  never  caused  me  a  heart- 
ache— and  happy  is  the  man,  I  say,  who  wins  thee  !  " 

I  have  no  doubt  the  young  people  knelt  before  their 
parents,  as  was  the  fashion  in  those  days  ;  and  am  perfectly 
certain  that  Mrs.  Lambert  kissed  both  of  them,  and  likewise 
bedewed  her  pocket-handkerchief  in  the  most  plentiful  manner. 
Hetty  was  not  present  at  this  sentimental  scene,  and  when  she 
heard  of  it,  spoke  with  considerable  asperity,  and  a  laugh  that 
was  by  no  means  pleasant,  saying  :  "  Is  this  all  the  news  you 
have  to  give  me  ?  Why,  I  have  known  it  these  months  past. 
Do  you  think  I  have  no  eyes  to  see,  and  no  ears  to  hear, 
indeed  ? "  But  in  private  she  was  much  more  gentle.  She 
flung  herself  on  her  sister's  neck,  embracing  her  passionately, 
and  vowing  that  never,  never  would  Theo  find  any  one  to  love 
her  like  her  sister.  With  Theo  she  became  entirely  mild  and 
humble.  She  could  not  abstain  from  her  jokes  and  satire  with 
George,  but  he  was  too  happy  to  heed  her  much,  and  too 
generous  not  to  see  the  cause  of  her  jealousy. 

When  all  parties  concerned  came  to  read  Madam  Esmond's 
letter,  that  document,  it  is  true,  appeared  rather  vague.  It 
contained  only  a  promise  that  she  would  receive  the  young 
people  at  her  house,  and  no  sort  of  proposal  for  a  settlement. 
The  General  shook  his  head  over  the  letter — he  did  not  think 
of  examining  it  until  some  days  after  the  engagement  had  been 
made  between  George  and  his  daughter  :  but  now  he  read  Mad- 
am Esmond's  words,  they  gave  him  but  small  encouragement. 

"  Bah  !  "  says  George.  "  I  shall  have  three  hundred  pounds 
for  my  tragedy.  I  can  easily  write  a  play  a-year ;  and  if  the 
worst  come  to  the  worst,  we  can  live  on  that." 

"On  that  and  your  patrimony,"  says  Theo's  father. 

George  now  had  to  explain,  v/ith  some  hesitation,  that  what 
with  paying  bills  for  his  mother,  and  Harry's  commission  and 
debts,  and  his  own  ransom — George's  patrimony  proper  was 
wellnigh  spent. 

Mr.  Lambert's  countenance  looked  graver  still  at  this 
announcement,  but  he  saw  his  girl's  eyes  turned  towards  him 
with  an  alarm  so  tender,  that  he  took  her  in  his  arms  and 
vowed  that,  let  the  worst  come  to  the  worst,  his  darling  should 
not  be  baulked  of  her  wi'sh. 


568 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


About  the  going  back  to  Virginia,  George  frankly  owned 
that  he  little  liked  the  notion  of  returning  to  be  entirely 
dependent  on  his  mother.  He  gave  General  Lambert  an  idea 
of  his  life  at  home,  and  explained  how  little  to  his  taste  that 
slavery  ^vas.  No.  Why  should  he  not  stay  in  England,  write 
more  tragedies,  study  for  the  bar,  get  a  place,  perhaps  ?  Why, 
indeed  ?  He  straightway  began  to  form  a  plan  for  another 
tragedy.  He  brought  portions  of  his  work,  from  time  to  time, 
to  Miss  Theo  and  her  sister  :  Hetty  3'awned  over  the  work,  but 
Theo  pronounced  it  still  more  beautiful  and  admirable  than  the 
last,  which  was  perfect. 

The  engagement  of  our  young  friends  w^as  made  known  to 
the  members  of  their  resjDCCtive  families,  and  announced  to  Sir 
Miles  Warrington,  in  a  ceremonious  letter  from  his  nephew. 
For  a  while  Sir  Miles  saw  no  particular  objection  to  the  mar- 
riage ;  though,  to  be  sure,  considering  his  name  and  prospects, 
Mr.  Warrington  might  have  looked  higher.  The  truth  was, 
that  Sir  Miles  imagined  that  Madam  Esmond  had  made  some 
considerable  settlement  on  her  son,  and  that  his  circumstances 
were  more  than  easy.  But  when  he  heard  that  George  was 
entirely  dependent  on  his  mother,  and  that  his  own  small 
patrimony  was  dissipated,  as  Harry's  had  been  before,  Sir 
Miles's  indignation  at  his  nephew's  imprudence  knew  no 
bounds  ;  he  could  not  find  words  to  express  his  horror  and 
anger  at  the  want  of  principle  exhibited  by  both  these  unhappy 
young  men  :  he  thought  it  his  duty  to  speak  his  mind  about 
them,  and  wrote  his  opinion  to  his  sister  Esmond  in  Virginia. 
As  for  General  and  Mrs.  Lambert,  who  passed  for  respectable 
persons,  was  it  to  be  borne  that  such  people  should  inveigle  a 
penniless  young  man  into  a  marriage  with  their  penniless 
daughter  ?  Regarding  them,  and  George's  behavior,  Sir  Miles 
fully  explained  his  views  to  Madam  Esmond,  gave  half  a  finger 
to  George  whenever  his  nephew  called  on  him  in  town,  and  did 
not  even  invite  him  to  partake  of  the  famous  family  small-beer. 
Towards  Harry  his  uncle  somewhat  unbent ;  Harry  had 
done  his  duty  in  the  campaign,  and  was  mentioned  with  praise 
in  high  quarters.  He  had  sowed  his  wild  oats, — he  at  least 
was  endeavoring  to  amend  ;  but  George  was  a  young  prodigal, 
fast  careering  to  ruin,  and  his  name  was  only  mentioned  in  the 
family  with  a  groan.  Are  there  any  poor  fellows  now-a-days,  I 
wonder,  w^iose  polite  families  fall  on  them  and  persecute  them ; 
groan  over  them  and  stone  then,  and  hand  stones  to  their 
neighbors  that  they  may  do  likewise  ?  All  the  patrimony  spent ! 
Gracious  heavens  !     Sir  Miles  turned  pale  when  he  saw  his 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


569 


nephew  coming.  Lady  Warrington  prayed  for  him  as  a  dan- 
gerous reprobate  ;  and,  in  the  meantime,  George  was  walking 
the  town,  quite  unconscious  that  he  was  occasioning  so  much 
wrath  and  so  much  devotion.  He  took  httle  Miley  to  the  play 
and  brought  him  back  again.  He  sent  tickets  to  his  aunt  and 
cousins  which  they  could  not  refuse,  you  know  ;  it  would  look 
too  marked  were  they  to  break  altogether.  So  they  not  only 
took  the  tickets,  but  whenever  country  constituents  came  to 
town  they  asked  for  more,  taking  care  to  give  the  very  worst 
motives  to  George's  intimacy  with  the  theatre,  and  to  suppose 
that  he  and  the  actresses  were  on  terms  of  the  most  disgraceful 
intimacy.  An  august  personage  having  been  to  the  theatre, 
and  expressed  his  approbation  of  Mr.  Warrington's  drama  to 
Sir  ]\Iiles,  when  he  attended  his  R-y-1  H-ghn-ss's  levee  at 
Saville  House,  Sir  Miles,  to  be  sure,  modified  his  opinion  re- 
garding the  piece,  and  spoke  henceforth  more  respectfully  of  it. 
Meanw^hile,  as  we  have  said,  George  was  passing  his  life  entirely 
careless  of  the  opinion  of  all  the  uncles,  aunts,  and  cousins  in 
the  world. 

Most  of  the  Esmond  cousins  were  at  least  more  polite  and 
cordial  than  George's  kinsfolk  of  the  Warrington  side.  In 
spite  of  his  behavior  over  the  cards.  Lord  Castlewood,  George 
always  maintained,  had  a  liking  for  our  Virginians,  and  George 
\vas  pleased  enough  to  be  in  his  company.  He  was  a  far  abler 
man  than  many  who  succeeded  in  life.  He  had  a  good  name, 
and  somehow  only  stained  it ;  a  considerable  wit,  and  nobody 
trusted  it ;  and  a  very  shrewd  experience  and  knowledge  of 
mankind,  which  made  him  mistrust  them,  and  himself  most  of 
all,  and  which  perhaps  w^as  the  bar  to  his  own  advancement. 
My  Lady  Castlewood,  a  woman  of  the  world,  wore  always  a 
bland  mask,  and  received  Mr.  George  with  perfect  civility,  and 
welcomed  him  to  lose  as  many  guineas  as  he  liked  at  her  lady- 
ship's card-tables.  Between  Mr.  William  and  the  Virginian 
brothers  there  never  was  any  love  lost ;  but,  as  for  Lady  Maria, 
though  her  love-affair  was  over,  she  had  no  rancor  ;  she  pro- 
fessed for  her  cousins  a  very  great  regard  and  affection,  a  part 
of  which  the  young  gentlemen  very  gratefully  returned.  She 
was  charmed  to  hear  of  Harry's  valor  in  the  campaign  ;  she 
was  delighted  wdth  George's  success  at  the  theatre  ;  she  was 
for  ever  going  to  the  play,  and  had  all  the  favorite  passages  of 
"  Carpezan  "  by  heart.  One  day,  as  Mr.  George  and  Miss 
Theo  were  taking  a  sentimental  walk  in  Kensington  Gardens, 
whom  should  they  light  upon  but  their  Cousin  Maria  in  com- 
pany with  a  gentleman  in  a  smart  suit  and  handsome  laced  hat, 


570  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

and  who  should  the  gentleman  be  but  his  Majesty  King  Louis 
of  Hungary,  ]\Ir.  Hagan  ?  He  saluted  the  party,  and  left  them 
presently.  Lady  Maria  had  only  just  happened  to  meet  him. 
Mr.  Hagan  came  sometimes,  he  said,  for  quiet,  to  study  his 
parts  in  Kensington  Gardens,  and  George  and  the  two  ladies 
walked  together  to  Lord  Castlewood's  door  in  Kensington 
Square,  Lady  Maria  uttering  a  thousand  compliments  to  Theo 
upon  her  good  looks,  upon  her  virtue,  upon  her  future  happi- 
ness, upon  her  Papa  and  IMamma,  upon  her  destined  hus- 
band, upon  her  paduasoy  cloak  and  dear  little  feet  and  shoe- 
buckles. 

Harr}^  happened  to  come  to  London  that  evening,  and  slept 
at  his  accustomed  quarters.  When  George  appeared  at  break- 
fast, the  Captain  v/as  already  in  the  room  (the  custom  of  that 
day  was  to  call  all  army  gentlemen  Captains),  and  looking  at 
the  letters  on  the  breakfast-table. 

"Why,  George,"  he  cries,  "there  is  a  letter  from  IMaria  !  " 

"  Little  boy  bring  it  from  Common  Garden  last  night — 
Master  George  asleep,"  says  Gumbo. 

"What  can  it  be  about?  "  asks  Harry,  as  George  peruses 
his  letter  with  a  queer  expression  of  face. 

"  About  my  play,  to  be  sure,"  George  answers,  tearing  up 
the  paper,  and  still  wearing  his  queer  look. 

"  What,  she  is  not  writing  love-letters  Xoyou,  is  she,  Georgy  t  " 

"  No,  certainly  not  to  me,"  replies  the  other.  But  he  spoke 
no  word  more  alDout  the  letter  ;  and  when  at  dinner  in  Dean 
Street,  Mrs.  Lambert  said,  "  So  you  met  somebody  walking 
with  the  King  of  Hungary  yesterday  in  Kensington  Gardens  ?" 

"  What  little  tell-tale  told  you  ?  A  mere  casual  rencontre 
— the  King  goes  there  to  study  his  parts,  and  Lady  Maria 
happened  to  be  crossing  the  garden  to  some  of  the  vther  King's 
servants  at  Kensington  Palace."  And  so  there  was  an  end  to 
that  matter  for  the  time  being. 

Other  events  were  at  hand  fraught  with  interest  to  our  Vir- 
ginians. One  evening  after  Christmas,  the  two  gentlemen, 
with  a  few  more  friends,  were  met  round  General  Lambert's 
supper-table,  and  among  the  company  was  Harry's  new  Colonel 
of  the  67th,  Major-General  \^'olfe.  The  young  General  was 
more  than  ordinarily  grave.  The  conversation  all  related  to  the 
war.  Events  of  great  importance  were  pending.  The  great 
IMinister  now  in  power  was  determined  to  carry  on  the  war  on 
a  nmch  more  extended  scale  than  had  been  attempted  hitherto  ; 
an  army  was  ordered  to  Germany  to  help  Prince  Ferdinand  ; 
another  great  expedition  was  preparing  for  America,  and  here, 


THE   VIRGINIAIVS. 


571 


says  Mr.  Lambert,  "  I  will  give  you  the    health  of  the   Com- 
mander— a  glorious  campaign,  and  a  happy  return  to  him  I  " 

"  Why  do  you  not  drink  the  toast,  General  James  ?  "  asked 
the  hostess  of  her  guest. 

"  He  must  not  drink  his  own  toast,"  says  General  Lambert ; 
"  it  is  we  must  do  that  !  " 

What  ?  was  James  appointed  ? — All  the  ladies  must  drink 
such  a  toast  as  that,  and  they  mingled  their  kind  voices  v.'ith 
the  applause  of  the  rest  of  the  company. 

Why  did  he  look  so  melancholy  ?  the  ladies  asked  of  one 
another  when  they  withdrew.  In  after  days  they  remembered 
his  pale  face. 

"  Perhaps  he  has  been  parting  from  his  sweatheart,"  sug- 
gests tender-hearted  Mrs.  Lambert.  And  at  this  sentimental 
notion,  no  doubt  all  the  ladies  looked  sad. 

The  gentlemen,  meanwhile,  continued  their  talk  about  the 
war  and  its  chances.  Mr.  Wolfe  did  not  contradict  the  speakers 
when  they  said  that  the  expedition  was  to  be  directed  against 
Canada. 

"'Ah,  sir,"  says  Harry,  "I  wish  your  regiment  was  going 
with  you,  and  that  I  might  pay  another  visit  to  my  old  friends 
at  Quebec." 

Wliat,  had  Harry  been  there  t  Yes.  He  described  his  visit 
to  the  place  five  years  before,  and  knew  the  city,  and  the  neigh- 
borhood, well.  He  lays  a  number  of  bits  of  biscuit  on  the 
table  before  him,  and  makes  a  couple  of  rivulets  of  punch  on 
each  side.  "  This  fork  is  the  Isle  d'Orleans,"  says  he,  "  with 
the  north  and  south  branches  of  St.  Lawrence  on  each  side. 
Here's  the  Low  Town,  with  a  battery — how  many  guns  was 
mounted  there  in  our  time,  brother  ? — but  at  long  shots  from  the 
St.  Joseph  shore  you  might  play  the  same  game.  Here's  what 
they  call  the  little  river,  the  St.  Charles,  and  bridge  of  boats 
with  a  teie  du pontov&x  to  the  place  of  arms.  Here's  the  citadel 
and  here's  convents — ever  so  many  convents — and  the  cathe- 
dral ;  and  here,  outside  the  lines  to  the  west  and  south,  is  what' 
they  call  the  Plains  of  Abraham — where  a  certain  little  affair 
took  place,  do  you  remember,  brother.?  He  and  a  young  officer 
of  the  Rousiilon  regiment  ^a  ca'(^.  at  each  other  for  twenty  min- 
utes, and  George  pinked  him,  and  then  they  jure^  each  other 
an  aniiiie  eternelle.  Well  it  was  for  George :  for  his  second 
saved  his  life  on  that  awful  day  of  Braddock's  defeat,  He  was 
a  fine  little  fellow,  and  I  give  his  toast :  Je  bois  a  la  sante  du 
Chevalier  de  Florae !  " 

"  What,    can   you    speak    French    too,  Harry  ? "  asks    Mr. 


572  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

Wolfe.  The  young  man  looked  at  the  General  with  eager 
eyes. 

''Yes,''  says  he,  "I  can  speak,  but  not  so  well  as  George." 

'•  But  he  remembers  the  city,  and  can  place  the  batteries, 
you  see,  and  knows  the  ground  a  thousand  times  better  than  I 
do  ! "'  cries  the  elder  brother. 

The  two  elder  officers  exchanged  looks  with  one  another  ; 
Mr.  Lambert  smiled  and  nodded,  as  if  in  reply  to  the  mute 
queries  of  his  comrade  :  on  which  the  other  spoke.  "  Mr. 
Harry,"  he  said,  "if  you  have  had  enough  of  fine  folks,  and 
White's,  and  horse-racing " 

"  Oh,  sir !  "  says  the  young  man,  turning  ver)-  red. 

"  And  if  you  have  a  mind  to  a  sea-voyage  at  a  short  notice, 
come  and  see  me  at  my  lodgings  to-morrow." 

What  was  that  sudden  uproar  of  cheers  which  the  ladies 
heard  in  their  drawing-room  ?  It  was  the  hurrah  which  Harry 
Warrington  gave  when  he  leaped  up  at  hearing  the  General's 
invitation. 

The  women  saw  no  more  of  the  gentlemen  that  night. 
General  Lambert  had  to  be  away  upon  his  business  early  next 
morning,  before  seeing  any  of  his  family  ;  nor  had  he  men- 
tioned a  word  of  Harry's  outbreak  on  the  previous  evening. 
But  when  he  rejoined  his  folks  at  dinner,  a  look  at  Miss  Hetty's 
face  informed  the  worthy  gentleman  that  she  knew  what  had 
passed  on  the  night  previous,  and  what  was  about  to  happen  to 
the  young  Virginian.  After  dinner  Mrs.  Lambert  sat  demurely 
at  her  work.  Miss  Theo  took  her  book  of  Italian  Poetry. 
Neither  of  the  General's  customary  guests  happened  to  be 
present  that  evening. 

He  took  little  Hetty's  hand  in  his,  and  began  to  talk  with 
her.  He  did  not  allude  to  the  subject  which  he  knew  was  up- 
permost in  her  mind,  except  that  by  a  more  than  ordinary 
gentleness  and  kindness  he  perhaps  caused  her  to  understand 
that  her  thoughts  were  known  to  him. 

"I  have  breakfasted,"  says  he,  "with  James  Wolfe  this 
morning,  and  our  friend  Harry  was  of  the  party.  Wlien  he 
and  the  other  guests  were  gone,  I  remained  and  talked  with 
James  about  the  great  expedition  on  which  he  is  going  to  sail. 
Would  that  his  brave  father  had  lived  a  few  months  longer  to 
see  him  come  back  covered  with  honors  from  Louisbourg,  and 
knowing  that  all  England  was  looking  to  him  to  achieve  still 
greater  glory  !  James  is  dreadfully  ill  in  body — so  ill  that  I 
am  frightened  for  him — and  not  a  little  depressed  in  mind  at 


THE   VIRGINIANS 


573 


having  to  part  from  the  young  lady  whom  he  has  loved  so  long. 
A  little  rest,  he  thinks,  might  have  set  his  shattered  frame  up  ; 
and  to  call  her  his  has  been  the  object  of  his  life.  But,  great 
as  his  love  is  (and  he  is  as  romantic  as  one  of  you  young  folks 
of  seventeen),  honor  and  duty  are  greater,  and  he  leaves  home, 
and  wife,  and  ease,  and  health,  at  their  bidding.  Every  man  of 
honor  would  do  the  like  ;  every  woman  who  loves  him  truly 
would  buckle  on  his  armor  for  him.  James  goes  to  take  leave 
of  his  mother  to-night ;  and  though  she  loves  him  devotedly, 
and  is  one  of  the  tenderest  women  in  the  world,  I  am  sure  she 
will  show  no  sign  of  weakness  at  his  going  away." 

"  When  does  he  sail.  Papa  ? "  the  girl  asked. 

"  He  will  be  on  board  in  five  days."  x\nd  Hetty  knew 
quite  well  who  sailed  with  him. 


CHAPTER  LXVni. 

IN    WHICH    HARRY  GOES    WESTWARD. 

Our  tender  hearts  are  averse  to  all  ideas  and  descriptions 
of  parting ;  and  I  shall  therefore  say  nothing  of  Harry  War- 
rington's feelings  at  taking  leave  of  his  brother  and  friends. 
Were  not  thousands  of  men  in  the  same  plight  ?  Had  not  Mr. 
Wolfe  his  mother  to  kiss  (his  brave  father  had  quitted  life 
during  his  son's  absence  on  the  glorious  Louisbourg  campaign), 
and  his  sweetheart  to  clasp  in  a  farewell  embrace .''  Had  not 
stout  admiral  Holmes,  before  sailing  westward,  with  his  squad- 
ron, "  The  Somerset,"  "  The  Terrible,"  "  The  Northumberland," 
"The  Royal  William,"  "  The  Trident,"  "The  Diana,"  "The 
Sea-Horse," — his  own  flag  being  hoisted  on  board  "  The  Dub- 
lin,"— to  take  leave  of  Mrs.  and  the  Misses  Holmes  t  Was 
Admiral  Saunders,  who  sailed  the  day  after  him,  exempt  from 
human  feeling?  Away  go  William  and  his  crew  of  jovial 
sailors,  ploughing  through  the  tumbling  waves,  and  poor  Black- 
eyed  Susan  on  shore  watches  the  ship  as  it  dwindles  in  the 
sunset ! 

It  dwindles  in  the  West.  The  night  falls  darkling  over  the 
ocean.  They  are  gone  :  'but  their  hearts  are  at  home  yet 
awhile.  In  silence,  with  a  heart  inexpressibly  soft  and  tender, 
how  each  man  thinks  of  those  he  has  left  !  What  a  chorus  of 
pitiful  prayer  rises   up  to  the   feather,  at  sea  and   on   shore,  on 


574 


THE   VIRGINIAN'S. 


that  parting  night  :  at  home  by  the  vacant  bedside,  where  the 
wife  kneels  in  tears ;  round  the  fire,  where  the  mother  and 
children  together  pour  out  their  supplications :  or  on  deck, 
where  the  seafarer  looks  up  to  the  stars  of  heaven,  as  the  ship 
cleaves  through  the  roaring  midnight  waters  !  To-morrow  the 
sun  rises  upon  our  common  life  again,  and  we  commence  our 
daily  task  of  toil  and  duty. 

George  accompanies  his  brother,  and  stays  awhile  with  him 
at  Portsmouth  whilst  they  are  waiting  for  a  wind.  He  shakes 
Mr.  Wolfe's  hand,  looks  at  his  pale  face  for  the  last  time,  and 
sees  the  vessels  depart  amid  the  clangor  of  bells,  and  the 
thunder  of  cannon  from  the  shore.  Next  day  he  is  back  at  his 
home,  and  at  that  business  which  is  sure  one  of  the  most  selfish 
and  absorbing  of  the  world's  occupations,  to  which  almost 
every  man  who  is  thirty  years  old  has  served  ere  his  appren- 
ticeship. He  has  a  pang  of  sadness,  as  he  looks  in  at  the  lodg- 
ings to  the  little  room  which  Harry  used  to  occupy,  and  sees 
his  half-burned  papers  still  in  the  grate.  In  a  few  minutes  he 
is  on  his  way  to  Dean  Street  again,  and  whispering  by  the  fit- 
ful firelight  in  the  ear  of  the  clinging  sweetheart.  She  is  very 
happy — oh,  so  happy !  at  his  return.  She  is  ashamed  of  being 
so.  Is  it  not  heartless  to  be  so,  when  poor  Hetty  is  so  melan- 
choly .?  Poor  little  Hetty  !  Indeed  it  is  selfish  to  be  glad  when 
she  is  in  such  a  sad  way.  It  makes  one  quite  wretched  to  see 
her.  "  Don't,  sir  !  Well  I  ought  to  be  wretched,  and  it's  very, 
very  wicked  of  me  if  I'm  not,"  says  Theo  ;  and  one  can  un- 
derstand her  soft-hearted  repentance.  What  she  means  by 
"  Don't  "  who  can  tell  ?  I  have  said  the  room  was  dark,  and 
the  fire  burned  fitfully — and  "  Don't  "  is  no  doubt  uttered  in 
one  of  the  dark  fits.  Enter  servants  with  supper  and  lights. 
The  family  arrives ;  the  conversation  becomes  general.  The 
destination  of  the  fleet  is  known,  everywhere  now.  The  force 
on  board  is  sufficient  to  beat  all  the  French  in  Canada  ;  and, 
under  such  an  officer  as  Wolfe,  to  repair  the  blunders  and  dis- 
asters of  previous  campaigns.  He  looked  dreadfully  ill,  indeed. 
But  he  has  a  great  soul  in  a  feeble  body.  The  Ministers,  the 
country  hope  the  utmost  from  him.  After  supper,  according  to 
custom,  Mr.  Lambert  assembles  his  modest  household,  of  whom 
George  Warrington  may  be  said  quite  to  form  a  part ;  and  as 
he  prays  for  all  travellers  by  land  .and  water,  Theo  and  her 
sister  are  kneeling  together.  And  so,  as  the  ship  speeds  farther 
and  farther  into  the  West,  the  fond  thoughts  pursue  it ;  and  the 
night  passes,  and  the  sun  rises. 

A  day  or  two  more,  and   everybody  is  at   his  books  or  his 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  ^y^ 

usual  work.  As  for  George  ^^'arri^gton,  that  celebrated  drama- 
tist is  busy  about  another  composition.  When  the  tragedy  of 
"  Carpezan "  had  run  some  thirty  or  twoscore  nights,  other 
persons  of  genius  took  possession  of  the  theatre. 

There  may  have  been  persons  who  wondered  how  the  town 
could  be  so  fickle  as  ever  to  tire  of  such  a  masterpiece  as  the 
tragedy — who  could  not  bear  to  see  the  actors  dressed  in  other 
habits,  reciting  other  men's  verses  :  but  George,  of  a  skeptical 
turn  of  mind,  took  the  fate  of  his  tragedy  very  philosophically, 
and  pocketed  the  proceeds  with  much  quiet  satisfaction.  From 
Mr.  Dodsley,  the  bookseller,  he  had  the  usual  compliment  of  a 
hundred  pounds;  from  the  manager  of  the  theatre  two  hundred 
or  more  ;  and  such  praises  from  the  critics  and  his  friends,  that 
he  set  to  work  to  prepare  another  piece,  with  which  he  hoped 
to  achieve  ev^en  greater  successes  than  by  his  first  performance. 

Over  these  studies,  and  the  other  charming  business  which 
occupies  him,  months  pass  away.  Happy  business  !  Happiest 
time  of  youth  and  life,  when  love  is  first  spoken  and  returned ; 
when  the  dearest  eyes  are  daily  shining  welcome,  and  the  fond- 
est lips  never  tire  of  whispering  their  sweet  secrets  ;  when  the 
parting  look  that  accompanies  "  Good-night  !  "  gives  delightful 
warning  of  to-morrow  ;  when  the  heart  is  so  overflowing  with 
love  and  happiness,  that  it  has  to  spare  for  all  the  world  ;  when 
the  day  closes  with  glad  prayers,  and  opens  with  joyful  hopes  ; 
when  doubt  seems  cowardice,  misfortune  im.possible,  poverty 
only  a  sweet  trial  of  constancy !  Theo's  elders,  thankfully 
remembering  their  ov/n  prime,  sit  softly  by  and  witness  this 
pretty  comedy  performed  by  their  young  people.  And  in  one 
of  his  later  letters,  dutifully  written  to  his  wife  during  a  tem- 
porary absence  from  home,  George  Warrington  records  how  he 
had  been  to  look  up  at  the  windows  of  the  dear  old  house  in 
Dean  Street,  and  wondered  who  was  sitting  in  the  chamber 
where  he  and  Theo  had  been  so  happy. 

Meanwhile  we  can  learn  how  the  time  passes,  and  our  friends 
are  engaged,  by  some  extracts  from  George's  letters  to  his 
brother. 

From  the  oldwhidow  opposite  Bedford  Gardeits,  this  20th  August,  1759. 
"  Why  are  you  gone  back  to  rugged  rocks,  bleak  shores,  burning  summers,  nipping 
winters,  at  home,  when  you  might  have  been  cropping  ever  so  many  laurels  in  Germany  ? 
Kingsley's  are  coming  back  as  covered  with  'em  as  Jack-a-Green  on  May-day.  Our  six 
regiments  did  wonders  ;  and  our  horse  would  have  done  if  my  Lord  George  Sackville  only 
had  let  them.  But  when  Prince  Ferdinand  said  *  Charge!  '  his  lordship  could  not  hear,  or 
could  not  translate  the  German  word  for  '  Forward  ; '  and  so  we  only  beat  the  French,  with- 
out utterly  annihilating  them,  as  we  might,  had  Lord  Granby  or  Mr.  Warrington  had  the 
command.  My  lord  is  come  back  to  town,  and  is  shouting  for  a  Court-Martia).  He  held 
his  head  high  enough  in  prosperity :  in  misfortune  he  shows  such  a  constancy  of  arrogance 
that  one  alm.ost  admires  him.  He  looks  as  if  he  rather  envied  poor  Mr.  Byng,  and  the  not 
shooting  him  were  a  manque  d^egards  towards  him. 


576 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


"  The  Duke  has  had  notice  to  get  himself  in  readiness  for  departing  from  this  world  of 
grandeurs  and  victories,  and  downfalls  and  disappointments.  An  attack  of  palsy  has  visited 
his  Royal  Highness  ;  and  pallda  -mors  has  just  peeped  in  at  his  door,  as  it  were,  and  said, 
'  I  will  call  again.'  Tyrant  as  he  was,  this  prince  has  been  noble  in  disgrace  ;  and  no  king 
has  ever  had  a  truer  servant  than  ours  has  found  in  his  son.      Why  do  I  like  the  losing  side 

alway?,  and  am  I   disposed   to  revolt  against  the  winners?     Your  famous  Mr.  P ,  your 

chief's  patron  and  discoverer,  I  have  been  to  hear  in  the  House  of  Commons  .twice  or  thrice. 
I  revolt  against  his  magniloquence.  I  wish  some  little  David  would  topple  over  that  swell- 
ing giant.  His  thoughts  and  his  language  are  always  attitudinising.  I  like  Barry's  manner 
best,  though  the  other  is  the  more  awful  actor. 

"  Pocahontas  gets  on  apac2.  Barry  likes  his  part  of  Captain  Smith  ;  and,  though  he 
will  have  him  wear  a  red  coat  and  blue  facings  and  an  epaulet,  I  have  a  fancy  to  dress  hiro 
exactly  like  one  of  the  pictures  of  Queen  Elizabeth's  gentlemen  at  Hampton  Court  ;  with  a 
ruff  and  a  square  beard  and  square  shoes.  'And  Pocahontas — would  you  like  her  to  be 
tattooed  ? '  asks  Uncle  Lambert.  Hagan's  part  as  the  warrior  who  is  in  love  with  her,  and, 
seeing  her  partiality  for  the  Captain,  nobly  rescues  him  from  death,  1  trust  will  prove  a  hit. 
A  strange  fish  is  this  Hagan  :  his  mouth  full  of  stage-plays  and  rant,  but  good,  honest,  and 
brave,  if  I  don't  err.  He  is  angry  at  having  been  cast  lately  for  Sir  O'Brallaghan,  in  Mr. 
Macklia's  new  farce  of  *'  Love  A-la-monde.'  He  says  that  he  does  not  keer  to  disgreece  his 
tongue  with  imiteetions  of  that  rascal  brogue.  As  if  there  was  any  call  for  imiteetions,  when 
he  has  such  an  admirable  twang  of  his  own ! 

"  Shall  I  tell  you?  Shall  I  hide  the  circumstance  ?  Shall  I  hurt 3'our feelings ?  Shall 
I  set  you  in  a  rage  of  jealousy,  and  cause  j'ou  to  ask  for  leave  to  return  to  Europe  ?  Know, 
then,  that  though  Carpezan  is  long  since  dead,  Cousin  Maria  is  for  ever  coming  to  the  play- 
house. Tom  Spencer  has  spied  her  out  night  after  night  in  the  gallery,  and  she  comes  on 
the  nights  when  Hagan  performs.  Quick,  Burroughs,  Mr,  \yarrington's  boots  and  port- 
manteau! Order  a  chaise  and  four  for  Portsmouth  immediately!  The  letter  which  I 
burned  one  morning  when  we  were  at  breakfast  (I  may  let  the  cat  out  of  the  bag,  now  puss 
has  such  a  prodigious  way  to  run)  was  from  Cousin  M.,  hinting  that  she  wished  me  to  tell 
no  tales  about  her  :  but  I  can't  help  just  whispering  to  you  that  Maria  at  this  moment  is 
busy  consoling  herself  as  fast  as  possible.  Shall  I  spoil  sport?  Shall  I  tell  her  brother? 
Is  the  affair  any  business  of  mine  ?  What  have  the  Esmonds  done  for  you  and  me  but  win 
our  money  at  cards  ?  Yet  I  like  our  noble  cousin.  It  seems  to  me  that  he  would  be  good 
if  he  could — or  rather,  he  would  have  been  once.  He  has  been  set  on  a  wrong  way  of  life, 
from  which  'tis  now  probably  too  late  to  rescue  him.  O  beati  agricolcB  I  Our  Virginia 
was  dull,  but  let  us  thank  heaven  we  were  bred  there.  We  were  made  little  slaves,  but  not 
slaves  to  wickedness,  gambling,  bad  male  and  female  company.  It  was  not  until  my  poor 
Harry  left  home  that  he  fell  among  thieves.  I  mean  thieves  en  grand,  such  as  waylaid  him 
and  stripped  him  on  English  high-roads.  I  consider  you  none  the  worse  because  you  were 
the  unlucky  one,  and  had  to  deliver  your  purse  up.  And  now  you  are  going  to  retrieve,  and 
make  a  good  name  for  yourself  :  and  kill  more  '  French  dragons,'  and  become  a  great  com- 
mander. And  our  mother  will  talk  of  her  son  the  Captain,  the  Colonel,  the  General,  and 
have  his  picture  painted  with  all  his  stars  and  epaulets,  when  poor  I  shall  be  but  a  dawd- 
ling poetaster,  or,  if  we  may  hope  for  the  best,  a  snug  placeman,  with  a  little  box  at  Rich- 
mond or  Kew,  and  a  half-score  of  little  picaninnies,  that  will  come  and  bob  curtseys  at  the 
garden-gate  when  their  uncle  the  General  rides  up  on  his  great  charger,  with  his  aid-de- 
camp's  pockets  filled  with  gingerbread  for  the  nephews  and  nieces.  'Tisforyou  to  brandish 
the  sword  of  Mars.  As  for  me  I  look  forward  to  a  quiet  life  ;  a  quiet  little  home,  a  quiet 
little  library  full  of  books,  and  a  little  Someone  didce  ridefitew,  duke  loquentem,  on  t'other 
side  of  the  fire,  as  I  scribble  away  at  my  papers.  I  am  so  pleased  with  this  prospect,  so 
utterly  contented  and  happy,  that  1  feel  afraid  as  I  think  of  it,  least  it  should  escape  me  : 
and  even  to  my  dearest  Hal,  am  shy  of  speaking  of  my  happiness.  What  is  ambition  to  me, 
with  this  certainty  ?     What  do  I  care  for  wars,  with  this  beatific  peace  smiling  near  ? 

"  Our  mother's  friend,  Mynheer  Van  den  Bosch,  has  been  away  on  a  tour  to  discover 
his  family  in  Holland,  and,  strange  to  say,  has  found  one.  Miss  (who  was  intended  by 
maternal  solicitude  to  be  a  wife  for  your  worship)  has  had  six  months  at  Kensington  School, 
aad  is  coming  out  with  a  hundred  pretty  accomplishments,  which  are  to  complete  her  a  per- 
fect fine  lady.  Her  grandpapa  brought  her  to  make  a  curtsey  in  Dean  Street,  and  a  mighty 
elegant  curtsey  she  made.  Though  she  is  scarce  seventeen,  no  dowager  of  sixty  can  be 
more  at  her  ease.  She  conversed  with  Aunt  Lambert  on  an  equal  footing  ;  she  treated  the 
girls  as  chits— to_  Hetty's  wrath  and  Theo's  amusement.  She  talked  politics  with  the 
General,  and  the  last  routs,  dresses,  operas,  fasliions,  scandal,  with  such  perfect  ease  that, 
but  for  a  blunder  or  two,  you  might  have  fancied  Miss  Lydia  was  born  in  Mayfair.  At  the 
Court  end  of  the  town  she  will  live,  she  says  ;  and  has  no  patience  with  her  grandfather,  who 
has  a  lodging  in  Monument  Yard.  For  those  who  love  a  brown  beauty,  a  prettier  little 
migiiomme  creature  cannot  be  seen.     But  my  taste,  you  know,  dearest  brother,  and  *  *  *" 

Here  follows   a  page  of  raptures  and  quotations  of  verse, 


THE   VIRGINIA XS.  t^^tj 

which,  out  of  a  regard  for  the  reader,  and  the  writer's  memory, 
the  editor  of  the  present  pages  decUnes  to  reprint.  Gentlemen 
and  ladies  of  a  certain  age  may  remember  the  time  when  they 
indulged  in  these  rapturous  follies  on  their  own  accounts  ;  when 
the  praises  of  the  charmer  were  for  ever  warbling  from  their 
lips  or  trickling  from  their  pens  ;  when  the  flowers  of  life  were 
in  full  bloom,  and  all  the  birds  of  spring  were  singing.  The 
twigs  are  now  bare,  perhaps,  and  the  leaves  have  fallen ;  but, 
for  all  that,  shall  we  not  remember  the  vernal  time  ?  As  for 
you,  young  people,  whose  May  (or  April,  is  it  ?)  has  not  com- 
menced yet,  you  need  not  be  detained  over  other  folks'  love- 
rhapsodies  j  depend  on  it,  when  your  spring-season  arrives, 
kindly  Nature  will  warm  all  your  flowers  into  bloom,  and  rouse 
your  glad  bosoms  to  pour  out  their  full  song. 


CHAPTER  LXIX. 

A     LITTLE     INNOCENT. 


George  Warrington  has  mentioned  in  the  letter  just 
quoted,  that  in  spite  of  my  Lord  Castlewood's  previous  play 
transactions  with  Harr}^,  my  lord  and  George  remained  friends; 
and  met  on  terms  of  good  kinsmanship.  Did  George  want 
franks,  or  an  introduction  at  Court,  or  a  place  in  the  House  of 
Lords  to  hear  a  debate,  his  cousin  was  always  ready  to  serve 
him,  was  a  pleasant  and  witty  companion,  and  would  do  any- 
thing which  might  promote  his  relative's  interests,  provided 
his  own  were  not  prejudiced. 

Now  he  even  went  so  far  as  to  promise  that  he  would  do 
his  best  with  the  people  in  power  to  provide  a  place  for  Mr. 
George  Warrington,  who  daily  showed  a  greater  disinclination 
to  return  to  his  native  country,  and  place  himself  once  more 
under  the  maternal  servitude. .  George  had  not  merely  a  senti- 
mental motive  for  remaining  in  England  :  the  pursuits  and 
society  of  London  pleased  him  infinitely  better  than  any  which 
he  could  have  at  home.  A  planter's  life  of  idleness  might  have 
suited  him  could  he  have  enjoyed  independence  with  it.  But 
in  Virginia  he  was  only  the  first,  and,  as  he  thought,  the  worst 
treated,   of   his   mother's  subjects.     He   dreaded  to    think  of 

Z1 


578 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


returning  with  his  young  bride  to  his  home,  and  of  the  life  which 
she  would  be  destined  to  lead  there.  Better  freedom  and 
poverty  in  England,  with  congenial  society,  and  a  hope  per- 
chance of  future  distinction,  than  the  wearisome  routine  of  home 
life,  the  tedious  subordination,  the  frequent  bickerings,  the  cer- 
tain jealousies  and  differences  of  opinion,  to  which  he  must 
subject  his  wife  so  soon  as  they  turned  their  faces  homeward. 

So  Lord  Castlewood's  promise  to  provide  for  George  was 
very  eagerly  accepted  by  the  Virginian.  My  lord  had  not  pro- 
vided very  well  for  his  own  brother  to  be  sure,  and  his  own 
position,  peer  as  he  was,  was  anything  but  enviable  ;  but  we 
believe  what  we  wish  to  believe,  and  George  Warrington  chose 
to  put  great  stress  upon  his  kinsman's  offer  of  patronage. 
Unlike  the  Warrington  family.  Lord  Castlewood  was  quite 
gracious  when  he  was  made  acquainted  with  George's  engage- 
ment to  Miss  Lambert ;  came  to  wait  upon  her  parents  ;  praised 
George  to  them  and  the  young  lady  to  George,  and  made  him- 
self so  prodigiously  agreeable  in  their  company  that  these 
charitable  folk  forgot  his  bad  reputation,  and  thought  it  nmst 
be  a  very  wicked  and  scandalous  world  which  maligned  him. 
He  said,  indeed,  that  he  was  improved  in  their  society,  as  every 
man  must  be  who  came  into  it.  Among  them  he  was  witty, 
lively,  good  for  the  time  being.  He  left  his  wickedness  and 
worldliness  with  his  cloak  in  the  hall,  and  only  put  them  on 
again  when  he  stepped  into  his  chair.  What  worldling  on  life's 
voyage  does  not  know  of  some  such  harbor  of  rest  and  calm, 
some  haven  where  he  puts  in  out  of  the  storm  ?  Very  likely 
Lord  Castlewood  was  actually  better  whilst  he  stayed  with  those 
good  people,  and  for  the  time  being  at  least,  no  hypocrite. 

And,  I  dare  say,  the  Lambert  elders  thought  no  worse  of 
his  lordship  for  openly  proclaiming  his  admiration  for  Miss 
Theo.  It  was  quite  genuine,  and  he  did  not  profess  it  was 
ver}^  deep. 

"  It  don't  affect  my  sleep,  and  I  am  not  going  to  break  my 
heart  because  Miss  Lambert  prefers  somebody  else,"  he 
remarked.  "  Only  I  wish  when  I  was  a  young  man.  Madam,  I 
had  had  the  good  fortune  to  meet  with  somebody  so  innocent  and 
good  as  your  daughter.  I  might  have  been  kept  out  of  a  deal  of 
harm's  way  :  but  innocent  and  good  young  women  did  not  fall 
into  mine,  or  they  would  have  made  me  better  than  I  am." 

"  Sure,  my  lord,  it  is  not  too  late !  "  says  Mrs.  Lambert, 
very  softly. 

Castlewood  started  back,  misunderstandina'  her. 

■'  Not  too  late,  ivladam  1  "  he  inquired. 


't> 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


579 


She  blushed.  "  It  is  too  late  to  court  my  dear  daughter, 
my  lord,  but  not  too  late  to  repent.  We  read,  'tis  never  too 
late  to  do  that.  If  others  have  been  received  at  the  eleventh 
hour,  is  there  any  reason  why  you  should  give  up  hope  ?  " 

''  Perhaps  I  know  my  own  heart  better  than  you,"  he  says, 
in  a  plaintive  tone.  "I  can  speak  French  and  German  very 
well,  and  why  ?  because  I  was  taught  both  in  the  nursery.  A 
man  who  learns  them  late  can  never  get  the  practice  of  them 
on  his  tongue.  And  so  'tis  the  case  with  goodness,  I  can  t 
learn  it  at  my  age.  I  can  only  see  others  practice  it,  and  ad- 
mire them.  When  I  am  on — on  the  side  opposite  to  Lazarus, 
will  Miss  Theo  give  me  a  drop  of  water  ?  Don't  frown  !  I 
know  I  shall  be  there,  Mrs.  Lambert.  Some  folks  are  doomed 
so ;  and  1  think  some  of  our  family  are  amongst  these.  Some 
people  are  vacillating,  and  one  hardly  knows  which  way  the 
scale  will  turn.  Whereas  some  are  predestined  angels,  and  fly 
heavenwards  naturally,  and  do  what  the}^  will." 

"  Oh,  my  lord,  and  why  should  you  not  be  of  the  predes- 
tined ?  Whilst  there  is  a  day  left — whilst  there  is  a  hour — 
there  is  hope  !  "  says  the  fond  matron. 

"  I  know  what  is  passing  in  your  mind,  my  dear  Madam — 
nay,  I  read  your  prayers  in  your  looks  ;  but  how  can  they 
avail  ? "  Lord  Castlewood  asked,  sadly.  "  You  don't  know 
all,  my  good  lady.  You  don't  know  what  a  life  ours  is  of  the 
world  ;  how  early  it  began  ;  how  selfish  nature,  and  then  neces- 
sity and  education  have  made  us.  It  is  Fate  holds  the  reins  of 
the  chariot,  and  we  can't  escape  our  doom.  I  know  better : 
I  see  better  people :  I  go  my  own  way.  My  own  ?  No,  not 
mine — Fate's  :  and  it  is  not  altogether  without  pity  for  us,  since 
it  allows  us,  from  time  to  time,  to  see  such  people  as  you." 
And  he  took  her  hand,  and  looked  her  full  in  the  face,  and 
bowed  with  a  melancholy  grace.  Every  word  he  said  was  true. 
No  greater  error  than  to  suppose  that  weak  and  bad  men  are 
strangers  to  good  feelings,  or  deficient  of  sensibility.  Only  the 
good  feeling  does  not  last — nay,  the  tears  are  a  kind  of  debauch 
of  sentiment,  as  old  libertines  are  said  to  find  that  the  tears  and 
grief  of  their  victims  add  a  zest  to  their  pleasure.  But  Mrs. 
Lambert  knew  little  of  w^hat  was  passing  in  this  man's  mind 
(how  should  she  ?),  and  so  prayed  for  him  with  the  fond  per- 
sistence of  women.  He  was  much  better — yes,  much  better 
than  he  was  supposed  to  be.  He  was  a  most  interesting  man. 
There  were  hopes,  why  should  there  not  be  the  most  precious 
hopes  for  him  still  1 

It  remains  to  be  seen  which  of  the  two  speakers  formed  the 


58o 


THE   VIRGINIANS, 


correct  estimate  of  my  lord's  character.  Meanwhile,  if  the 
gentleman  was  right,  the  lady  was  mollified,  and  her  kind  wishes 
and  prayers  for  this  experienced  sinner's  repentance,  if  they 
were  of  no  avail  for  his  amendment,  at  least  could  do  him  no 
harm,  Kind-souled  doctors  (and  what  good  woman  is  not  of 
the  faculty  ?)  look  after  reprobate  as  physicians  after  a  perilous 
case.  When  the  patient  is  converted  to  health  their  interest 
ceases  in  him,  and  they  drive  to  feel  pulses  and  prescribe 
medicines  elsewhere. 

But,  while  the  malady  was  under  treatment,  our  kind  lady 
could  not  see  too  much  of  her  sick  man.  Quite  an  intimacy 
sprung  up  between  my  Lord  Castle  wood  and  the  Lamberts. 
I  am  not  sure  that  some  worldly  views  might  not  suit  even  vvith 
good  Mrs.  Lambert's  spiritual  plans  (for  who  knows  into  what 
pure  Eden,  though  guarded  by  fiaming-sworded  angels,  world- 
liness  will  not  creep?)  Her  son  was  about  to  take  orders.  My 
Lord  Castlewood  feared  very  much  that  his  present  Chaplain's, 
Mr.  Sampson's,  careless  life  and  heterodox  conversation  might 
lead  him  to  give  up  his  chaplaincy  :  in  which  case,  my  lord 
hinted,  the  little  modest  cure  would  be  vacant  and  at  the  ser- 
vice of  some  young  divine  of  good  principles  and  good  manners, 
who  would  be  content  with  a  small  stipend,  and  a  small  but 
friendly  congregation. 

Thus  an  acquantaince  was  established  between  the  two  fam- 
ilies, and  the  ladies  of  Castlewood,  always  on  their  good  beha- 
vior, came  more  than  once  to  make  their  curtseys  in  Mrs. 
Lambert's  drawing-room.  They  were  civil  to  the  parents  and 
the  young  ladies.  My  Lady  Castlewood's  card-assemblies  were 
open  to  Mrs.  Lambert  and  her  family.  There  was  play,  cer- 
tainly— all  the  world  played — his  Majesty,  the  Bishops,  every 
Peer  and  Peeress  in  the  land.  But  nobody  need  play  who  did 
not  like  :  and  surely  nobody  need  have  scruples  regarding  the 
practice  when  such  august  and  venerable  personages  were  daily 
found  to  abet  it.  More  than  once  Mrs.  Lambert  made  her 
appearance  at  her  ladyship's  routs,  and  was  grateful  for  the 
welcome  which  she  received,  and  pleased  with  the  admiration 
which  her  daughters  excited. 

Mention  has  been  made,  in  a  foregoing  page  and  letter,  of 
an  American  family  of  Dutch  extraction,  who  had  come  to 
England  ver)^  strongly  recommended  by  Madam  Esmond,  their 
Virginian  neighbor,  to  her  sons  in  Europe.  The  views  ex- 
pressed in  Madam  Esmond's  letter  were  so  clear,  that  that  arch 
match-maker,  Mrs.  Lambert,  could  not  but  understand  them. 
As  for  George,  he  was  engaged  already ;  as  for  poor  Hetty's 


THE  VIRGhVIANS. 


581 


flame,  Harry,  he  was  gone  on  service,  for  which  circumstance 
Hetty's  mother  was  not  very  sorry  perhaps.  She  laughingly 
told  George  that  he  ought  to  obey  his  mamma's  injunctions, 
break  off  his  engagement  with  Theo,  and  make  up  to  Miss 
Lydia,  who  was  ten  times — ten  times  !  a  hundred  times  as  rich 
as  her  poor  girl,  and  certainly  much  handsomer.  "  Yes,  in- 
deed," says  George,  "  that  I  own  :  she  is  handsomer,  and  she 
is  richer,  and  perhaps  even  cleverer."  (All  which  praises  Mrs. 
Lambert  but  half  liked.)  "  But  say  she  is  all  these  t  So  is  Mr. 
Johnson  much  cleverer  than  I  am  ■  so  is,  whom  shall  we  say  ? 
— so  is  Mr.  Hagan  the  actor  much  taller  and  handsomer :  so  is 
Sir  James  Lowther  much  richer :  yet  pray.  Ma'am,  do  you  sup- 
pose I  am  going  to  be  jealous  of  any  one  of  these  three,  or  think 
my  Theo  would  jilt  me  for  their  sakes  ?  Why  should  I  not  allow 
that  Miss  Lydia  is  handsomer,  then  ?  and  richer,  and  clever, 
too,  and  lively,  and  well  bred,  if  you  insist  on  it,  and  an  angel 
if  you  will  have  it  so  ?     Theo  is  not  afraid  :  art  thou,  child  1 " 

"  No,  George,"  says  Theo,  with  such  an  honest  look  of  the 
eyes,  as  would  convince  any  skepticism,  or  shame  any  jealousy. 
And  if  after  this  pair  of  speeches.  Mamma  takes  occasion  to 
leave  the  room  for  a  minute  to  fetch  her  scissors,  or  her  thim- 
ble, or  a  boot-jack  and  slippers,  or  the  cross  and  ball  on  the 
top  of  St.  Paul's,  or  her  pocket-handkerchief  which  she  has  for- 
gotten in  the  parlor — if,  I  say,  Mrs.  Lambert  quits  the  room 
on  any  errand  or  pretext,  natural  or  preposterous,  1  shall  not 
be  in  the  least  surprised,  if,  at  her  return  in  a  couple  of  min- 
utes, she  finds  George  in  near  proximity  to  Theo,  who  has  a 
heightened  color,  and  whose  hand  George  is  just  dropping — I 
shall  not  have  the  least  idea  of  what  they  have  been  doing. 
Have  you,  ]\Iadam  t  Have  you  any  remembrance  of  what 
used  to  happen  when  Mr.  Grundy  came  a-courting  ?  Are  you, 
who,  after  all,  were  not  in  the  room  with  our  young  people, 
going  to  cry  out  fie  and  for  shame  ?  Then  fie  and  for  shame 
upon  you,  Mrs.  Grundy  ! 

Well,  Harry  being  away,  and  Theo  and  George  irrevocably 
engaged,  so  that  there  was  no  possibility  of  bringing  ]\Iadam 
Esmond's  little  plans  to  bear,  why  should  not  Mrs.  Lambert 
have  plans  of  her  own  ;  and  if  a  rich,  handsome,  beautiful 
little  wife  should  fall  in  his  way,  why  should  not  Jack  Lambert 
from  Oxford  have  her  ?  So  thinks  mamma,  who  was  always 
thinking  of  marr3'ing  and  giving  in  marriage,  and  so  she  prat- 
tles to  General  Lambert,  who,  as  usual,  calls  her  a  goose  for 
her  pains.  At  any  rate,  Mrs.  Lambert  says  beauty  and  riches 
are   no   objection  j  at  any  rate,  Madam  Esmond  desired  that 


^82  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

this  family  should  be  hospitably  entertained,  and  it  was  not  hei 
fault  that  Harry  was  gone  away  to  Canada.  Would  the  Gen- 
eral wish  him  to  come  back ;  leave  the  army  and  his  reputa- 
tion, perhaps  ;  yes,  and  come  to  England  and  marry  this 
American,  and  break  poor  Hetty's  heart — would  her  father 
wish  that  ?  Let  us  spare  further  arguments,  and  not  be  so  rude 
as  to  hint  that  Mr.  Lambert  was  in  the  right  in  calling  a  fond 
wife  by  the  name  of  that  absurd  splay-footed  bird,  annually 
sacrificed  at  the  feast  of  St.  Michael. 

In  those  early  days,  there  w^ere  vast  distinctions  of  rank 
draw^n  between  the  Court  and  City  people  :  and  Mr.  Van  den 
Bosch,  when  he  first  came  to  London,  scarcely  associated  with 
any  but  the  latter  sort.  He  had  a  lodging  near  his  agent's  in 
the  City.  When  his  pretty  girl  came  from  school  for  a  holiday, 
he  took  her  an  airing  to  Islington  or  Highgate,  or  an  occa- 
sional promenade  in  the  Artillery  Ground  in  Bunhill  Fields. 
They  went  to  that  Baptist  meeting-house  in  Finsbur}"  Fields, 
and  on  the  sly  to  see  Mr.  Garrick  once  or  twice,  or  that  funny 
rogue  Mr.  Foote,  at  the  Little  Theatre.  To  go  to  a  Lord 
Mayor's  feast  was  a  treat  to  the  gentlemen  of  the  highest 
order;  and  to  dance  with  a  young  mercer  at  Hampstead 
Assembly  gave  the  utmost  delight  to  the  young  lady.  When 
George  first  went  to  wait  upon  his  mother's  friends,  he  found 
our  old  acquaintance,  ]\Ir.  Draper,  of  the  Temple,  sedulous  in 
his  attentions  to  her;  and  the  lawyer,  who  was  married,  told 
Mr.  Warrington  to  look  out,  as  the  young  lady  had  a  plum  to 
her  fortune.  Mr.  Drabshaw,  a  young  Quaker  gentleman,  and 
nephew  of  Mr.  Trail,  Madam  Esmond's  Bristol  agent,  w^as  also 
in  constant  attendance  upon  the  young  lady,  and  in  dreadful 
alarm  and  suspicion  when  Mr.  Warrington  first  made  his  ap- 
pearance. Wishing  to  do  honor  to  his  mother's  neighbors,  Mr. 
Warrington  invited  them  to  an  entertainment  at  his  own  apart- 
ments ;  and  who  should  so  naturally  meet  them  as  his  friends 
from  Soho  ?  Not  one  of  them  but  was  forced  to  o\vn  little  Miss 
Lydia's  beauty.  She  had  the  foot  of  a  fairy :  the  arms,  neck, 
flashing  eyes  of  a  little  brown  huntress  of  Diana.  She  had 
brought  a  little  plaintive  accent  from  home  with  her — of  which 
I,  moi  qui  vous park,  have  heard  a  hundred  gross  Cockney  imi- 
tations, and  watched  as  many  absurd  disguises,  and  which  I  say 
(in  moderation)  is  charming  in  the  mouth  of  a  charming 
woman.  Who  sets  up  to  say  No,  forsooth?  You  dear  Miss 
Whittington,  with  whose  //'s  fate  has  dealt  so  unkindly  ? — you 
lovely  iSIiss  Nicol  Jarvie,  with  your  Northern  burr  ? — you 
beautiful   Miss   IMolony,  with  your  Dame   Street  warble  t     All 


THE  VIRGINIANS. 


583 


accents  are  pretty  from  pretty  lips,  and  who  shall  set  the  stand- 
ard up  ?  Shall  it  be  a  rose,  or  a  thistle,  or  a  shamrock,  or  a 
star  and  a  stripe  ?  As  for  Miss  Lydia's  accent,  I  have  no 
doubt  it  was  not  odious  even  from  the  first  day  when  she  set 
foot  on  these  polite  shores,  otherwise  Mr.  Warrington,  as  a 
man  of  taste,  had  certainly  disapproved  of  her  manner  of  talk- 
ing, and  her  school-mistress  at  Kensington  had  not  done  her 
duty  by  a  pupil. 

After  the  six  months  were  over,  during  which,  according  to 
her  grandfather's  calculation,  she  was  to  learn  all  the  accom- 
plishments procurable  at  the  Kensington  Academy,  Miss  Lydia 
returned  nothing  loth  to  her  grandfather,  and  took  her  place  in 
the  world.  A  narrow  world  at  first  it  was  to  her ;  but  she  was 
a  resolute  little  person,  and  resolved  to  enlarge  her  sphere  in 
society ;  and  whither  she  chose  to  lead  the  way  the  obedient 
grandfather  followed  her.  He  had  been  thwarted  himself  in 
early  life,  he  said,  and  little  good  came  of  the  severity  he  under- 
went. He  had  thwarted  his  own  son,  who  had  turned  out  but  ill. 
As  for  little  Lyddy,  he  was  determined  she  should  have  as  pleas- 
ant a  life  as  was  possible.  Did  not  Mr.  George  think  he  was 
right  ?  'Twas  said  in  Virginia — he  did  not  know  with  what 
reason — that  the  young  gentlemen  of  Castlewood  had  been 
happier  if  Madam  Esmond  had  allowed  them  a  little  of  their 
own  way.  George  could  not  gainsay  this  public  rumor,  or 
think  of  inducing  the  benevolent  old  gentleman  to  alter  his 
plans  respecting  his  granddaughter.  As  for  the  Lambert  family, 
how  could  they  do  otherwise  than  welcome  the  kind  old  man, 
the  parent  so  tender  and  liberal.  Madam  Esmond's  good 
friend  ? 

When  Miss  came  from  school,  grandpapa  removed  from 
Monument  Yard  to  an  elegant  house  in  Bloomsbury  ;  whither 
they  were  followed  at  first  by  their  City  friends.  There  were  mer- 
chants from  Virginia  Walk ;  there  were  worthy  tradesmen,  with 
whom  the  worthy  old  merchant  had  dealings  ;  there  were  their 
ladies  and  daughters  and  sons,  who  were  all  highly  gracious  to 
Miss  Lyddy.  It  would  be  a  long  task  to  describe  how  these 
disappeared  one  by  one — how  there  were  no  more  junketings 
at  Belsize,  or  trips  to  Highgate,  or  Saturday  jaunts  to  Deputy 
Higgs'  villa,  Highbury,  or  country-dances  at  honest  Mrs.  Lute- 
string's house  at  Hackney.  Even  the  Sunday  practice  was 
changed  ;  and,  O  abomination  of  abominations  !  Mr.  Van  den 
Bosch  left  Bethesda  Chapel  in  Bunhill  Row,  and  actually  took 
a  pew  in  Queen  Square  Church  ! 

Queen   Square  Church,  and  Mr.  George  Warrington  lived 


^84  T^H^  VIRGINIANS. 

hard  by  in  Southampton  Row.  'Twas  easy  to  see  at  whom 
Miss  Liddy  was  setting  her  cap,  and  Mr.  Draper,  who  had  been 
full  of  her  and  her  grandfather's  praises  before,  now  took 
occasion  to  warn  Mr.  George,  and  gave  him  very  different  re- 
ports regarding  Mr.  Van  den  Bosch  to  those  which  had  first 
been  current.  Mr.  Van  d.  B.,  for  all  he  bragged  so  of  his 
Dutch  parentage,  came  from  Albany,  and  was  nobody's  son  at 
all.  He  had  made  his  money  by  land  speculation,  or  by  priva- 
teering (which  was  uncommonl}^  like  jDirac}'),  and  by  the  Guinea 
trade.  His  son  had  married — if  marriage  it  could  be  called, 
which  was  very  doubtful — an  assigned  servant,  and  had  been 
cut  off  by  his  father,  and  had  taken  to  bad  courses,  and  had 
died,  luckily  for  himself,  in  his  own  bed. 

"  Mr.  Draper  has  told  you  bad  tales  about  me,"  said  the 
placid  old  gentleman  to  George.  "  Very  likely  we  are  all  sin- 
ners, and  some  evil  may  be  truly  said  of  all  of  us,  with  a  great 
deal  more  that  is  untrue.  Did  he  tell  you  that  my  son  was  un- 
happy with  me  ?  I  told  you  so  too.  Did  he  bring  you  wicked 
stories  about  my  family  ?  He  liked  it  so  well  that  he  wanted 
to  marry  my  Lyddy  to  his  brother.  Heaven  bless  her  !  I  have 
have  had  many  offers  for  her.  And  you  are  the  young  gentle- 
man I  should  have  chose  for  her,  and  I  like  you  none  the  worse 
because  you  prefer  somebody  else  ;  though  what  you  can  see  in 
your  Miss,  as  compared  to  my  Lyddy,  begging  your  honor's 
pardon,  I  am  at  loss  to  understand." 

"  There  is  no  accounting  for  tastes,  my  good  sir,"  said  Mr. 
George,  with  his  most  superb  air. 

"No,  sir;  'tis  a  w^onder  of  nature,  and  daily  happens. 
When  I  kept  store  at  Albany,  there  was  one  of  your  tip-top 
gentry  there  that  might  have  married  my  dear  daughter  that 
was  alive  then,  and  with  a  pretty  piece  of  money,  whereby — for 
her  father  and  I  had  quarrelled — Miss  Lyddy  would  have  been 
a  pauper,  you  see  ;  and  in  place  of  my  beautiful  Bella,  my  gen- 
tleman chooses  a  little  homely  creature,  no  prettier  than  your 
Miss,  and  without  a  dollar  to  her  fortune.  The  more  fool  he, 
saving  your  presence,  ]\Ir.  George." 

"  Pra}-,  don't  save  my  presence,  my  good  sir,"  says  George, 
laughing.  "  I  suppose  the  gentleman's  word  was  given  to  the 
other  lady,  and  he  had  seen  her  first,  and  hence  was  indifferent 
to  your  charming  daughter." 

*'  I  suppose  when  a  young  fellow  gives  his  word  to  perform 
a  cursed  piece  of  folly,  he  always  sticks  to  it,  my  dear  sir,  beg- 
ging your  pardon.  But  Lord,  Lord,  w^hat  am  I  speaking  of  ? 
I  am  a-speaking  of  twenty  year  ago.     I  was  well-to-do  then, 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


58s 


but  I  may  say  heaven  has  blessed  my  store,  and  I  am  three 
times  as  well  off  now.  Ask  my  agents  how^  much  they  will  give 
for  Joseph  Van  den  Bosch's  bill  at  six  months  on  New  York — 
or  at  sight  may  be — for  forty  thousand  pound  ?  I  warrant  they 
will  discount  the  paper." 

"  Happy  he  w4io  has  the  bill,  sir  !  "  says  George,  with  a  bow, 
not  a  little  amused  with  the  candor  of  the  old  gentleman. 

■"  Lord,  Lord,  how  mercenary  you  young  men  are  !  "  cries 
the  elder,  simply.  "  Always  thinking  about  money  now-a-days ! 
Happy  he  who  has  the  girl,  I  should  say — the  money  ain't  the 
question,  my  dear  sir,  when  it  goes  along  with  such  a  lovely 
young  thing  as  that — though  I  humbly  say  it,  who  oughtn't, 
and  who  am  her  fond  silly  old  grandfather.  We  were  talking 
about  you,  Lyddy  darling — come,  give  me  a  kiss,  my  blessing  ! 
We  were  talking  about  you,  and  Mr.  George  said  he  wouldn't 
take  you  with  all  the  money  your  poor  old  grandfather  can  give 
you." 

"  Nay,  sir,"  says  George. 

"  Well,  you  are  right  to  say  nay,  for  I  didn't  say  all,  that's 
the  truth.  My  blessing  will  have  a  deal  more  than  that  trifle  I 
spoke  of,  w^hen  it  shall  please  heaven  to  remove  me  out  of  this 
world  to  be  a  better — when  poor  old  Gappy  is  gone,  Lyddy 
will  be  a  rich  little  Lyddy,  that  she  will.  But  she  don't  wish 
me  to  go  yet,  does  she  .?  " 

"  Oh,  you  darling  dear  grandpapa  !  "  says  Lyddy. 

"  This  young  gentleman  won't  have  you."  (Lyddy  looks 
an  arch  "  Thank  you,  sir,"  from  her  brown  eyes.)  "  But  at 
any  rate  he  is  honest,  and  that  is  more  than  we  can  say  of 
some  folks  in  this  wicked  London.  Oh,  Lord,  Lord,  how  mer- 
cenary they  are  !  Do  you  know^  that  yonder,  in  Monument 
Yard,  they  were  all  at  my  poor  little  Blessing  for  her  money  ? 
There  was  Tom  Lutestring  ;  there  was  Mr.  Draper,  your  pre- 
cious lawyer ;  there  was  actually  Mr.  Tubbs,  of  Bethesda 
Chapel ;  and  they  must  all  come  buzzing  like  flies  round  the 
honey-pot.  That  is  why  \ve  came  out  of  the  quarter  where  my 
brother  tradesmen  live." 

"  To  avoid  the  flies,  to  be  sure  !  "  says  Miss  Lydia,  tossing 
up  her  little  head. 

"  Where  my  brother  tradesmen  live,"  continues  the  old 
gentleman.  "  Else  who  am  I  to  think  of  consorting  with  your 
grandees  and  fine  folk  ?  I  don't  care  for  the  fashions.  Mr. 
George  ;  I  don't  care  for  plays  and  poetry,  begging  your 
honor's  pardon  ;  I  never  went  to  a  play  in  my  life,  but  to  please 
this  little  minx." 


586  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

"Oh,  sir,  'twas  lovely!  and  I  cried  so,  didn't  I,  grand- 
papa ?  "  say  the  child. 

"  At  what,  my  dear  ?  " 

"  At — at  Mr.  Warrington's  play,  grandpapa." 

"  Did  you,  my  dear  ?  I  dare  say  ;  I  dare  say.  It  was  mail 
day :  and  my  letters  had  come  in  :  and  my  ship  the  '  Lovely 
Lyddy '  had  just  come  into  Falmouth ;  and  Captain  Joyce  re- 
ported how  he  had  mercifully  escaped  a  French  privateer ;  and 
my  head  was  so  full  of  thanks  for  that  escape,  which  saved  me 
a  deal  of  money,  Mr.  George— for  the  rate  at  which  ships  is 
underwrote  this  war-time  is  so  scandalous  that  I  often  prefer 
to  venture  than  to  insure— that  I  confess  I  didn't  listen  much 
to  the  play,  sir,  and  only  went  to  please  this  little  Lyddy." 

"  And  you  ^/>/ please  me,  dearest  Gappy!  "  cries  the  youn^ 
lady.  ■'        ^ 

"  Bless  you  !  then  it's  all  I  want.  What  does  a  man  want 
more  here  below  than  to  please  his  children,  Mr.  Geor^re  ? 
especially  me,  who  knew  what  it  was  to  be  unhappy  when  I  was 
young,  and  to  repent  of  having  treated  this  darling's  father 
too  hard." 

^'^Oh,  grandpapa  !  "  cries  the  child,  with  more  caresses. 

"Yes,  I  was  too  hard  with  him,  dear;  and  that's  whv  I 
spoil  my  little  Lydkin  so  !  " 

More  kisses  ensue  between  Lyddv  and  Gappy.  The  little 
creature  flings  the  pretty  polished  arms  round  the  old  man's 
neck,  presses  the  dark  red  lips  on  his  withered  cheek,  surrounds 
the  venerable  head  with  a  halo  of  powder  beaten  out  of  his 
wig  by  her  caresses  ;  and  eyes  Mr.  George  the  while,  as  much 
as  to  say,  There,  sir  !  should  you  not  like  me  to  do  as  much 
for  you  ? 

We  confess ;— but  do  we  confess  all .?  George  certainly 
told  the  story  of  his  interview  with  Lyddy  and  Gappy,  and  the 
old  man's  news  regarding  his  granddaughter's  wealth  ;  but  I 
don't  think  he  told  everything  ;  else  Theo  would  scarce  have 
been  so  niuch  mterested,  or  so  entirely  amused  and  good- 
humored  with  Lyddy  v/hen  next  the  two  youna;  ladies  met. 

They  met  now  pretty  frequently,  especiallv  after  the  old 
American  gentleman  took  up  his  residence  In  Bloomsbuiy. 
Mr.  Van  den  Bosch  was  in  the  City  for  the  most  part  of  the  day 
attending  to  his  affairs,  and  appearing  at  his  place  upon 
Change.  During  his  absence  Lyddy  had  the  command  of  the 
house,  and  received  her  guests  there  like  a  ladv,  or  rode  abroad 
m  a  tine  coach,  which  she  ordered  her  grandpapa  to  keep  for 
her,  and  into  which  he  could  very  seldoin  be  induced  to  set  his 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  587 

foot.  Before  long  Miss  Lyddy  was  as  easy  in  the  coach  as  if 
she  had  ridden  in  one  all  her  life.  She  ordered  the  domestics 
here  and  there  ;  she  drove  to  the  mercer's  and  the  jeweller's, 
and  she  called  upon  her  friends  with  the  utmost  stateliness,  or 
rode  abroad  with  them  to  take  the  air.  Theo  and  Hetty  were 
both  greatly  diverted  with  her  :  but  would  the  elder  have  been 
quite  as  well  pleased  had  she  known  all  Miss  Lyddy's  doings  t 
Not  that  Theo  was  of  a  jealous  disposition, — far  otherwise  ;  but 
there  are  cases  when  a  lady  has  a  right  to  a  little  jealousy,  as  I 
maintain,  whatever  my  fair  readers  may  say  to  the  contrary. 

It  was  because  she  knew  he  was  engaged,  very  likely,  that 
Miss  Lyddy  permitted  herself  to  speak  so  frankly  in  Mr. 
George's  praise.  When  they  were  alone  —  and  this  blessed 
chance  occurred  pretty  often  at  Mr.  Van  den  Bosch's  house, 
for  we  have  said  he  was  constantly  absent  on  one  errand  or  the 
other — it  was  wonderful  how  artlessly  the  little  creature  would 
show  her  enthusiasm,  asking  him  all  sorts  of  simple  questions 
about  himself,  his  genius,  his  way  of  life  at  home  and  in  Lon- 
don, his  projects  of  marriage,  and  so  forth. 

"  I  am  glad  you  are  going  to  be  married, — oh,  so  glad  !  "  she 
would  say,  heaving  the  most  piteous  sigh  the  while ;  "  for  I  can 
talk  to  you  frankly,  quite  frankly,  as  a  brother,  and  not  be 
afraid  of  that  odious  politeness  about  which  they  were  always 
scolding  me  at  boarding-school.  I  may  speak  to  you  frankly ; 
and  if  I  like  you,  I  may  say  so,  mayn't  I,  Mr.  George  ?  " 

"  Pray,  say  so,"  says  George,  with  a  bow  and  a  smile.  "  That 
is  a  kind  of  talk  which  most  men  delight  to  hear,  especially 
from  such  pretty  lips  as  Miss  Lydia's." 

"  What  do  you  know  about  my  lips  ? "  says  the  girl,  with  a 
pout  and  an  innocent  look  into  his  face. 

"What,  indeed  ?  "  asks  George.  "  Perhaps  I  should  like  to 
know  a  great  deal  more." 

"  They  don't  tell  nothin'  but  truth,  anyhow  !  "  says  the 
girl ;  "  that's  why  some  people  don't  like  them !  If  I  have 
anything  on  my  mind,  it  must  come  out.  I  am  a  country-bred 
girl,  I  am — with  my  heart  in  my  mouth — all  honesty  and  simpli- 
city ;  not  like  your  English  girls,  who  have  learned  I  don't  know 
what  at  their  boarding-schools,  and  from  the  men  afterwards." 

"  Our  girls  are  monstrous  little  hypocrites  indeed !  "  cries 
George. 

"  You  are  thinking  of  Miss  Lamberts  ?  and  I  might  have 
thought  of  them ;  but  I  declare  I  did  not  then.  They  have 
been  at  boarding-school ;  they  have  been  in  the  world  a  great 
deal — so  much  the  greater  pity  for  them,  for  be  certain  they 


5 88  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

learned  no  good  there.  And  now  I  have  said  so,  of  course  you 
will  go  and  tell  Miss  Theo,  won't  you,  sir  ?  " 

"  That  she  has  learned  no  good  in  the  world  ?  She  has 
scarce  spoken  to  men  at  all,  except  her  father,  her  brother,  and 
me.     Which  of  us  would  teach  her  any  wrong,  think  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  not  you  !  Though  I  can  understand  its  being  very 
dangerous  to  be  with  you  !  "  says  the  girl,  with  a  sigh. 

''  Indeed  there  is  no  danger,  and  I  don't  bite  !  "  says  George 
laughing. 

"  I  didn't  say  bite,"  says  the  girl  softly.  "  There's  other 
things  dangerous  besides  biting,  I  should  think.  Aren't  you 
very  witty  .'*  Yes,  and  sarcastic,  and  clever,  and  always  laugh- 
ing at  people  1  Haven't  you  a  coaxing  tongue  ?  If  you  was 
to  look  at  me  in  that  kind  of  way,  I  don't  know  what  would 
come  to  me.  Was  your  brother  like  you,  as  I  was  to  have 
married  ?  Was  he  as  clever  and  witty  as  you  ?  I  have  heard 
he  was  like  you  :  but  he  hadn't  your  coaxing  tongue.  Heigho  ! 
'Tis  well  you  are  engaged.  Master  George,  that  is  all.  Do  you 
think  if  you  had  seen  me  first,  you  would  have  liked  Miss  Theo 
best?" 

"  They  say  marriages  are  made  in  heaven,  my  dear,  and  let 
us  trust  that  mine  has  been  arranged  there,"  says  George. 

"  I  suppose  there  was  no  such  thing  never  known,  as  a  man 
having  two  sweethearts  ? "  asks  the  artless  little  maiden. 
''  Guess  it's  a  pity.  Oh  me  !  What  nonsense  I'm  a-talking  ; 
there  now  !  I'm  like  the  little  girl  who  cried  for  the  moon  ;  and 
I  can't  have  it.  'Tis  too  high  for  me — too  high  and  splendid 
and  shining  ;  can't  reach  up  to  it  nohow.  Well,  what  a  foolish, 
wayward,  little  spoilt  thing  I  am  now !  But  one  thing  you 
promise — on  your  word  and  your  honor,  now,  ]Mr.  George  ?  " 

"  And  what  is  that  ?  " 

"  That  you  won't  tell  Miss  Theo,  else  she'll  hate  me." 

"  Why  should  she  hate  you  ?  " 

"  Because  I  hate  her,  and  wish  she  was  dead  !  "  breaks  out 
the  young  lady.  And  the  eyes  that  were  looking  so  gently  and 
lachrymose  but  now,  flame  with  sudden  wrath,  and  her  cheeks 
flush  up.  "For  shame!"  she  adds,  after  a  pause.  "I'm  a 
little  fool  to  speak  !  But  whatever  is  in  my  heart  must  come 
out.  I  am  a  girl  of  the  woods,  I  am.  I  w^as  bred  where  the 
sun  is  hotter  than  in  this  foggy  climate.  And  I  am  not  like 
your  cold  English  girls  ;  who,  before  they  speak,  or  think,  or 
feel,  must  wait  for  mamma  to  give  leave.  There,  there  !  I  may 
be  a  little  fool  for  saying  what  I  have.  I  know  you'll  go  and 
tell  Miss  Lambert.     Well,  do  !  " 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  589 

But,  as  we  have  said,  George  didn't  tell  Miss  Lambert.  Even 
from  the  beloved  person  there  must  be  some  things  kept  secret, 
even  to  himself,  perhaps,  he  did  not  quite  acknowledge  what 
was  the  meaning  of  the  little  girl's  confession  ;  or  if  he  acknowl- 
edged it,  did  not  act  on  it;  except  in  so  far  as  this,  perhaps, 
that  my  gentleman,  in  Miss  Lydia's  presence,  was  particularly 
courteous  and  tender ;  and  in  her  absence  thought  of  her  very 
kindly,  and  always  with  a  certain  pleasure.  It  were  hard,  in- 
deed, if  a  man  might  not  repay  by  a  little  kindness  and  grati- 
tude the  artless  affection  of  such  a  warm  young  heart. 

What  was  that  story  meanwhile  which  came  round  to  our 
friends,  of  young  Mr.  Lutestring  and  young  Mr.  Drabshaw  the 
Quaker  having  a  boxing-match  at  a  tavern  in  the  City,  and  all 
about  this  young  lady  ?  They  fell  out  over  their  cups,  and 
fought  probably.  Why  did  Mr.  Draper,  who  had  praised  her 
so  at  first,  tell  such  stories  now  against  her  grandfather  ?  "  I 
suspect,''  says  Madame  de  Bernstein,  "  that  he  wants  the  girl 
for  some  client  or  relation  of  his  owai ;  and  that  he  tells  these 
tales  in  order  to  frighten  all  suitors  from  her.  When  she  and 
her  grandfather  came  to  me,  she  behaved  perfectly  well ;  and 
I  confess,  sir,  I  thought  it  was  a  great  pity  that  you  should  pre- 
fer yonder  red-cheeked  countryfied  little  chit,  without  a  half- 
penny, to  this  pretty,  wild,  artless  girl,  with  such  fortune  as  I 
hear  she  has." 

"Oh,  she  has  been  with  you,  has  she,  Aunt  ?"  asks  George 
of  his  relative. 

"  Of  course  she  has  been  with  me,"  the  other  replies,  curtly. 
"  Unless  your  brother  has  been  so  silly  as  to  fall  in  love  with 
that  other  little  Lambert  girl " 

"Indeed,  Ma'am,  I  think  I  can  say  he  has  not,"  George 
remarks. 

"  Why,  then,  when  he  comes  back  with  Mr.  Wolfe,  should 
he  not  take  a  fancy  to  this  little  person,  as  his  mamma  wishes — 
only,  to  do  us  justice,  \ve  Esmonds  care  ver^'  little  for  what  our 
mammas  wish — and  marry  her,  and  set  up  beside  you  in  Vir- 
ginia ?  "She  is  to  have  a  great  fortune,  which  you  won't  touch. 
Pray,  why  should  it  go  out  of  the  family  ?  " 

George  now  learned  that  Mr.  Van  den  Bosch  and  his  grand- 
daughter had  been  often  at  Madame  de  Bernstein's  house. 
Taking  his  favorite  walk  with  his  favorite  companion  to  Ken- 
sington Gardens,  he  saw  Mr.  Van  den  Bosch's  chariot  turning 
into  Kensington  Square.  The  Americans  were  going  to  visit 
Lady  Castlewood  then  ?  He  found,  on  some  little  inquiry, 
that  they  had  been"  more    than  once  with  her  ladyship.     It 


59° 


THE  VIRGINIANS. 


was,  perhaps,  strange  that  they  should  have  said  nothing  of 
their  visits  to  George  ;  but,  being  little  curious  of  other  people's 
affairs,  and  having  no  intrigues  or  mysteries  of  his  own,  George 
was  quite  slow  to  imagine  them  in  other  people.  What  mat- 
tered to  him  how  often  Kensington  entertained  Bloomsbury,  or 
Bloomsbury  made  its  bow  at  Kensington  ? 

A  number  of  things  were  happening  at  both  places,  of  which 
our  Virginian  had  not  the  slightest  idea.  Indeed,  do  not  things 
happen  under  our  eyes,  and  we  not  see  them  .'*  Are  not  come- 
dies and  tragedies  daily  performed  before  us  of  which  we  under- 
stand neither  the  fun  nor  the  pathos  ?  Very  likely  George 
goes  home  thinking  to  himself,  "  I  have  made  an  impression  on 
the  heart  of  this  young  creature.  She  has  almost  confessed  as 
much.  Poor  artless  little  maiden  !  I  wonder  what  there  is  in 
me  that  she  should  like  me  ?  "  Can  he  be  angry  with  her  for 
this  unlucky  preference  ?  Was  every  a  man  angry  at  such  a 
reason  ?  He  would  not  have  been  so  well  pleased,  perhaps, 
had  he  known  all  ;  and  that  he  was  only  one  of  the  performers 
in  the  comedy,  not  the  principal  character  by  any  means  ; 
Rosencrantz  and  Guildenstern  in  the  tragedy,  the  part  of  Ham- 
let by  a  gentleman  unknown.  How  often  are  our  little  vanities 
shocked  in  this  way,  and  subjected  to  wholesome  humiliation  ! 
Have  you  not  fancied  that  Lucinda's  eyes  beamed  on  you  with 
a  special  tenderness,  and  presently  become  aware  that  she  ogles 
your  neighbor  with  the  very  same  killing  glances  ?  Have  you 
not  exchanged  exquisite  whispers  with  Lalage  at  the  dinner- 
table  (sweet  murmurs  heard  through  the  hum  of  the  guests,  and 
clatter  of  the  banquet !)  and  then  overheard  her  v/hispering  the 
very  same  delicious  phrases  to  old  Surdus  in  the  drawing-room  ? 
The  sun  shines  for  everybody ;  the  flowers  smell  sweet  for  all 
noses  ;  and  the  nightingale  and  Lalage  warble  for  all  ears — not 
your  long  ones  only,  good  brother  ? 


CHAPTER   LXX. 

IN    WHICH    CUPID    PLAYS    A    CONSIDERABLE    PART. 

We  must  now,  however,  and  before  we  proceed  with  the 
history  of  Miss  Lydia  and  her  doings,  perform  the  duty  of 
explaining  that  sentence    in    Mr.  Warrington's    letter   to   his 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


591 


brother  which  refers  to  Lady  Maria  Esmond,  and  which,  to 
some  simple  readers,  may  be  still  mysterious.  For  how,  in- 
deed, could  well-regulated  persons  divine  such  a  secret  ?  How 
could  innocent  and  respectable  young  people  suppose  that  a 
woman  of  noble  birth,  of  ancient  family,  of  mature  experience, 
— a  woman  whom  we  have  seen  exceedingly  in  love  only  a 
score  of  months  ago, — should  so  far  forget  herself  as  (oh,  my 
very  finger-tips  blush  as  I  write  the  sentence  !), — as  not  only  to 
fall  in  love  with  a  person  of  low  origin,  and  ver}^  many  years 
her  junior,  but  actually  to  marry  him  in  the  face  of  the  world  ? 
That  is,  not  exactly  in  the  face,  but  behind  the  back  of  the 
world,  so  to  speak;  for  Parson  Sampson  privily  tied  the  in- 
dissoluble knot  for  the  pair  at  his  chapel  in  Alay  Fair. 

Now  stop  before  you  condemn  her  utterly.  Because  Lady 
Maria  had  had,  and  overcome,  a  foolish  partiality  for  her  young 
cousin,  was  that  any  reason  why  she  should  never  fall  in  love 
with  anybody  else  ?  Are  men  to  have  the  sole  privilege  of 
change,  and  are  women  to  be  rebuked  for  availing  themselves 
now  and  again  of  their  little  chance  of  consolation  ?  No  invec- 
tives can  be  more  rude,  gross,  and  unphilosophical  than,  for 
instance,  Hamlet's  to  his  mother  about  her  second  marriage. 
The  truth  very  likely  is,  that  that  tender  parasitic  creature 
wanted  a  something  to  cling  to,  and,  Hamlet  senior  out  of  the 
way,  twined  herself  round  Claudius.  Nay,  we  have  known 
females  so  bent  on  attaching  themselves,  that  they  can  twine 
round  two  gentlemen  at  once.  Why,  forsooth,  shall  there  not 
be  marriage-tables  after  funeral  baked-meats  ?  If  you  said 
grace  for  your  feast  yesterday,  is  that  any  reason  why  you  shall 
not  be  hungry  to-day  ?  Your  natural  fine  appetite  and  relish 
for  this  evening's  feast,  shows  that  to-morrow  evening  at  eight 
o'clock  you  will  most  probably  be  in  w^ant  of  your  dinner.  I, 
for  my  part,  when  Flirtilla  or  Jiltissa  were  partial  to  me  (the 
kind  reader  will  please  to  fancy  that  I  am  alluding  here  to  per- 
sons of  the  most  ravishing  beauty  and  lofty  rank),  always  used 
to  bear  in  mind  that  a  time  would  come  w'hen  they  v/ould  be 
fond  of  somebody  else.  We  are  served  a  la  Russe,  and  gobbled 
up  a  dish  at  a  time,  like  the  folks  in  Polyphemus's  cave.  'Tis 
hodie  mihi,  eras  tibi :  there  are  some  Anthropophagi  who  devour 
dozens  of  us, — the  old,  the  young,  the  tender,  the  tough,  the 
plump,  the  lean,  the  ugly,  the  beautiful  :  there's  no  escape,  and 
one  after  another,  as  our  fate  is,  we  disappear  down  their 
omnivorous  maws.  Look  at  Lady  Ogresham  !  We  all  remem- 
ber, last  year,  how  she  served  poor  Tom  Kydd  :  seized  upon 
him,  devoured  him,  picked  his  bones,  and  flung  them  away. 


59- 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


Now  it  is  Ned  Suckling  she  has  got  into  her  den.  He  hes 
under  her  great  eyes,  quivering  and  fascinated.  Look  at  the 
poor  Uttle  trepid  creature,  panting  and  helpless  under  the 
great  eyes  !  She  trails  towards  him  nearer  and  nearer  :  he 
draws  to  her  closer  and  closer.  Presently,  there  will  be  one 
or  two  feeble  squeaks  for  pity,  and — hobblegobble — he  will 
disappear  !  Ah  me  !  it  is  pity,  too.  I  knew,  for  instance,  that 
Maria  Esmond  had  lost  her  heart  ever  so  many  times  before 
Harry  Warrington  found  it ;  but  I  liked  to  fancy  that  he  was 
going  to  keep  it ;  that  bewailing  mischance  and  times  out  of 
joint,  she  would  yet  have  preserved  her  love,  and  fondled  it  in 
decorous  celibacy.  If,  in  some  paroxysm  of  senile  folly,  I 
should  fall  in  love  to-morrow,  I  shall  still  try  and  think  I  have 
acquired  the  fee-simple  of  my  charmer's  heart ; — not  that  I  am 
only  a  tenant,  on  a  short  lease,  of  an  old  battered  furnished 
apartment,  where  the  dingy  old  wineglasses  have  been  clouded 
by  scores  of  pairs  of  lips,  and  the  tumbled  old  sofas  are  muddy 
with  the  last  lodger's  boots.  Dear,  dear  nymph  !  Being  be- 
loved and  beautiful  !  Suppose  I  had  a  little  passing  passion 
for  Glycera  (and  her  complexion  really  was  as  pure  as  splen- 
dent Parian  marble)  ;  suppose  you  had  a  fancy  for  Telephus, 
and  his  low  collars  and  absurd  neck  ; — those  follies  are  all 
over  now,  aren't  they?  We  love  each  other  for  good  now, 
don't  we?  Yes,  for  ever;  and  Glycera  may  go  to  Bath,  and 
Telephus  take  his  cervicein  roseam  to  Jack  Ketch,  iCest-ce  pas  ? 

No.  We  never  think  of  changing,  my  dear.  However 
winds  blow,  or  time  flies,  or  spoons  stir,  our  potage,  which  is 
now  so  piping  hot,  will  never  get  cold.  Passing  fancies  we 
may  have  allowed  ourselves  in  former  days  ;  and  really  your 
infatuation  for  Telephus  (don't  frown  so,  my  darling  creature  ! 
and  make  the  wrinkles  in  your  forehead  worse) — I  say,  really 
it  was  the  talk  of  the  whole  town ;  and  as  for  Glycera,  she  be- 
haved confoundedly  ill  to  me.  Well,  well,  now  that  we  under- 
stand each  other,  it  is  forever  that  our  hearts  are  united,  and 
we  can  look  at  Sir  Cresswell  Cresswell,  and  snap  our  fingers  at 
his  wig.  But  this  Maria  of  the  last  century  was  a  woman  of  an 
ill-regulated  mind.  You,  my  love,  who  know  the  world,  know 
that  in  the  course  of  this  lady's  career  a  great  deal  must  have 
passed  that  would  not  bear  the  light,  or  edify  in  the  telling. 
You  know  (not,  my  dear  creature,  that  I  mean  you  have  any 
experience  ;  but  you  have  heard  people-  say — you  have  heard 
your  mother  say)  that  an  old  flirt,  when  she  has  done  playing 
the  fool  with  one  passion,  will  play  the  fool  with  another  ;  that 
flirting  is  like   drinking  ;  and  the  brandy  being  drunk  up,  you 


THE  VIRGINIANS.  593 

— no,  not  you — Glycera — the  brandy  being  drunk  up,  Glycera, 
who  has  taken  to  drinking,  will  fall  upon  the  gin.  So,  if  Maria 
Esmond  has  found  a  successor  for  Harry  Warrington,  and  set 
up  a  new  sultan  in  the  precious  empire  of  her  heart,  what,  after 
all,  could  you  expect  from  her  ?  That  territory  was  like  the 
Low  Countries,  accustomed  to  being  conquered,  and  for  ever 
open  to  invasion. 

And  Maria's  present  enslaver  was  no  other  than  Mr. 
Geoghegan  or  Hagan,  the  young  actor  who  had  performed  in 
George's  tragedy.  His  tones  were  so  thrilling,  his  eye  so 
bright,  his  mien  so  noble,  he  looked  so  beautiful  in  his  gilt 
leather  armor  and  large  buckled  periwig,  giving  utterance  to 
the  poet's  glowing  verses,  that  the  lady's  heart  was  yielded  up 
to  him,  even  as  Ariadne's  to  Bacchus  when  her  affair  with 
Theseus  was  over.  The  young  Irishman  was  not  a  little 
touched  and  elated  by  the  high-born  damsel's  partiality  for 
him.  He  might  have  preferred  a  Lady  Maria  Hagan  more 
tender  in  years,  but  one  more  tender  in  disposition  it  were  dif- 
ficult to  discover.  She  clung  to  him  closely,  indeed.  She 
retired  to  his  humble  lodgings  in  Westminster  with  him,  when 
it  became  necessary  to  disclose  their  marriage,  and  when  her 
furious  relatives  disowned  her. 

General  Lambert  brought  the  news  home  from  his  office  in 
Whitehall  one  day,  and  made  merry  over  it  with  his  family.  In 
those  homely  times  a  joke  was  none  the  worse  for  being  a  little 
broad  ;  and  a  fine  lady  would  laugh  at  a  jolly  page  of  Fielding, 
and  weep  over  a  letter  of  Clarissa,  which  would  make  your 
present  ladyship's  eyes  start  out  of  your  head  with  horror.  He 
uttered  all  sorts  of  waggeries,  did  the  merry  General,  upon  the 
subject  of  this  marriage  ;  upon  George's  share  in  bringing  it 
about ;  upon  Harry's  jealousy  when  he  should  hear  of  it.  He 
vowed  it  was  cruel  that  Cousin  Hagan  had  not  selected  George 
as  groomsman  ;  that  the  first  child  should  be  called  Carpezan 
or  Sybilla,  after  the  tragedy,  and  so  -forth.  They  would  not 
quite  be  able  to  keep  a  coach,  but  they  might  get  a  chariot  and 
pasteboard  dragons  from  Mr.  Rich's  theatre.  The  baby  might 
be  christened  in  Macbeth's  cauldron  :  and  Harr}' and  harlequin 
ought  certainly  to  be  godfathers. 

"  Why  shouldn't  she  marry  him  if  she  likes  him  ?  "  asked 
little  Hetty.  "  Why  should  he  not  love  her  because  she  is  a  little 
old  ?  Mamma  is  a  little  old,  and  you  love  her  none  the  worse. 
When  you  married  my  mamma,  sir,  I  have  heard  you  say  you 
were  very  poor  ;  and  yet  you  were  very  happy,  and  nobody 
laughed  at  vou  !  "     Thus  this  impudent  little  person  spoke  by 

38 


594  ^-^-^   VIRGINIANS, 

reason  of  her  tender  age,  not  being  aware  of  Lady  Maria  Es- 
mond's previous  follies. 

So  her  family  has  deserted  her  ?  George  described  what 
wrath  they  were  in  ;  how  Lady  Castlewood  had  gone  into 
mourning  ;  how  Mr.  Will  swore  he  would  have  the  rascal's 
ears;  how  furious  Madame  de  Bernstein  was,  the  most  angry 
of  all.  "  It  is  an  insult  to  the  family,"  says  haughty  little  Miss 
Hett ;  "  and  I  fancy  how  ladies  of  that  rank  must  be  indignant 
at  their  relative's  marriage  with  a  person  of  Mr.  Hagan's  con- 
dition ;  but  to  desert  her  is  a  very  different  matter." 

"  Indeed,  my  dear  child,"  cries  mamma,  "you  are  talking 
of  what  you  don't  understand.  After  my  Lady  Maria's  conduct, 
no  respectable  person  can  go  to  see  her." 

"What  conduct.  Mamma  ?  " 

"  Never  mind,"  cries  mamma.  "  Little  girls  can't  be  ex- 
pected to  know,  and  ought  not  to  be  too  curious  to  inquire, 
what  Lady  Maria's  conduct  has  been  !  SufiEice  it.  Miss,  that  I 
am  shocked  her  ladyship  should  ever  have  been  here  ;  and  I 
say  again,  no  honest  person  should  associate  with  her !  " 

"  Then,  Aunt  Lambert,  I  must  be  whipped  and  sent  to  bed," 
says  George,  with  mock  gravity.  "  I  own  to  you  (though  I  did 
not  confess  sooner,  seeing  that  the  affair  was  not  mine)  that  I 
have  been  to  see  my  cousin  the  player,  and  her  ladyship  his 
wife.  I  found  them  in  very  dirty  lodgings  in  Westminster, 
where  the  wretch  has  the  shabbiness  to  keep  not  only  his  wife, 
but  his  old  mother,  and  a  little  brother,  whom  he  puts  to  school. 
I  found  Mr.  Hagan,  and  came  away  with  a  liking,  and  almost 
a  respect  for  him,  although  I  own  he  has  made  a  very  improvi- 
dent marriage.  But  how  improvident  some  folks  are  about 
marriage,  aren't  they,  Theo  ?  " 

"  Improvident,  if  they  marry  such  spendthrifts  as  you,"  says 
the  General.  "  Master  George  found  his  relations,  and  I'll  be 
bound  to  say  he  left  his  purse  behind  him." 

"  No,  not  the  purse,  sir,"  says  George,  smiling  very  tenderly. 
"  Theo  made  that.  But  I  am  bound  to  own  it  came  empty 
away.  Mr.  Rich  is  in  great  dudgeon.  He  says  he  hardly  dares 
have  Hagan  on  his  stage,  and  is  afraid  of  a  riot,  such  as  Mr. 
Garrick  had  about  the  foreign  dancers.  This  is  to  be  a  fine 
gentleman's  riot.  The  macaronis  are  furious,  and  vow  they 
will  pelt  Mr.  Hagan,  and  have  him  cudgelled  afterwards.  My 
cousin  Will,  at  Arthur's,  has  taken  his  oath  he  will  have  the 
actor's  ears.  Meanwhile,  as  the  poor  man  does  not  play,  they 
have  cut  off  his  salary  ;  and  without  his  salary,  this  luckless 
pair  of  lovers  have  no  means  to  buy  bread  and  cheese." 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


595 


"  And  you  took  it  to  them,  sir  ?  It  was  like  you,  George  !  " 
says  Theo,  worshipping  him  with  her  eyes. 

"  It  was  your  purse  took  it,  dear  Theo  !  "  replies  George. 

"  Mamma,  I  hope  you  will  go  and  see  them  to-morrow  !  " 
prays  Theo. 

"  If  she  doesn't,  I  shall  get  a  divorce,  my  dear  !  "  cries 
papa.  "  Come  and  kiss  me,  you  little  wench — that  is,  avec  la 
bonne  permission  de  monsieur  mon  beau-fils." 

"  Monsieur  mon  beau  fiddlestick.  Papa  !  "  says  Miss  Lam- 
bert, and  I  have  no  doubt  complies  with  the  paternal  orders. 
And  this  was  the  first  time  George  Esmond  Warrington,  Es- 
quire, was  ever  called  a  fiddlestick. 

Any  man,  even  in  our  time,  who  makes  an  imprudent 
marriage,  knows  how  he  has  to  run  the  gauntlet  of  the  family, 
and  undergo  the  abuse,  the  scorn,  the  vvrath,  the  pity  of  his 
relations.  If  your  respectable  family  cry  out  because  you  marry 
the  curate's  daughter,  one  in  ten,  let  us  say,  of  his  charming 
children  ;  or  because  you  engage  yourself  to  the  young  barrister 
whose  only  present  pecuniary  resources  come  from  the  court 
which  he  reports,  and  who  will  have  to  pay  his  Oxford  bills  out 
of  your  slender  little  fortune  ; — if  your  friends  cry  out  for 
making  such  engagements  as  these,  fancy  the  feelings  of  Lady 
Maria  Hagan's  friends,  and  even  those  of  Mr.  Hagan's  on  the 
announcement  of  this  marriage. 

There  is  old  Mrs.  Hagan,  in  the  first  instance.  Her  son 
has  kept  her  dutifully  and  in  tolerable  comfort,  ever  since  he 
left  Trinity  College  at  his  father's  death,  and  appeared  as 
Romeo  at  Crow  Street  Theatre.  His  salary  has  sufficed  of  late 
years  to  keep  the  brother  at  school,  to  help  the  sister  who  has 
gone  out  as  companion,  and  to  provide  fire,  clothing,  tea,  dinner 
and  comfort  for  the  old  clergyman's  widow.  And  now,  forsooth, 
a  fine  lady  with  all  sorts  of  extravagant  habits,  must  come  and 
take  possession  of  the  humble  home,  and  share  the  scanty  loaf 
and  mutton  !  Were  Hagan  not  a  high-spirited  fellow,  and  the 
old  mother  ver}'  much  afraid  of  him,  I  doubt  whether  my  lady's 
life  at  the  Westminster  lodgings  w^ould  be  very  comfortable. 
It  was  very  selfish  perhaps  to  take  a  place  at  that  small  table, 
and  in  poor  Hagan's  narrow  bed.  But  Love  in  some  passion- 
ate and  romantic  dispositions  never  regards  consequences,  or 
measures  accommodation.  Who  has  not  experienced  that 
frame  of  mind  ;  what  thrifty  wife  has  not  seen  and  lamented  her 
husband  in  that  condition  ;  when  with  rather  a  heightened 
color  and  a  deuce-may-care  smile  on  his  face,  he  comes  home 
and  announces  that  he  has  asked  twenty  people  to  dinner  next 


cqS  the   VIRGINIANS. 

Saturday  ?  He  doesn't  know  whom  exactly  ;  and  he  does  knovy 
the  dining-room  will  only  hold  sixteen.  Never  mind  !  Two  of 
the  prettiest  girls  can  sit  upon  young  gentlemen's  knees  :  others 
won't  come  :  there's  sure  to  be  plenty !  In  the  intoxication  of 
love  people  venture  upon  this  dangerous  sort  of  housekeeping ; 
they  don't  calculate  the  resources  of  their  dining-table,  or  those 
inevitable  butchers'  and  fishmongers'  bills  which  Avill  be  brought 
to  the  ghastly  housekeeper  at  the  beginning  of  the  month. 

"  Yes  :  it  was  rather  selfish  of  my  Lady  Maria  to  seat  herself 
at  Hagan's  table  and  take  the  cream  off  the  milk,  and  the  wings 
of  the  chickens,  and  the  best  half  of  everything  where  there  was 
only  enough  before  ;  and  no  wonder  the  poor  old  mamma-in-law 
was  disposed  to  grumble.  But  what  was-her  outcry  compared 
to  the  clamor  at  Kensington  among  Lady  Maria's  noble  family  ? 
Think  of  the  talk  and  scandal  all  over  the  town  !  Think  of  the 
titters  and  whispers  of  the  ladies  in  attendance  at  the  Princess's 
court,  where  Lady  Fanny  had  a  place ;  of  the  jokes  of  Mr. 
Will's  brother  officers  at  the  usher's  table ;  of  the  waggeries  in 
the  daily  prints  and  magazines ;  of  the  comments  of  outraged 
prudes  ;  of  the  laughter  of  the  clubs  and  the  sneers  of  the 
ungodly  ?  At  the  receipt  of  the  news  Madame  Bernstein  had 
fits  and  ran  off  to  the  solitude  of  her  dear  rocks  at  Tunbridge 
Wells,  where  she  did  not  see  above  forty  people  of  a  night  at 
cards.  My  lord  refused  to  see  his  sister  :  and  the  Countess  in 
mourning,  as  we  have  said,  waited  upon  one  of  her  patronesses, 
a  gracious  Princess,  who  was  pleased  to  condole  with  her  upon 
the  disgrace  and  calamity  which  had  befallen  her  house.  For 
one,  two,  three  whole  days  the  town  was  excited  and  amused 
by  the  scandal  ;  then  there  came  other  news — a  victory-  in 
Germany ;  doubtful  accounts  from  America ;  a  general  officer 
coming  home  to  take  his  trial  ;  an  exquisite  new  soprano  singer 
from  Italy  ;  and  the  public  forgot  Lady  Maria  in  her  garret, 
eating  the  hard-earned  meal  of  the  actor's  family. 

This  is  an  extract  from  Mr.  George  Warrington's  letter  to 
his  brother,  in  which  he  describes  other  personal  matters,  as 
well  as  a  visit  he  had  paid  to  the  newly-married  pair  : — 

''  My  dearest  little  Theo,"  he  writes,  "was  eager  to  accompany  her  mamma  upon  this  er- 
rand of  charity  ;  but  1  thought  Aunt  Lambert's  visit  would  be  best  under  the  circumstances, 
and  without  the  attendance  of  heriittle  spinster  aid-de-ca7)ip.  Cousin  Hagan  was  out  when 
we  called  ;  we  found  her  ladyship  in  a  loose  undress,  and  with  her  hair  in  not  the  neatest 
papers,  playing  at  cribbage  with  a  neighbor  from  the  second-flocr,  while  good  Mrs.  Hagan 
sat  on  the  other  side  of  the  fire  with  a  glass  of  punch,  and  the  'Whole  Duty  of  Man.' 

"  Maria,  your  Maria  once,  cried  a  little  when  she  saw  us  ;  and  Aunt  Lambert,  you  may 
be  sure,  was  ready  with  her  sympathy.  While  she  bestowed  it  on  Lady  Maria,  I  paid  the 
best  compliments  I  could  invent  to  the  old  lady.  When  the  conversation  between  Aunt  L. 
and  the  bride  began  to  flag,  I  turned  to  the  latter,  and  between  us  we  did  our  best  to  make 
a  dreary  interview  pleasant.     Our  talk  was  about  you,  about  Wolfe,  about  war  :  you  must 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  597 

be  en<^agecl  face  to  face  with  the  Frenchmen  by  this  time,  and  God  send  my  dearest  brother 
safe  and  victorious  out  of  the  battle !  Be  sure  wa  follow  your  steps  anxiously— we  fancy 
you  at  Cape  Breton.  We  have  plans  of  Quebec,  and  charts  of  the  St.  Lawrence.  Shall  I 
ever  for<^et  your  face  of  jov  that  day  when  you  saw  me  return  safe  and  sound  from  the  little 
combat  with  the  little  Frenchman  ?  So  will  my  Harry  I  know,  return  from  his  battle.  I 
feel  quite  assured  of  it ;  elated  somehow  with  the  prospect  of  your  certain  success  and  safety. 
And  I  have  made  all  here  share  my  cheerfulness.  We  talk  of  the  campaign  as  over,  and 
Captain  Warrington's  promotion  as  secure.     Pray  heaven,  all  our  hopes  may  be  fulfilled 

one  day  ere  long.  r  ,-        /         i  \    i,      u 

"  How  strange  it  is  that  you  who  are  the  mettlesome  fellow  (you  know  you  are)  should 
escape  quarrels  hitherto,  and  I,  who  am  a  peaceful  youth,  wishing  no  harm  to  anybody,  should 
have  battles  thrust  upon  me  !  What  do  you  think  actually  of  my  having  had  another  affair 
upon  my  wicked  hands,  and  with  whom,  think  you?  With  no  less  a  personage  than  your 
old  enemy,  our  kinsman  Mr.  Will.  ,  .   ,        ^ 

"  What  or  who  set  him  to  quarrel  with  me,  I  cannot  think.  Spencer  (who  acted  as 
second  for  me,  for  matters  actually  have  gone  this  length  ;— don't  be  frightened  ;  it  is  all 
over  and  nobody  is  a  scratch  the  worse)  thinks  some  one  set  Will  on  me,  but  who,  I  say  ? 
Hi's  conduct  has  been  most  singular  ;  his  behavior  quite  unbearable.  We  have  met  pretty 
frequently  lately  at  the  house  of  good  Mr.  Van  den  Bosch,  whose  pretty  granddaughter  was 
consigned  to  both  of  us  by  our  good  mother.  Oh,  dear  mother !  did  you  know  that  the  little 
thinAvas  to  be  such  a  causa  belli,  and  to  cause  swords  to  be  drawn,  and  precious  lives  to  be 
manac-d  '  But  so  it  has  been.  To  show  his  own  spirit,  I  suppose,  or  having  some  reason- 
able doubt  about  mine,  whenever  Will  and  I  have  met  at  Mynheer's  house— and  he  is  for  ever 
goino- there— he  has  shown  such  downright  rudeness  to  me,  that  1  have  required  more  than  or- 
dinary patience  to  keep  my  temper.  He  has  contradicted  me  once,  twice,  thrice,  m  the  presence 
of  the  family,  and  out  of  sheer  spite  and  rage,  as  it  appeared  to  me.  Is  he  paying  his  addresses 
to  Miss  Lydia,  and  her  father's  ships,  negroes,  and  forty  thousand  pounds  ?  I  should  guess 
so.  The  old  gentleman  is  for  ever  talking  about  his  money,  and  adores  his  granddaughter, 
and  as  she  is  a  beautiful  little  creature,  numbers  of  folk  here  are  ready  to  adore  her  too. 
Was  Will  rascal  enough  to  fancy  that  I  would  give  up  my  Theo  for  a  million  of  guineas,  and 
ne<^roes,  and  Venus  to  boot  ?  Could  the  thought  of  such  baseness  enter  into  the  man's 
mind?  I  don't  know  that  he  has  accused  me  of  stealing  Van  den  Bosch's  spoons  and  tank- 
ards when  we  dine  there,  or  of  robbing  on  the  highway.  But  for  one  reason  or  the  other 
he  has  chosen  to  be  jealous  of  me,  and  as  I  have  parried  his  impertinences  with  little  sarcastic 
speeches  (though  perfectly  civil  before  company),  perhaps  I  have  once  or  twice  made  him 
angry.  Our  little  Miss  Lydia  has  unwittingly  added  fuel  to  the  fire  on  more  than  one  occa- 
sion, especially  yesterday,  when  there  was  talk  about  your  worship. 

"  'Ah !  '  says  the  heedless  little  thing,  as  we  sat  over  our  dessert,  '  'tis  lucky  for  you,  Mr. 
Esmond,  that  Captain  Harry  is  not  here.' 

"  '  Why,  Miss! '  asks  he,  with  one  of  his  usual  conversational  ornaments.  He  must  have 
offended  some  fairy  in  his  youth,  who  has  caused  him  to  drop  curses  for  ever  out  of  his 
mouth,  as  she  did  the  girl  to  spit  out  toads  and  serpents.  (I  know  some  one  from  whose 
gentle  lips  there  only  fall  pure  pearls  and  diamonds.)  •  '  Why?'  says  Will,  with  a  cannonade 
of  oaths- 

"  '  O  fie  !  '  says  she,  putting  up  the  prettiest  little  fingers  to  the  prettiest  little  rosy  ears 
in  the  world.  '  O  fie,  sir!  to  use  such  naughty  words-  'Tis  lucky  the  Captain  is  not  here, 
because  he  might  quarrel  with  you  ;  and  Mr.  George  is  so  peaceful  and  quiet,  that  he  won't. 
Have  you  heard  from  the  Captain,  Mr.  George  ? '  ^ 

"  '  From  Cape  Breton,'  says  L     '  He  is  very  well,  thank  you  ;    that  is '    I  couldn  t 

finish  the  sentence,  for  I  was  in  such  a  rage,  that  I  scarce  could  contain  myself. 

"  '  From  the  Captain,  as  you  call  him,  Miss  Lyddy,'  says  Will.  '  He'll  distinguish  him- 
self as  he  did  at  St.  Cas !     Ho,  ho  ! ' 

"  '  So  I  apprehend  he  did,  sir.'  says  Will's  brother. 

"  '  Did  he?  '  says  our  dear  cousin  ;  '  always  thought  he  ran  away  ;  took  to  his  legs  ;  got 
a  ducking,  and  ran  away  as  if  a  bailiff  was  after  him.' 

"  '  La  ! '  says  Miss,  '  did  the  Captain   ever  have  a  bailiff  after  him  ? ' 
"'Didn't  he!     Ho,  hoi  '  laughs  Mr.  Will. 

"  I  suppose  I  must  have  looked  verv  savage,  for  Spencer,  who  was  dining  with  us,  trod 
on  my  foot  under  the  table.  '  Don't  laugh  so  loud,  Cousin,'  I  said,  very  gently  ;  '  you  may 
wake  good  old  Mr.  Van  den  Bosch.'  The  good  old  gentleman  was  asleep  in  his  arm-chair, 
io  which  he  commonlv  retires  for  a  nap  after  dinner. 

"  '  Oh,  indeed,  Cousin,'  says  Will,  and  he  turns  and  winks  at  a  friend  of  his,  Captain 
Deuceace,  whose  own  and  who<=e  wife's  reputation  I  dare  say  you  heard  of  when  you  fre- 
quented the  clubs,  and  whom  Will  has  introduced  into  this  simple  family  as  a  man  of  the  high- 
est fisliion.     '  Don't  be  afraid.  Mi^s.'  savs  Mr.  Will,  '  nor  my  cousin  needn't  be.' 

"  'Oh.  what  a  comfort!  '  cries  Miss  Lyddy.  '  Ke -d  quite  quiet,  sjentlemen,  and  don't 
quarrel,  and  come  up  to  me  when  I  send  to  say  the  tea  is  ready.'  And  with  this  she  makes 
a  sweet  little  curtsey,  and  disappears. 

"  '  Hang  it,  Jack,  pass  the  bottle,  and  don't  wake  the  old  gentleman!  '   continues  Mr. 


598  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

Will.     '  Won't  you  help  yourself,  Cousin  ? '   he  continues  ;    being  particularly  facetious  in 
the  tone  of  that  word  cousin. 

"  '  I  am  going  to  help  myself.'  I  said,  but  I  am  not  going  to  drink  the  glass  ;  and  I'll  tel\ 
you  what  I  am  going  to  do  with  it,  if  you  will  be  quite  quiet.  Cousin? '  (Desperate  kicks 
from  Spencer  all  this  time.) 

"  '  And  what  the  deuce  do  I  care  what  you  are  going  to  do  with  it  ? '  asks  Will,  looking 
rather  white. 

"' I  am  going  to  fling  it  into  your  face,  Cousin,'  says  I,  very  rapidly  performing  that 
feat. 

"  '  By  Jove,  and  no  mistake  1  '  cries  Mr.  Deuceace  ;  and  as  he  and  William  roared  out 
an  oath  together,  good  old  Van  den  Bosch  woke  up,  and,  taking  the  pocket-handkerchief  off 
his  face,  asked  what  was  the  matter. 

"  I  remarked  it  was  only  a  glass  of  wine  gone  the  wrong  way  :  and  the  old  man  said, 
'Well,  well,  there  is  more  where  that  came  from!  Let  the  butler  bring  you  what  you 
please,  young  gentlemen  !  '  and  he  sank  back  in  his  great  chair,  and  began  to  sleep  again. 

"  '  From  the  back  of  Montagu  House  Gardens  there  is  a  beautiful  view  of  Hampstead 
at  six  o'clock  in  the  morning;  and  the  statute  of  the  King  on  St.  George's  Church  is  rec- 
koned elegant.  Cousin!  '  says  I,  resuming  the  conversation. 

"'D the  statue!  '  begins  Will:  but  I  said,  'Don't,  Cousin!   or  you  will  wake  up 

the  old  gentleman.     Had  we  not  best  go  up  stairs  to  Miss  Lyddy's  tea-table  ?" 

"  We  arranged  a  little  meeting  for  the  next  m.orning  ;  and  a  coroner  might  have  been 
sitting  upon  one  or  other,  or  both,  of  our  bodies  this  afternoon  ;  but — would  you  believe  it? 
— just  as  our  engagement  was  about  to  take  place,  we  were  interrupted  by  three  of  Sir  John 
Fielding's  men,  and  carried  to  Bow  Street,  and  ignominiously  bound  over  to  keep  the  peace. 

■'  Who  gave  the  information  ?  Not  I,  or  Spencer,  I  can  vow.  Though  I  owm  I  was 
pleased  when  the  constables  came  running  to  us,  bludgeon  in  hand:  for  I  had  no  wish  to 
take  Will's  blood,  or  sacrifice  my  own  to  such  a  rascal.  Now,  sir,  have  you  such  a  battle 
as  this  to  describe  to  me  ? — a  battle  of  powder  and  no  shot  ? — a  battle  of  swords  as  bloody  as 
any  on  the  stage?  I  have  filled  my  paper,  without  finishing  the  story  of  Maria  and  her 
Hagan.  You  must  have  it  by  the  next  ship.  You  see,  the  quarrel  with  Will  took  place  yes- 
terday, very  soon  after  I  had  written  the  first  sentence  or  two  of  my  letter.  I  had  been 
dawdling  till  dinner-time  (I  looked  at  the  paper  last  night,  when  I  was  grimly  making  certain 
little  accounts  up,  and  wondered  shall  I  ever  finish  this  letter?)  and  now  the  quarrel  has  been 
so  much  more  interesting  to  me  than  poor  Molly's  love-adventures,  that  behold  my  paper 
is  full  to  the  brim  !  Wherever  my  dearest  Harry  reads  it,  I  know  that  there  will  be  a  heart 
full  of  love  for 

"  His  loving  brother, 

"  G.  E.  W." 


CHAPTER  LXXI. 

WHITE    FAVORS. 


The  little  quarrel  between  George  and  his  cousin  caused 
the  former  to  discontinue  his  visits  to  Bloomsbury  in  a  great 
measure ;  for  Mr.  Will  was  more  than  ever  assiduous  in  his  at- 
tentions ;  and,  now  that  both  were  bound  over  to  peace,  so  out- 
rageous in  his  behavior,  that  George  found  the  greatest  difficulty 
in  keeping  his  hands  from  his  cousin.  The  artless  little  Lydia 
had  certainly  a  queer  way  of  receiving  her  friends.  But  six 
weeks  before  madly  jealous  of  George's  preference  for  another, 
she  now  took  occasion  repeatedly  to  compliment  Theo  in  her, 
conversation.  Miss  Theo  was  such  a  quiet,  gentle  creature 
Lvddvs  was  sure  George  was  just  the  husband  for  her.  How 
fortunate  that  horrible  quarrel  had  been  prevented  !     The  con- 


BEHIND  MONTAGUE  HOUSE. 


1 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  ^gg 

Stables  had  come  up  just  in  time ;  and  it  was  quite  ridiculous 
to  hear  ]Mr.  Esmond  cursing  and  swearing,  and  the  rage  he  was 
in  at  being  disappointed  of  his  duel  !  "  But  the  arrival  of  the 
constables  saved  your  valuable  life,  dear  Mr.  George,  and  I  am 
sure  Miss  Theo  ought  to  bless  them  for  ever,"  says  Lyddy,  with 
a  soft  smile.  "  You  won't  stop  and  meet  Mr.  Esmond  at  din- 
ner to-day  ?  You  don't  like  being  in  his  company  !  He  can't 
do  you  any  harm  ;  and  I  am  sure  you  will  do  him  none."  Kind 
speeches  like  these  addressed  by  a  little  girl  to  a  gentleman, 
and  spoken  by  a  strange  inadvertency  in  company,  and  when 
other  gentlemen  and  ladies  were  present,  were  not  likely  to 
render  Mr.  ^^'arrington  very  eager  for  the  society  of  the  young 
American  lady. 

George's  meeting  with  Mr.  Will  was  not  known  for  some 
days  in  Dean  Street,  for  he  did  not  wish  to  disturb  those  kind 
folks  with  his  quarrel ;  but  when  the  ladies  were  made  aware  of 
it,  you  may  be  sure  there  was  a  great  flurry  and  to  do.  "  You 
were  actually  going  to  take  a  fellow-creature's  life,  and  you  came 
to  see  us,  and  said  not  a  word  !  Oh,  George,  it  was  shock- 
ing !  "  said  Theo. 

"  My  dear,  he  had  insulted  me  and  my  brother,'"  pleaded 
George.  "  Could  I  let  him  call  us  both  cowards,  and  sit  by  and 
say.  Thank  you  ?  " 

The  General  sat  by  and  looked  very  grave. 

"  You  know  you  think.  Papa,  it  is  a  wicked  and  un-Christian 
practice  ;  and  have  often  said  you  wished  gentlemen  would 
have  the  courage  to  refuse  !  " 

"To  refuse  t     Yes,"  says  Mr.  Lambert,  still  ver}^  glum. 

"  It  must  require  a  prodigious  strength  of  mind  to  refuse," 
says  Jack  Lambert,  looking  as  gloomy  as  his  father ;  "  and  I 
think  if  any  man  were  to  call  me  a  coward,  I  should  be  apt  to 
forget  my  orders." 

"  You  see  brother  Jack  is  with  me  !  "  cries  George. 

"  I  must  not  be  against  you,  Mr.  Warrington,"  says  Jack 
Lambert. 

"  Mr.  Warrington  !  "  cries  George,  turning  very  red, 

''Would  you,  a  clergyman,  have  George  break  the  Com- 
mandments, and  commit  murder,  John  ?  "  asks  Theo,  aghast, 

"I  am  a  soldier's  son,  sister,"  says  the  young  divine,  dryly, 
"  Besides,  Mr,-  Warrington  has  committed  no  murder  at  all. 
We  must  soon  be  hearing  from  Canada,  father.  The  great 
question  of  the  supremacy  of  the  two  races  must  be  tried  there 
ere  long !  "  He  turned  his  back  on  George  as  he  spoke,  and 
the  latter  eyed  him  with  wonder. 


6oo  THE  VIRGINIANS. 

Hetty,  looking  rather  pale  at  this  original  remark  of  brother 
Jack,  is  called  out  of  the  room  by  some  artful  pretext  of  her 
sister.  George  started  up  and  followed  the  retreating  girls  to 
the  door. 

"  Great  powers,  gentlemen  !  ''  says  he,  coming  back,  "  I  be- 
lieve, on  my  honor,  you  are  giving  me  the  credit  of  shirking 
this  affair  with  Mr.  Esmond  !  "  The  clergyman  and  his  father 
looked  at  one  another. 

"'  A  man's  nearest  and  dearest  are  always  the  first  to  insult 
him,"  says  George,  flashing  out. 

"  You  mean  to  say,  '  Not  guilty  ? '  God  bless  thee,  my  boy  !  " 
cries  the  General,  "  I  told  thee  so.  Jack."  And  he  rubbed 
his  hand  across  his  eyes,  and  blushed,  and  wrung  George's 
hand  with  all  his  might. 

"  Not  guilty  of  what,  in  heaven's  name  ? "  asks  Mr.  War- 
rington. 

''  Nay,"  said  the  General,  '  Mr.  Jack,  here,  brought  the  story. 

Let  him  tell  it.     I  believe   'tis  a lie,  with  all  my  heart." 

And  uttering  this  wicked  expression,  the  General  fairly  walked 
out  of  the  room. 

The  Rev.  J.  Lambert  looked  uncommonly  foolish. 

"  And  what  is  this — this  d — d  lie,  sir,  that  somebody  has 
been  telling  of  me  ?  "  asked  George,  grinning  at  the  young 
clergyman. 

"To  question  the  courage  of  any  man  is  always  an  offence 
to  him,"  says  Mr.  Lambert,  "  and  I  rejoice  that  yours  has  been 
belied." 

"Who  told. the  falsehood,  sir,  which  you  repeated!  "  bawls 
out  Mr.  Warrington.     "  I  insist  on  the  man's  name  !  " 

"  You  forget  vou  are  bound  over  to  keep  the  peace,"  says 
Jack. 

"  Curse  the  peace,  sir  !  We  can  go  and  fight  in  Holland. 
Tell  me  the  man's  name,  I  say  !  " 

"  Fair  and  softly,  Mr.  Warrington  !  "  cries  the  young  parson  ; 
"  my  hearing  is  perfectly  good.  It  was  not  a  man  who  told  me 
the  story  which,  I  confess,  I  imparted  to  my  father." 

"  What  ? "  asks  George,  the  truth  suddenly  occurring. 
"  Was  it  that  artful,  wicked  little  vixen  in  Bloomsbury 
Square  ?  " 

"Vixen  is  not  the  word  to  apply  to  any  young  lady,  George 
Warrington !  "  exclaims  Lambert,  "  much  less  to  the  charming 
Miss  Lydia.  She  artful — the  mbst  innocent  of  heaven's  crea- 
tures !  She  wicked — that  angel  !  With  unfeigned  delight  that 
the  quarrel  should  be  over — with  devout  gratitude  to  think  that 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  60 1 

blood  consanguineous  should  not  be  shed — she  spoke  in  terms 
of  the  highest  praise  of  you  for  declining  this  quarrel,  and  of 
the  deepest  sympathy  with  you  for  taking  the  painful  but  only 
method  of  averting  it." 

"  What  method  ?  "  demands  George,  stamping  his  foot. 

"Why,  of  laying  information,  to  be  sure!"  says  Mr.  Jack; 
on  which  George  burst  forth  into  language  much  too  violent  for 
us  to  repeat  here,  and  highly  uncomplimentary  to  Miss  Lydia. 

"  Don't  utter  such  words,  sir  !  "  cried  the  parson — who  as 
it  seemed,  took  his  turn  to  be  angry.  "  Do  not  insult,  in  my 
hearing,  the  most  charming,  the  most  innocent  of  her  sex  !  If 
she  has  been  mistaken  in  her  information  regarding  you,  and 
doubted  your  willingness  to  commit  what,  after  all,  is  a  crime — 
for  a  crime  homicide  is,  and  of  the  most  awful  description — 
you,  sir,  have  no  right  to  blacken  that  angel's  character  with 
foul  words  :  and,  innocent  yourself,  should  respect  the  most 
innocent  as  she  is  the  most  lovely  of  women !  Oh,  George, 
are  you  to  be  my  brother  ?  " 

"  I  hope  to  have  that  honor,"  answered  George,  smiling. 
He  began  to  perceive  the  other's  drift. 

"  What,  then,  what — though  'tis  too  much  bliss  to  be  hoped 
for  by  sinful  man — what,  if  she  should  one  day  be  your  sister  ? 
Who  could  see  her  charms  without  being  subjugated  by  them  1 
I  own  that  I  am  a  slave.  I  owm  that  those  Latin  Sapphics  in 
the  September  number  of  the  "  Gentleman's  Magazine,"  begin- 
ning LydicB  quondam  ceciiiit  vemcstcB  (with  an  English  version  by 
my  friend  Hickson  of  Corpus),  were  mine.  I  have  told  my 
mother  what  hath  passed  between  us,  and  Mrs.  Lambert  also 
thinks  that  the  most  lovely  of  her  sex  has  deigned  to  look 
favorably  on  me.  I  have  composed  a  letter — she  another. 
She  proposes  to  wait  on  Miss  Lydia's  grandpapa  this  very 
day,  and  to  bring  me  the  answer,  which  shall  make  me  the 
happiest  or  the  most  wretched  of  men  !  It  was  in  the  unre- 
strained intercourse  of  family  conversation  that  I  chanced 
to  impart  to  my  father  the  sentiments  which  my  dear  girl  had 
uttered.  Perhaps  I  spoke  slightingly  of  your  courage,  which 
I  don't  doubt — by  heaven,  I  don't  doubt  :  it  may  be,  she  has 
erred,  too,  regarding  you.  It  may  be  that  the  fiend  jealousy 
has  been  gnawing  at  my  bosom,  and — horrible  suspicion  ! — ■ 
that  I  thought  my  sister's  lover  found  too  much  favor  with  her 
I  would  have  all  my  own.  Ah,  dear  George,  who  knows  his 
faults  ?  I  am  as  one  distracted  with  passion.  Confound  it, 
sir  !  What  right  have  you  to  laugh  at  me  .''  I  would  have  you 
to  know  that  risu  i?iepto " 


6o2  THE   VIRGIXIANS. 

'■"  What,  have  you  two  boys  made  it  up  ?  "  cries  the  General, 
entering  at  this  moment,  in  the  midst  of  a  roar  of  laughter  from 
George. 

"  I  was  giving  my  opinion  to  INIr.  Warrington  upon  laughter, 
and  upon  his  laughter  in  particular,"  says  Jack  Lambert  in  a 
fume. 

"  George  is  bound  over  to  keep  the  peace.  Jack  ?  Thou 
canst  not  fight  him  for  two  years  ;  and  between  now  and  then, 
let  us  trust  you  will  have  made  up  your  quarrel.  Here  is  dinner, 
boys  !  We  will  drink  absent  friends,  and  an  end  to  the  war, 
and  no  fighting  out  of  the  profession  !  " 

George  pleaded  an  engagement,  as  a  reason  for  running 
away  early  from  his  dinner  ;  and  Jack  must  have  speedily  fol- 
lowed him,  for  when  the  former,  after  transacting  some  brief 
business  at  his  own  lodgings,  came  to  Mr.  Van  den  Bosch's 
door,  in  Bloomsbury  Square,  he  found  the  young  parson  already 
in  parley  with  a  servant  there.  "  His  master  and  mistress  had 
left  town  yesterday,"  the  servant  said. 

"  Poor  Jack  !  And  you  had  the  decisive  letter  in  your 
pocket  ?  "  George  asked  of  his  future  brother-in-law. 

"  Well,  yes," — Jack  owned  he  had  the  document — ''  and 
my  mother  has  ordered  a  chair,  and  was  coming  to  wait  on 
Miss  Lyddy,"  he  whispered  piteously,  as  the  young  men  lingered 
on  the  steps. 

George  had  a  note,  too,  in  his  pocket  for  the  young  lady, 
which  he  had  not  cared  to  mention  to  Jack.  In  truth,  his  busi- 
ness at  home  had  been  to  write  a  smart  note  to  Miss  Lyddy, 
with  a  message  for  the  gentleman  who  had  brought  her  that  funny 
story  of  his  giving  information  regarding  the  duel  ?  The  family 
being  absent,  George,  too,  did  not  choose  to  leave  his  note. 
"  If  Cousin  Will  had  been  the  slander-bearer,  I  will  go  and 
make  him  recant,"  thought  George.  "\^'iil  the  family  soon  be 
back  ?  "  he  blandly  asked. 

"  They  are  gone  to  visit  the  quality,"  the  servant  replied. 
''  Here  is  the  address  on  this  paper  ; "  and  George  read,  in 
Miss  Lydia's  hand,  "  The  box  from  Madam  Hocquet's  to  be 
sent  by  the  Farnham  Flying  Coach  :  addressed  to  Miss  Van 
den  Bosch,  at  the  Right  Honorable  the  Earl  of  Castlewood's, 
Castlewood,  Hants." 

"  Where'}  "  cried  poor  Jack,  aghast. 

"  His  lordship  and  their  ladyships  have  been  here  often,"  the 
servant  said,  with  much  importance.  "  The  families  is  quite 
intimate." 

This  was  very  strange  ;  for,  in  the  course  of  their  conversa 


TFIE  VIRGIXIAXS.  603 

tion,  Lyddy  had  owned  but  to  one  single  visit  from  Lady 
Castlewood. 

"  And  they  must  be  a-going  to  stay  there  some  time,  for 
Miss  have  took  a  power  "of  boxes  and  gowns  witli  her  !  "  the 
man  added.  And  the  young  men  walked  away,  each  crumpling 
his  letter  in  his  pocket. 

"  What  was  that  remark  you  made  ?  "  asks  George  of  Jack, 
at  some  exclamation  of  the  latter.     ''  I  think  you  said " 

"  Distraction  !  I  am  beside  myself,  George  !  I — I  scarce 
know  what  I  am  saying,"  groans  the  clergyman.  "  She  is  gone 
to  Hampshire,  and  Mr.  Esmond  is  gone  with  her." 

"  Othello  could  not  have  spoken  better  !  and  she  has  a 
pretty  scoundrel  in  her  company  !  "  says  Mr.  George.  "  Ha  ! 
here  is  your  mother's  chair  !  "  Indeed,  at  this  moment  poor 
Aunt  Lambert  came  swinging  down  Great  Russell  Street,  pre- 
ceded by  her  footman.  "  'Tis  no  use  going  farther,  Aunt  Lam- 
bert !  "  cries  George.     "  Our  little  bird  has  flown." 

"What  little  bird?" 

"  The  bird  Jack  wished  to  pair  with  : — the  Lyddy  bird, 
Aunt.  Why,  Jack,  I  protest  you  are  swearing  again  !  This 
morning  'twas  the  Sixth  Commandment  you  wanted  to^  break  ; 
and  now " 

"  Confound  it  !  leave  me  alone,  Mr.  Warrington,  do  you 
hear  ?  "  growls  Jack,  looking  very-  savage  ;  and  away  he  strides 
far  out  of  the  reach  of  his  mother's  bearers, 

"  What  is  the  matter,  George  ?  "  asks  the  lady. 

George,  who  has  not  been  very  well  pleased  with  brother 
Jack's  behavior  all  day,  says  :  "  Brother  Jack  has  not  a  fine 
temper.  Aunt  Lambert.  He  informs  you  all  that  I  am  a  coward, 
and  remonstrates  with  me  for  being  angry.  He  find  his  mistress 
gone  to  the  country,  and  he  bawls,  and  stamps,  and  swears.  O 
fie  !  Oh,  Aunt  Lambert,  beware  of  jealousy  !  Did  the  quarrel 
ever  make  you  jealous  ?  " 

"  You  will  make  me  very  angr}^  if  you  speak  to  me  in  this 
way,"  says  poor  Aunt  Lambert,  from  her  chair. 

"  I  am  respectfully  dumb.  I  make  my  bow.  I  withdraw," 
says  George,  with  a  low  bow,  and  turns  towards  Holborn.  His 
soul  was  WTOth  within  him.  He  was  bent  on  quarrelling  with 
somebody.  Had  he  met  Cousin  Will  that  night,  it  had  gone  ill 
with  his  sureties. 

He  sought  Will  at  all  his  haunts,  at  Arthur's,  at  his  own 
house.  There  Lady  Castlewood's  servants  informed  him  that 
they  believed  Mr.  Esmond  had  gone  to  join  the  family  in  Hants. 
He  wrote  a  letter  to  his  cousin  : 


6 04  ^-^-^  VIRGINIANS. 

"  My  dear,  kind  Cousin  William,"  he  said,  "you  know  I  am 
bound  over,  and  would  not  quarrel  with  any  one,  much  less 
with  a  dear,  truth-telling,  affectionate  kinsman,  whom  my 
brother  insulted  by  caning.  But  if  you  can  find  any  one  who 
says  that  I  prevented  a  meeting  the  other  day  by  giving  in- 
formation, will  you  tell  your  informant  that  I  think  it  is  not  I 
but  somebody  else  is  the  coward  ?  And  I  write  to  Mr.  Van 
den  Bosch  by  the  same  post,  to  inform  him  and  Miss  Lyddy 
that  I  find  some  rascal  has  been  telling  them  lies  to  my  dis- 
credit, and  to  beg  them  have  a  care  of  such  persons.  And, 
these  neat  letters  being  despatched,  Mr.  Warrington  dressed 
himself,  showed  himself  at  the  play,  and  took  supper  cheerfully 
at  the  "  Bedford." 

In  a  few  days  George  found  a  letter  on  his  breakfast-table 
franked  "  Castlewood,"  and,  indeed,  written  by  that  nobleman  : 

"  Dear  Cousin,"  my  lord  wrote,  '  there  has  been  so  much  annoj'ance  in  our  family  of  late, 
that  I  am  sure  'tis  time  our  quarrels  should  cease.  Two  days  since  my  brother  William 
brought  me  a  very  angry  letter,  signed  G.  Warrington,  and  at  the  same  time,  to  my  great 
grief  and  pain,  acquainted  me  with  a  quarrel  that  had  taken  place  between  you,  in  which, 
to  say  the  least,  your  conduct  was  violent.  'Tis  an  ill  use  to  put  good  wine  to — that  to 
which  you  applied  good  Mr.  Van  den  Bosch's.  Sure,  betore  an  old  man,  young  ones 
should  be  more  respectful.  I  do  not  denjr  that  William's  language  and  behavior  are  often 
irritating. "  I  know  he  has  often  tried  my  temper,  and  that  within  the  24  hours. 

"  Ah!  why  could  we  not  all  live  happily  together?  You  know,  Cousin,  I  have  ever 
professed  a  sincere  regard  for  you — that  I  am  a  sincere  admirer  of  the  admirable  young  lady 
to  whom  you  are  engaged,  and  to  whom  I  offer  my  most  cordial  compliments  and  remem- 
brances. I  would  live  in  harmony  with  all  my  family  where  'tis  possible — the  more  be- 
cause I  hope  to  introduce  to  it  a  Countess  of  Castlewood. 

"  At  my  mature  age,  'tis  not  uncommon  for  a  man  to  choose  a  young  wife.  My  Lydia 
(you  v.'ill  divine  that  I  am  happy  in  being  able  to  call  mine  the  elegant  Miss  Van  den  Bosch) 
will  naturally  survive  me.  After  soothing  my  declining  years,  I  shall  not  be  jealous  if  at 
their  close  she  should  select  some  happy  man  to  succeed  me  ;  though  I  shall  envy  him  the 
possession  of  so  much  perfection  and  beauty.  Though  of  a  noble  Dutch  family,  her  rank, 
the  girl  declares^  it  not  equal  to  mine,  which  she  confesses  that  she  is  pleased  to  share.  I, 
on  the  other  hand,  shall  not  be  sorry  to  see  descendants  to  my  house,  and  to  have  it,  through 
my  Lady  Castlewood's  means,  restored  to  something  of  the  splendor  which  it  knew  before 
two  or  three  improvident  predecessors  impaired  it.  My  Lydia,  who  is  by  my  side,  sends 
you  and  the  charming  Lambert  familv  her  warmest  remembrances. 

"  The  marriage  will  take  place  very  speedily  here.  May  I  hope  to  see  you  at  church? 
My  brother  will  not  be  present  to  quarrel  with  you.  When  I  and  dear  Lydia  announced 
the  mntch  to  him  vesterday,  he  took  the  intelligence  in  bad  part,  uttered  language  that  I 
know  he  will  one  dav  regret,  and  is  at  present  on  a  visit  to  some  neighbors.  The  Dowager 
Lady  Castlewood  retains  the  house  at  Kensington  ;  we  having  our  own  establishment, 
where  you  will  ever  be  welcomed,  dear  Cousin,  by  your  affectionate  humble  servant, 

"  Castlewood.' 


From  the  "  London  Magazine  "  of  November,  1759  : — 
"Saturday,  October  13th,  married,  at  his  seat,  Castlewood, 
Hants,  the  Right   Honorable  Eugene,  Earl  of  Castlewood,  to 
the  beautiful  Miss  Van  den  Bosch,  of  Virginia.     ;^7 0,000." 


THE  VIRGINIANS.  605 


CHAPTER  LXXII. 

(from    the   WARRINGTON    MS.)    IN    WHICH    MY    LADY    IS    ON    THE 
TOP    OF    THE    LADDER. 

Looking  across  the  fire,  towards  her  accustomed  chair,  who 
has  been  the  beloved  partner  of  my  hearth  during  the  last  half 
of  my  life,  I  often  ask  (for  middle-aged  gentlemen  have  the  privi- 
lege of  repeating  their  jokes,  their  questions,  their  stories,) 
whether  two  young  people  were  ever  more  foolish  or  imprudent 
than  we  were,  when  we  married,  as  we  did,  in  the  year  of  the 
old  King's  death  ?  My  son,  who  has  taken  some  prodigious 
leaps  in  the  heat  of  his  fox-hunting,  says  he  surveys  the  gaps 
and  rivers  which  he  crossed  so  safely  over,  with  terror  after- 
wards, and  astonishment  at  his  own  foolhardiness  in  making 
such  desperate  ventures  ;  and  yet  there  is  no  more  eager  sports- 
man in  the  two  counties  than  Miles.  He  loves  his  amusement 
so  much  that  he  cares  for  no  other.  He  has  broken  his  collar- 
bone, and  had  a  hundred  tumbles  (to  his  mother's  terror)  ;  but 
so  has  his  father  (thinking,  perhaps,  of  a  copy  of  verse,  or  his 
speech  at  Quarter  Sessions)  been  thrown  over  his  old  mare's 
head,  who  has  slipped  on  a  stone,  as  they  are  both  dreaming 
along  the  park  road  at  four  miles  an  hour  ;  and  ]\Iiles's  reckless 
sport  has  been  the  delight  of  his  life,  as  my  marriage  has  been 
the  blessing  of  mine  ;  and  I  never  think  of  it  but  to  thank 
heaven.  Mind,  I  don't  set  up  my  worship  as  an  example  :  I 
don't  say  to  all  young  folks,  "  Go  and  marry  upon  twopence  a 
year ; "  or  people  would  look  very  black  at  me  at  our  vestry- 
meetings  ;  but  my  wife  is  known  to  be  a  desperate  match- 
maker ;  and  when  Hodge  and  Susan  appear  in  my  justice-room 
with  a  talk  of  allowance,  we  urge  them  to  spend  their  half- 
crown  a  week  at  home,  add  a  little  contribution  of  our  own, 
and  send  for  the  vicar. 

Now,  when  I  ask  a  question  of  my  dear  oracle,  I  know  what 
the  answer  will  be ;  and  hence,  no  doubt,  the  reason  why  I  so 
often  consult  her.  I  have  but  to  wear  a  particular  expression 
of  face,  and  my  Diana  takes  her  reflection  from  it.  Suppose  I 
say,  "  My  dear,  don't  you  think  the  moon  was  made  of  cream- 
cheese  to-night  ?  "  She  would  say,  "  Well,  Papa,  it  did  look 
very  much  like  cream-cheese,  indeed — there's  nobody  like  you 
for  droll  similes."     Or,  suppose   I  say,  "  My  love,  Mr.  Pitt's 


6o6  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

speech  was  very  fine,  but  I  don't  think  he  is  equal  to  what  I 
remember  his  father."  "  Nobody  was  equal  to  my  Lord  Chat- 
ham," says  my  wife.  And  'then  one  of  the  girls  cries,  ''  Why, 
I  have  often  heard  our  papa  say  Lord  Chatham  was  a  charla- 
tan !  "  On  which  her  mamma  says,  "  How  like  she  is  to  her 
Aunt  Hetty  ! " 

As  for  Miles,  Tros  Tyriusve  is  all  one  to  him.  He  only 
reads  the  sporting  announcements  in  the  Norwich  paper.  So 
long  as  there  is  good  scent,  he  does  not  care  about  the  state  of 
the  country.  I  believe  the  rascal  has  never  read  my  poems, 
much  more  my  tragedies  (for  I  mentioned  Pocahontas  to  him 
the  other  day,  and  the  dunce  thought  she  was  a  river  in  Vir- 
ginia) ;  and  with  respect  to  my  Latin  verses,  how  can  he  under- 
stand them,  w^hen  I  know  he  can't  construe  Corderius  ?  Why,- 
this  note-book  lies  publicly  on  the  little  table  at  my  corner  of 
the  fireside,  and  anyone  may  read  it  who  will  take  the  trouble 
of  lifting  my  spectacles  off  the  cover ;  but  Miles  never  hath.  I 
insert  in  the  loose  pages  caricatures  of  Miles ;  jokes  against 
him  :  but  he  never  knows  nor  heeds  them.  Only  once,  in  place 
of  a  neat  drawing  of  mine,  in  China-ink,  representing  Allies 
asleep  after  dinner,  and  which  my  friend  Bunbur)^  would  not 
disown,  I  found  a  rude  picture  of  myself  going  over  my  mare 
Sultan's  head,  and  entitled,  "  The  Squire  on  Horseback,  or 
Fish  out  of  Water."  And  the  fellow  began  to  roar  with  laugh- 
ter, and  all  the  girls  to  titter  when  I  came  upon  the  page  !  My 
wife  said  she  was  never  in  such  a  fright  as  when  I  went  to  my 
book :  but  I  can  bear  a  joke  against  myself,  and  have  heard 
many,  though  (strange  to  say  for  one  w^ho  has  lived  among 
some  of  the  chief  wits  of  the  age)  I  never  heard  a  good  one  in 
my  life.  Never  mind.  Miles,  though  thou  art  not  a  wit,  I  love 
thee  none  the  worse  (there  never  was  any  love  lost  between  two 
wits  in  a  family)  ;  though  thou  hast  no  great  beauty,  thy  mother 
thinks  thee  as  handsome  as  Apollo,  or  his  Royal  Highness  the 
Prince  of  Wales,  who  was  born  in  the  very  same  year  with  thee. 
Indeed,  she  always  thinks  Coates's  picture  of  the  Prince  is  very 
like  her  eldest  boy,  and  has  the  print  in  her  dressing-room  to 
this  very  day.  ^ 

In  that  same  year,  with  what  different  prospects  !  my  Lord 
Esmond,  Lord  Castlewood's  son,  likewise  appeared  to  adorn 
the  world.     My  Lord  C.  and  his  humble   servant  had  already 

*  Note  in  a  female  hand  :  "  My  son  is  not  a  spendthrift,  nor  a  breaker  of 'wome7i' s  hearts, 
2L%soitie  gentlemen  are  ;  but  that  he  was  exceeding  like  H.R.H.  when  they  were  both  babiess 
is  viost  certaifi,  the  Duchess  of  Ancaster  having  herself  remarked  him  in  St.  James', 
Park,  where  Gumbo  and  my  poor  Molly  used  often  to  take  him  for  an  airing.     Th.  W." 


MASTER   MILES   WARRINGTON. 


THE  VIRGINIANS.  607 

come  to  a  coolness  at  that  time,  and,  heaven  knows  !  my  honest 
Miles's  god-mother,  at  his  entrance  into  hfe,  brought  no  gold 
pap-boats  to  his  christening  !  Matters  have  mended  since,  laus 
Deo — laus  Deo,  indeed  !  for  I  suspect  neither  Miles  nor  his 
father  would  ever  have  been  able  to  do  much  for  themselves, 
and  by  their  own  wits, 

Castlewood  House  has  quite  a  different  face  now  from  that 
venerable  one  which  it  wore  in  the  days  of  my  youth,  when  it 
was  covered  with  the  wrinkles  of  time,  the  scars  of  old  wars, 
the  cracks  and  blemishes  which  years  had  marked  on  its  hoary 
features.  I  love  best  to  remember  it  in  its  own  shape,  as  I  saw  it 
when  young  Mr.  George  Warrington  went  down  at  the  owner's 
invitation,  to  be  present  at  his  lordship's  marriage  with  Miss 
Lydia  Van  den  Bosch — "  an  American  lady  of  noble  family  of 
Holland,"  as  the  county  paper  announced  her  ladyship  to  be. 
Then  the  towers  stood  as  Warrington's  grandfather  the  Colonel 
(the  Marquis,  as  Madam  Esmond  would  like  to  call  her  father) 
had  seen  them.  The  woods  (thinned  not  a  little  to  be  sure) 
stood,  nay,  some  of  the  self-same  rooks  may  have  cawed  over 
them,  which  the  Colonel  had  seen  threescore  years  back.  His 
picture  hung  in  the  hall,  which  might  have  been  his,  had  he  not 
preferred  love  and  gratitude  to  wealth  and  worldly  honor ;  and 
Mr.  George  Esmond  WarHngton  (that  is,  Egomet  Ipse  who 
write  this  page  down),  as  he  walked  the  old  place,  pacing  the  long 
corridors,  the  smooth  dew-spangled  terraces,  and  cool  darkling 
avenues,  felt  awhile  as  if  he  was  one  of  Mr.  Walpole's  cavaliers 
with  ruff,  rapier,  buff-coat,  and  gorget,  and  as  if  an  old  Preten- 
der, or  a  Jesuit  emissary  in  disguise,  might  appear  from  behind 
any  tall  tree-trunk  round  about  the  mansion,  or  antique  carved 
cupboard  within  it.  I  had  the  strangest,  saddest,  pleasantest, 
old-world  fancies  as  I  walked  the  place ;  I  imagined  tragedies, 
intrigues,  serenades,  escaladoes,  Oliver's  Roundheads  battering 
the  towers,  or  bluff  Hal's  Beef-eaters  pricking  over  the  plain 
before  the  castle.  I  v/as  then  courting  a  certain  young  ladj 
(Madam,  your  ladyship's  eyes  had  no  need  of  spectacles  then, 
and  on  the  brow  above  them  there  was  never  a  wrinkle  or  a 
silver  hair),  and  I  remember  I  wrote  a  ream  of  romantic  de- 
scription, under  my  Lord  Castlewood's  franks,  to  the  lady  who 
never  tired  of  reading  my  letters  then.  She  says  I  only  send 
her  three  lines  now,  when  I  am  away  in  London  or  elsewhere. 
'Tis  that  I  may  not  fatigue  your  old  eyes,  my  dear  ! 

Mr.  Warrington  thought  himself  authorized  to  order  a 
genteel  new  suit  of  clothes  for  my  lord's  marriage,  and  with 
Mons.  Gumbo  in  attendance,  made  his  appearance   at   Castle- 


6o8  THE  VIRGINIANS. 

wood  a  few  clays  before  the  ceremony.  I  may  mention  that  it 
had  been  found  expedient  to  send  my  faithful  Sady  home  on 
board  a  Virginia  ship.  A  great  inflammation  attacking  the 
throat  and  lungs,  and  proving  fatal  in  very  many  cases,  in  that 
year  of  Wolfe's  expedition,  had  seized  and  wellnigh  killed  my 
poor  lad,  for  whom  his  native  air  was  pronounced  to  be  the  best 
cure.  We  parted  with  an  abundance  of  tears,  and  Gumbo 
shed  as  many  when  his  master  went  to  Quebec  :  but  he  had 
attractions  in  this  country  and  none  for  the  military  life,  so  he 
had  remained  attached  to  my  service.  We  found  Castlewood 
House  full  of  friends,  relations,  and  visitors.  Lady  Fanny  was 
there  upon  compulsion,  a  sulky  bridesmaid.  Some  of  the 
virgins  of  the  neighborhood  also  attended  the  young  Countess. 
A  bishop's  widow  herself,  the  Baroness  Beatrix  brought  a  holy 
brother-in-law  of  the  bench  from  London  to  tie  the  holy  knot  of 
matrimony  between  Eugene  Earl  of  Castlewood  and  Lydia  Van 
den  Bosch,  spinster ;  and  some  time  before  and  after  the 
old  house  in  Hampshire  wore  an  appearance  of  gayety  to  which 
it  had  long  been  unaccustomed.  The  county  families  came 
gladly  to  pay  their  compliments  to  the  newly  married  couple. 
The  lady's  wealth  was  the  subject  of  everybody's  talk,  and  no 
doubt  did  not  decrease  in  the  telling.  Those  naughty  stories 
which  were  rife  in  town,  and  spread  by  her  disappointed  suitors 
there,  took  some  little  time  to  travel  into  Hampshire  ;  and  when 
they  reached  the  country  found  it  disposed  to  treat  Lord  Castle- 
wood's  wife  with  civility,  and  not  inclined  to  be  too  curious 
about  her  behavior  in  town.  Suppose  she  had  jilted  this  man, 
and  laughed  at  the  other  ?  It  was  her  money  they  were  anxious 
about,  and  she  was  no  more  mercenary  than  they.  The 
Hampshire  folks  were  determined  that  it  was  a  great  benefit 
to  the  county  to  have  Castlewood  House  once  more  open,  with 
beer  in  the  cellars,  horses  in  the  stables,  and  spits  turning 
before  the  kitchen-fires.  The  new  lady  took  her  place  with 
great  dignity,  and  'twas  certain  she  had  uncommon  accomplish- 
ments, and  wit.  Was  it  not  written,  in  the  marriage  advertise- 
ments, that  her  ladyship  brought  her  noble  husband  seventy 
thousand  pounds  ?  0?i  a  bcaucoup  a' esprit  \^\\\\  seventy  thousand 
pounds.  The  Hampshire  people  said  this  was  only  a  small 
portion  of  her  wealth.  When  the  grandfather  should  fall,  ever 
so  many  plums  would  be  found  on  that  old  tree. 

That  quiet  old  man,  and  keen  reckoner,  began  quickly  to 
put  the  dilapidated  Castlewood  accounts  in  order,  of  which 
long  neglect,  poverty,  and  improvidence  had  hastened  the  ruin. 
The  business  of  the  old  gentleman's   life  now,  and  for  some 


THE   VTRGIXIAXS. 


609 


time  henceforth,  was  to  advance,  improve,  mend  my  lord's 
finances  :  to  screw  the  rents  up  where  practicable,  to  pare  the 
expenses  of  the  establishment  down.  He  could,  somehow,  look 
to  every  yard  of  worsted  lace  on  the  footmen's  coats,  and  every 
pound  of  beef  that  went  to  their  dinner.  A  vratchful  old  eye 
noted  every  flagon  of  beer  which  was  fetched  from  the  butter}^, 
and  marked  that  no  waste  occurred  in  the  larder.  The  people 
were  fewer,  but  more  regularly  paid ;  the  liveries  were  not  so 
ragged,  and  yet  the  tailor  had  no  need  to  dun  for  his  money ; 
the  gardeners  and  grooms  grumbled,  though  their  wages  were 
no  longer  overdue  :  but  the  horses  fattened  on  less  corn,  and 
the  fruit  and  vegetables  were  ever  so  much  more  plentiful — so 
keenly  did  my  lady's  old  grandfather  keep  a  watch  over  the 
household  affairs,  from  his  lonely  little  chamber  in  the  turret. 

These  improvements,  though  here  told  in  a  paragraph  or 
two,  were  the  affairs  of  months  and  years  at  Castlewood  ;  where, 
with  thrift,  order,  and  judicious  outlay  of  money  (however,  upon 
some  pressing  occasions,  my  lord  might  say  he  had  none)  the 
estate  and  household  increased  in  prosperity.  That  it  was 
a  flourishing  and  economical  household  no  one  could  deny  :  not 
even  the  dowager  lady  and  her  two  children,  who  now  seldom 
entered  within  Castlewood  gates,  my  lady  considering  them  in 
the  light  of  enemies — for  who,  indeed,  would  like  a  stepmother- 
in-law  ?  The  little  reigning  Countess  gave  the  dowager  battle, 
and  routed  her  utterly  and  speedily.  Though  educated  in  the 
colonies,  and  ignorant  of  polite  life  during  her  early  years,  the 
Countess  Lydia  had  a  power  of  language  and  a  strength  of  will 
that  all  had  to  acknowledge  who  quarrelled  with  her.  The 
dowager  and  my  Lady  Fanny  were  no  match  for  the  young 
American  :  they  fled  from  before  her  to  their  jointure  house  in 
Kensington,  and  no  wonder  their  absence  was  not  regretted  by 
my  lord,  who  was  in  the  habit  of  regretting  no  one  whose  back 
was  turned.  Could  Cousin  Warrington,  whose  hand  his  lord- 
ship pressed  so  affectionately  on  coming  and  parting,  with 
whom  Cousin  Eugene  was  so  gay  and  frank  and  pleasant  when 
'they  were  together,  expect  or  hope  that  his  lordship  would 
grieve  at  his  departure,  at  his  death,  at  any  misfortune  which 
could  happen  to  him,  or  any  souls  alive  ?  Cousin  Warrington 
knew  better.  Always  of  a  skeptical  turn,  Mr.  W.  took  a  grim 
delight  in  watching  the  peculiarities  of  his  neighbors,  and  could 
like  this  one  even  though  he  had  no  courage  and  no  heart. 
Courage  ?  Heart  ?  What  are  these  to  you  and  me  in  the 
world  ?  A  man  may  have  private  virtues  as  he  may  have  half 
a  million  in  the  funds.     What  v.e  du  monde  expect   is,  that   he 

39 


6io  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

should  be  lively,  agreeable,  keep  a  decent  figure,  and  pay  bis 
way.  Colonel  Esmond,  Warrington's  grandfather  (in  whose 
history  and  dwelling-place  Mr.  W.  took  an  extraordinary 
interest),  might  once  have  been  owner  of  this  house  of  Castle- 
wood,  and  of  the  titles  which  belonged  to  its  possessor.  The 
g-entleman  often  looked  at  the  Colonel's  grave  picture  as  it  still 
hung  in  the  saloon,  a  copy  or  replica  of  which  piece  Mr.  War- 
irgton  fondly  remembered  in  Virginia. 

"  He  must  have  been  a  little  touched  here,"  my  lord  said, 
tapping  his  own  tall,  placid  forehead. 

There  are  certain  actions  simple  and  common  with  some 
men,  which  others  cannot  understand,  and  deny  as  utter  lies,  or 
deride  as  acts  of  madness. 

"  I  do  you  the  justice  to  think,  cousin,"  says  Mr.  War- 
rington to  his  lordship,  "  that  you  would  not  give  up  any  ad- 
vantage for  any  friend  in  the  world." 

"  Eh  !  I  am  selfish  :  but  am  I  more  selfish  than  the  rest  of 
the  world  }  "  asks  my  lord,  with  a  French  shrug  of  his  shoulders, 
and  a  pinch  out  of  his  box.  Once,  in  their  walks  in  the  fields, 
his  lordship  happening  to  wear  a  fine  scarlet  coat,  a  cow  ran 
towards  him  :  and  the  ordinarily  languid  nobleman  sprang  over 
a  style  with  the  agility  of  a  schoolboy.  He  did  not  conceal  his 
tremor,  or  his  natural  want  of  courage.  "  I  dare  say  you  re- 
spect me  no  more  than  I  respect  myself,  George,"  he  would 
say,  in  his  candid  way,  and  begin  a  very  pleasant  sardonical 
discourse  upon  the  fall  of  man,  and  his  faults,  and  shortcom- 
ings ;  and  wonder  why  heaven  had  not  made  us  all  brave  and 
tall,  and  handsome,  and  rich  ?  As  for  Mr.  Warrington,  who 
very  likely  loved  to  be  king  of  his  company  (as  some  people 
do),  he  could  not  help  liking  this  kinsman  of  his,  so  witty, 
graceful,  polished,  high-placed  in  the  ^yorld  —  so  utterly  his 
inferior.  '  Like  the  animal  in  Mr.  Sterne's  famous  book,  "  Do 
not  beat  me,"  his  lordship's  look  seemed  to  say,  "but,  if  you 
will,  you  may."  No  man,  save  a  bully  and  coward  himself, 
deals  hardly  with  a  creature  so  spiritless. 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  6ll 

CHAPTER    LXXIII. 

WE    KEEP    CHRISTMAS    AT    CASTLEWOOD,    1 759. 

We  know,  my  dear  children,  from  our  favorite  fairy  story- 
books,  how  at  all  christenings  and  marriages  some  one  is  in- 
variably disappointed,  and  vows  vengeance ;  and  so  need  not 
wonder  that  good  Cousin  Will  should  curse  and  rage  energeti- 
cally at  the  news  of  his  brother's  engagement  with  the  colonial 
heiress.  At  first,  Will  fled  the  house,  in  his  wrath,  swearing 
he  would  never  return.  But  nobody,  including  the  swearer, 
believed  much  in  Master  Will's  oaths ;  and  this  unrepentant 
prodigal,  after  a  day  or  two,  came  back  to  the  paternal  house. 
The  fumes  of  the  marriage-feast  allured  him  :  he  could  not 
afford  to  resign  his  knife  and  fork  at  Castlewood  table.  He 
returned,  and  drank  and  ate  there  in  token  of  revenge.  He 
pledged  the  young  bride  in  a  bumper,  and  drank  perdition  to 
her  under  his  breath.  He  made  responses  of  smothered  male- 
dictions as  her  father  gave  her  away  in  the  chapel,  and  my  lord 
vowed  to  love,  honor,  and  cherish  her.  He  was  not  the  only 
grumbler  respecting  that  marriage,  as  Mr.  Warrington  knew  : 
he  heard  then,  and  afterwards,  no  end  of  abuse  of  my  lady  and 
her  grandfather.  The  old  gentleman's  City  friends,  his  legal 
adviser,  the  Dissenting  clergyman  at  whose  chapel  they  attended 
on  their  first  arrival  in  England,  and  poor  Jack  Lambert,  the 
orthodox  young  divine,  whose  eloquence  he  had  fondly  hoped 
had  been  exerted  over  her  in  private,  were  bitter  against  the 
little  lady's  treacher)%  and  each  had  a  story  to  tell  of  his  having 
besn  enslaved,  encouraged,  jilted  by  the  young  American. 
The  lawyer,  who  had  had  such  an  accurate  list  of  all  her  prop- 
erties, estates,  moneys,  slaves,  ships,  expectations,  was  ready 
to  vow  and  swear  that  he  believed  the  whole  account  was  false  \ 
that  there  was  no  such  place  as  New  York  or  Virginia ;  or  at 
any  rate,  that  Mr.  Van  den  Bosch  had  no  land  there  ;  that  there 
was  no  such  thing  as  a  Guinea  trade,  and  that  the  negroes  were 
so  many  black  falsehoods  invented  by  the  wily  old  planter. 
The  Dissenting  pastor  moaned  over  his  stray  lambling — if  such 
a  little,  wily,  mischievous  monster  could  be  called  a  lamb  at  all. 
Poor  Jack  Lambert  ruefully  acknowledged  to  his  mamma  the 
possession  of  a  lock  of  black  hair,  which  he  bedewed  with 
tears  and  apostrophized  in  quite  unclerical  language  :  and,  as 


6i2  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

for  Mr.  William  Esmond,  he,  with  the  shrieks  and  'curses  in 
which  he  always  freely  indulged,  even  at  Castlewood  under  his 
sister-in-law's  own  pretty  little  nose,  when  under  any  strong 
emotion,  called  Acheron  to  witness,  that  out  of  that  region 
there  did  not  exist  such  an  artful  young  devil  as  Miss  Lydia. 
He  swore  that  she  was  an  infernal  female  Cerberus,  and  called 
down  all  the  wrath  of  this  world  and  the  next  upon  his  swind- 
ling rascal  of  a  brother,  who  had  cajoled  him  with  fair  words, 
and  filched  his  prize  from  him. 

"  Why,"  says  Mr.  Warrington  (when  Will  expatiated  on 
these  matters  with  him),  "  if  the  girl  is  such  a  she-devil  as  you 
describe  her,  you  are  all  the  better  for  losing  her.  If  she  in- 
tends to  deceive  her  husband,  and  to  give  him  a  dose  of  poison, 
as  you  say,  how  lucky  for  you,  you  are  not  the  man  !  You 
ought  to  thank  the  gods.  Will,  instead  of  cursing  them  for  rob- 
bing you  of  such  a  fury,  and  can't  be  better  revenged  on  Castle- 
wood than  by  allowing  him  her  sole  possession.'' 

"All  this  was  very  well,"  Will  Esmond  said  ;  but — not  un- 
justly, perhaps, — remarked  that  his  brother  was  not  the  less  a 
scoundrel  for  having  cheated  him  out  of  the  fortune  which  he 
expected  to  get,  and  which  he  had  risked  his  life  to  win,  too. 

George  Warrington  was  at  a  loss  to  know  how  his  cousin 
sin  had  been  made  so  to  risk  his  precious  existence  (for  which, 
perhaps,  a  rope's  end  had  been  a  fitting  termination),  on  which 
Will  Esmond,  with  the  utmost  candor,  told  his  kinsman  how 
the  little  Cerhera  had  actually  caused  the  meeting  between  them, 
which  was  interrupted  somehow  by  Sir  John  Fielding's  men  ; 
how  she  was  always  saying  that  George  Warrington  was  a  cow- 
ard for  ever  sneering  at  Mr.  Will,  and  the  latter  doubly  a  pol- 
troon for  not  taking  notice  of  his  kinsman's  taunts  ;  how  George 
had  run  away  and  nearly  died  of  fright  in  Braddock's  expedi- 
tion ;  and  "  Deuce  take  me,"  says  Will,  "  I  never  was  more 
surprised,  Cousin,  than  when  you  stood  to  your  ground  so  coolly 
in  Tottenham  Court  Fields  yonder,  for  me  and  my  second 
offered  to  wager  that  you  would  never  come  !  " 

Mr.  Warrington  laughed,  and  thanked  Mr.  Will  for  this 
opinion  of  him. 

"  Though,"  says  he,  "  Cousin,  'twas  lucky  for  me  the 
constables  came  up,  or  you  would  have  whipped  your  sword 
through  my  body  in  another  minute.  Didn't  you  see  how 
clumsy  I  was  as  I  stood  before  you  ?  And  you  actually  turned 
white  and  shook  with  anger  !  " 

"  Yes,  curse  me,"  says  Mr.  Will  (who  turned  very  red  this 
time),  *'  that's  my  way  of  showing  my  rage  ;  and  I  was  con- 


THE   VIRGINIANS,  5j, 

foundedly  angry  with  you,  Cousin  !  But  now  'tis  my  brother  I 
hate,  and  that  little  devil  of  a  Countess — a  countess  !  a  pretty 
countess,  indeed  !  "  And,  with  another  rumbling  cannonade 
of  oaths,  Will  saluted  the  reigning  member  of  his  family. 

"  Well,  Cousin,"  says  George,  looking  him  queerly  in  the 
face,  "  you  let  me  off  easily,  and,  I  dare  say,  I  owe  my  life  to 
you,  or  at  any  rate  a  whole  waistcoat,  and  I  admire  your 
forbearance  and  spirit.  What  a  pity  that  a  courage  like  yours 
should  be  wasted  as  a  mere  court  usher  !  You  are  a  loss  to 
his  Majesty's  army.     You  positively  are  !  " 

"  I  never  know  whether  you  are  joking  or  serious,  Mr. 
Warrington,"  growls  Will. 

"  I  should  think  very  few  gentlemen  would  dare  to  joke 
with  you^  Cousin,  if  they  had  a  regard  for  their  own  lives  or 
ears  !  "  cries  Mr.  Warrington,  who  loved  this  grave  way  of 
dealing  with  his  noble  kinsman,  and  used  to  wateh,  with  a 
droll  interest,  the  other  choking  his  curses,  grinding  his  teeth 
because  afraid  to  bite,  and  smothering  his  cowardly  anger. 

"  And  you  should  moderate  your  expressions,  Cousin, 
regarding  the  dear  countess  and  my  lord  your  brother,"  Mr. 
Warrington  resumed.  "  Of  you  they  always  speak  most 
tenderly.     Her  ladyship  has  told  me  everything." 

"What  everything'^  "  cries  Will,  aghast. 

"  As  much  as  women  ever  do  tell.  Cousin.  She  owned  that 
she  thought  you  had  been  a  little  epris  with  her.  What  woman 
can  help  liking  a  man  who  has  admired  her  ?  " 

"  Why,  she  hates  you,  and  says  you  were  wild  about  her, 
Mr.  Warrington  !  "  says  Mr.  Esmond. 

"  Spretae  injuria  formae.  Cousin  !" 

"  For  me, — what's  for  me  ?  "  asks  the  other. 

"  I  never  did  care  for  her,  and  hence,  perhaps,  she  does  not 
love  me.  Don't  you  remember  that  case  of  the  wife  of  the 
Captain  of  the  Guard  .?  " 

"  Which  Guard  }  "  asks  Will. 

"  My  Lord  Potiphar,"  says  Mr.  Warrington. 

"  Lord  Who  ?  My  Lord  Falmouth  is  Captain  of  the  Yeo- 
men of  the  Guard,  and  my  Lord  Berkeley  of  the  Pensioners. 
My  Lord  Hobart  had  'em  before.  Suppose  you  haven't  been 
long  enough  in  England  to  know  who's  w^ho.  Cousin  !  "  remarks 
Mr.  William. 

But  Mr.  Warrington  explained  that  he  was  speaking  of  a 
captain  of  the  guard  of  the  king  of  Egypt,  whose  wife  had 
persecuted  one  Joseph  for  not  returning  her  affection  for  him. 
On  which  Will  said  that,  as  for  Egypt,  he  believed  it  was  a 


6 14  THE  VIRGINIANS. 

confounded  long  way  off  ;  and  that,  if  Lord  What-d'ye-call's 
wife  told  lies  about  him,  it  was  like  her  sex,  who,  he  supposed, 
were  the  same  everywhere. 

Now  the  truth  is,  that  when  he  paid  his  marriage  visit  to 
Castlewood,  Mr,  Warrington  had  heard  from  the  little  Countess 
her  version  of  the  story  of  the  differences  between  Will 
Esmond  and  herself.  And  this  tale  differed,  in  some  respects, 
though  he  is  far  from  saying  it  is  more  authentic  than  the' 
ingenuous  narrative  of  Mr.  Will.  The  lady  was  grieved  to 
think  how  she  had  been  deceived  in  her  brother-in-law.  She 
feared  that  his  life  about  the  Court  and  town  had  injured  those 
high  principles  which  all  the  Esmond's  are  known  to  be  born 
with  j  that  Mr.  Will's  words  were  not  altogether  to  be  trusted  ; 
that  a  loose  life  and  pecuniary  difficulties  had  made  him 
mercenary,  blunted  his  honor,  perhaps  even  impaired  the  high 
chivalrous*  courage  "  which  we  Esmonds,  Cousin,"  the  little 
lady  said,  tossing  her  head,  "  which  we  Esmonds  most  always 
possess — leastways,  you  and  me,  my  lord,  and  my  cousin  Harry 
have  it,  I  know  !  "  says  the  Countess.  "  Oh,  Cousin  George, 
and  I  must  confess  that  I  was  led  to  doubt  of  yours,  without 
which  a  man  of  ancient  and  noble  family  like  ours  isn't 
worthy  to  be  called  a  man  !  I  shall  try,  George,  as  a  Christian 
lady,  and  the  head  of  one  of  the  first  families  in  this 
kingdom  and  the  whole  world,  to  forgive  my  brother  William 
for  having  spoke  ill  or  a  member  of  our  family,  though  a 
younger  branch  and  by  the  female  side,  and  made  me  for  a 
moment  doubt  of  you.  He  did  so.  Perhaps  he  told  me  ever 
so  many  bad  things  you  had  said  of  me." 

"  I,  my  dear  lady  !  "  cries  Mr,  Warrington. 

"Which  he  said  you  said  of  me.  Cousin,  and  I  hope  you 
didn't,  and  heartily  pray  you  didn't ;  and  I  can  afford  to  de- 
spise 'em.  And  he  paid  me  his  court,  that's  a  fact ;  and  so 
have  others,  and  t-liat  I'm  used  to  ;  and  he  might  have  proposed 
better  than  he  did  perhaps  (for  I  did  not  know  my  dear  lord, 
nor  come  to  vally  his  great  and  eminent  qualities,  as  I  do  out 
of  the  fulness  of  this  grateful  heart  now  !),  but,  oh  !  I  found 
William  was  deficient  in  courage,  and  no  man  as  wants  that 
can  ever  have  the  esteem  of  Lydia,  Countess  of  Castlewood, 
no  more  he  can  !  He  said  t'was  you  that  wanted  for  spirit. 
Cousin,  and  angered  me  by  telling  me  that  you  was  always 
abusing  of  me.  But  I  forgive  you,  George,  that  I  do  !  And 
when  I  tell  you  that  it  was  he  was  afraid — the  mean  skunk  ! — 
and  actually  sent  for  them  constables  to  prevent  the  match  be- 
tween you  and  he,  you  won't  wonder  I  wouldn't  vally  a  feller 


THE  VIRGINIANS. 


fii5 


like  that — no,  not  that  much  !  "  and  her  ladyship  snapped  her 
little  fingers.  "  I  say,  7ioblesse  oblige^  and  a  man  of  our  family 
who  hasn't  got  courage,  I  don't  care  not  this  pinch  of  snuff  for 
him — there,  now,  I  don't !  Look  at  our  ancestors,  George, 
round  these  walls  !  Haven't  the  Esmonds  always  fought  for 
their  country  and  king  ?  Is  there  one  of  us  that,  when  the 
moment  arrives,  ain't  ready  to  show  that  he's  an  Esmond  and 
a  nobleman  ?  If  my  eldest  son  was  to  show  the  white  feather, 
'  My  Lord  Esmond  ! '  I  would  say  to  him  (for  that's  the  second 
title  in  our  family),  '  I  disown  your  lordship  !  '  "  And  so  say- 
ing, the  intrepid  little  woman  looked  round  at  her  ancestors, 
whose  effigies,  depicted  by  Lely  and  Kneller,  figured  round  the 
walls  of  her  drawing-room  at  Castlewood. 

Over  that  apartment,  and  the  whole  house,  domain,  and 
village,  the  new  Countess  speedily  began  to  rule  with  an  un- 
limited sway.  It  was  surprising  how  quickly  she  learned  the 
w^ays  of  command  ;  and,  if  she  did  not  adopt  those  methods  of 
precedence  usual  in  England  among  great  ladies,  invented  regu- 
lations for  herself,  and  promulgated  them,  and  made  others 
submit.  Having  been  bred  a  Dissenter,  and  not  being  over- 
familiar  with  the  Established  Church  service,  Mr.  Warrington 
remarked  that  she  made  a  blunder  or  two  during  the  office  (not 
knowing,  for  example,  when  she  was  to  turn  her  face  towards 
the  east,  a  custom  not  adopted,  I  believe,  in  other  Reforming 
churches  besides  the  English) ;  but  between  Warrington's  first 
bridal  visit  to  Castlewood  and  his  second,  my  lady  had  got  to 
be  quite  perfect  in  that  part  of  her  duty,  and  sailed  into  chapel 
on  her  cousin's  arm,  her  two  footmen  bearing  her  ladyship's 
great  prayer-book  behind  her,  as  demurely  as  that  delightful 
old  devotee  with  her  lacquey,  in  Mr.  Hogarth's  famous  picture 
of  "  Morning,"  and  as  if  my  Lady  Lydia  had  been  accustomed 
to  have  a  chaplain  all  her  life.  She  seemed  to  patronize  not 
only  the  new  chaplain,  but  the  service  and  the  church  itself,  as 
if  she  had  never  in  her  own  country  heard  a  Ranter  in  a  barn. 
She  made  the  oldest  established  families  in  the  country — grave 
baronets  and  their  wives — worthy  squires  of  twenty  descents, 
who  rode  over  to  Castlewood  to  pay  the  bride  and  bridegroom 
honor — know  their  distance,  as  the  phrase  is,  and  give  her  the 
pas.  She  got  an  old  heraldry  book ;  and  a  surprising  old 
maiden  lady  from  Winton,  learned  in  politeness  and  genealo- 
gies, from  whom  she  learned  the  court  etiquette  (as  the  old 
Winton  lady  had  known  it  in  Queen  Anne's  time)  ;  and  ere 
long  she  jabbered  gules  and  sables,  bends  and  saltires,  not 
with  correctness  always,  but  with  a  wonderful  volubility  and 


6r6  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

perseverance.  She  made  little  progresses  to  the  neighboring 
towns  in  her  gilt  coach  and  six,  or  to  the  village  in  her  chair, 
and  asserted  a  quasi-regal  right  of  homage  from  her  tenants  and 
other  clodpoles.  She  lectured  the  parson  on  his  divinity ;  the 
bailiff  on  his  farming  ;  instructed  the  astonished  housekeeper 
how  to  preserve  and  pickle  ;  would  have  taught  the  great  Lon- 
don footman  to  jump  behind  the  carriage,  only  it  was  too  high 
for  her  little  ladyship  to  mount ;  gave  the  village  gossips  in- 
structions how  to  nurse  and  take  care  of  their  children  long 
before  she  had  one  herself ;  and  as  for  physic,  ]\Iadam  Esmond 
in  Virginia  was  not  more  resolute  about  her  pills  and  draughts 
than  Miss  Lydia,  the  earl's  new  bride.  Do  you  remember  the 
story  of  the  Fisherman  and  the  Genie,  in  the  "  Arabian  Nights  ? " 
So  one  wondered  with  regard  to  this  lady,  how  such  a  prodi- 
gious genius  could  have  been  corked  down  into  such  a  little 
bottle  as  her  body.  When  Mr.  Warrington  returned  to  London 
after  his  first  nuptial  visit,  she  brought  him  a  little  present  for 
her  young  friends  in  Dean  Street,  as  she  called  them  (Theo 
being  older,  and  Hetty  scarce  younger  than  herself),  and  sent  a 
trinket  to  one  and  a  book  to  the  other — G.  Warrington  always 
vowing  that  Theo's  present  was  a  doll,  while  Hetty's  share  was 
a  nursery-book  with  words  of  one  syllable.  As  for  Mr.  Will, 
her  younger  brother-in-law,  sh-e  treated  him  with  a  maternal 
gravity  and  tenderness,  and  was  in  the  habit  of  speaking  of  and 
to  him  with  a  protecting  air,  which  was  infinitely  diverting  to 
Warrington,  although  Will's  usual  curses  and  blasphemies  were 
sorely  increased  by  her  behavior. 

As  for  old  age,  my  Lady  Lydia  had  little  respect  for  that 
accident  in  the  life  of  some  gentlemen  and  gentlewomen  ;  and, 
once  the  settlements  were  made  in  her  behalf,  treated  the 
ancient  Van  den  Bosch  and  his  large  periwig  with  no  more 
ceremony  than  Dinah,  her  black  attendant,  whose  great  ears 
she  would  pinch,  and  whose  woolly  pate  she  would  pull  without 
scruple,  upon  offence  given — so  at  least  Dinah  told  Gumbo,  who 
told  his  master.  All  the  household  trembled  before  my  lady 
the  Countess :  the  housekeeper,  of  whom  even  my  lord  and  the 
dowager  had  been  in  awe  ;  the  pampered  London  footmen, 
who  used  to  quarrel  if  they  were  disturbed  at  their  cards,  and 
grumbled  as  they  swilled  their  endless  beer,  now  stepped 
nimbly  about  their  business  when  they  heard  her  ladyship's 
call ;  even  old  Lockwood,  who  had  been  gate-porter  for  half  a 
century  or  more,  tried  to  rally  his  poor  old  wandering  wits 
when  she  came  into  his  lodge  to  open  his  window,  inspect  his 
wood-closet,  and  turn  his  old  dogs  out  of  doors.     Lockwood 


k 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  617 

bared  his  old  bald  head  before  his  new  mistress,  turned  an 
appealing  look  towards  his  niece,  and  vaguely  trembled  before 
her  little  ladyship's  authority.  Gumbo,  dressing  his  master  for 
dinner,  talked  about  Elisha(of  whom  he  had  heard  the  chaplain 
read  in  the  morning),  "  and  his  bald  head  and  de  boys  who  call 
'um  names,  and  de  bars  eat  'um  up,  and  serve  'um  right,"  says 
Gumbo.  But,  as  for  my  lady,  when  discoursing  with  her  cousin 
about  the  old  porter,  ^'  Pooh,  pooh !  Stupid  old  man  ! " 
says  she  ;  "  past  his  work,  he  and  his  dirty  old  dogs !  They 
are  as  old  and  ugly  as  those  old  fish  in  the  pond  !  "  (Here  she 
pointed  to  two  old  monsters  of  carp  that  had  been  in  a  pond  in 
Castlewood  gardens  for  centuries,  according  to  tradition,  and 
had  their  backs  all  covered  with  hideous  gray  mould.)  "  Lock- 
wood  must  pack  off ;  the  workhouse  is  the  place  for  him  ;  and 
I  shall  have  a  smart,  good-looking,  tall  fellow  in  the  lodge  that 
will  do  credit  to  our  livery." 

"  He  was  my  grandfather's  man,  and  served  him  in  the  wars 
of  Queen  Anne,"  interposed  Mr.  Warrington.  On  which  my 
lady  cried,  petulantly,  "  O  Lord !  Queen  Anne's  dead,  I  sup- 
pose, and  we  ain't  a-going  into  mourning  for  her." 

This  matter  of  Lockwood  was  discussed  at  the  family 
dinner,  when  her  ladyship  announced  her  intention  of  getting 
rid  of  the  old  man. 

"  I  am  told,"  demurely  remarks  Mr.  Van  den  Bosch,  that, 
by  the  laws,  poor  servants  and  poor  folks  of  all  kinds  are 
admirably  provided  in  their  old  age  here  in  England.  I  am 
sure  I  wish  we  had  such  an  asylum  for  our  folks  at  home, 
and  that  we  were  eased  of  the  expense  of  keeping  our  old 
hands." 

"  If  a  man  can't  work  he  ought  to  go  !  "  cries  her  ladyship. 

"  Yes,  indeed,  and  that's  a  fact !  "  says  grandpapa. 

"What !  an  old  servant  ?  "  asks  my  lord. 

*'  Mr.  Van  den  Bosch  possibly  was  independent  of  serv^ants 
when  he  was  young,"  remarks  Mr.  Warrington. 

"  Greased  my  own  boots,  opened  my  own  shutters,  sanded 
and  watered  my  own " 

"  Sugar,  sir  ?  "  says  my  lord. 

"  No  ;  floor,  son-in-law  !  ''  says  the  old  man  with  a  laugh  ; 
"  though  there  is  such  tricks  in  grocery-stores,  saving  your 
ladyship's  presence." 

"  La,  Pa  !  what  should  /  know  about  stores  and  groceries  ?" 
cries  her  ladyship. 

"  He  !  Remember  stealing  the  sugar,  and  what  came  on 
it,  my  dear  ladyship  ?  "  says  grandpapa. 


6i8  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

"  At  any  rate,  a  handsome,  well-grown  man  in  our  liver)? 
will  look  better  than  that  shrivelled  old  porter  creature  !  "  cries 
my  lady. 

"  No  livery  is  so  becoming  as  old  age,  Madam,  and  no  lace 
as  handsome  as  silver  hairs,"  says  Mr.  Warrington."  "What 
will  the  county  say  if  you  banish  old  Lockwood  ? " 

"  Oh  !  if  you  plead  for  him,  sir,  I  suppose  he  must  stay. 
Hadn't  I  better  order  a  couch  for  him  out  of  my  drawing-room, 
and  send  him  some  of  the  best  wine  from  the  cellar  ? " 

"  Indeed,  your  ladyship  couldn't  do  better,"  Mr.  Warrington 
remarked,  very  gravely. 

And  my  lord  said,  yawning,  "  Cousin  George  is  perfectly 
right,  my  dear.  To  turn  away  such  an  old  servant  as  Lock- 
wood  would  have  an  ill-look." 

"  You  see  those  mouldy  old  carps  are,  after  all,  a  curiosity, 
and  attract  visitors,"  continues  Mr.  Warrington,  gravel}-.  "  Your 
ladyship  must  allow  this  old  wretch  to  remain.  It  won't  be  for 
long.  And  you  may  then  engage  the  tall  porter.  It  is  very 
hard  on  us,  Mr.  Van  den  Bosch,  that  we  are  obliged  to  keep  our 
old  negroes  when  they  are  past  work.  I  shall  sell  that  rascal 
Gumbo  in  eight  or  ten  years." 

"  Don't  tink  you  will,  master  !  "  says  Gumbo,  grinning. 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  sir  !  He  doesn't  know  English  ways, 
you  see,  and  perhaps  thinks  an  old  servant  has  a  claim  on  his 
master's  kindness,"  says  Mr.  Warrington. 

The  next  day,  to  Mr.  Warrington's  surprise,  my  lady  abso- 
lutely did  send  a  basket  of  good  wine  to  Lockwood,  and 
cushion  for  his  arm-chair. 

"  I  thought  of  what  you  said,  yesterday,  at  night  when  I 
went  to  bed  ;  and  guess  you  know  the  world  better  than  I  do. 
Cousin  ;  and  that  it's  best  to  keep  the  old  man,  as  you  say." 

And  so  this  affair  of  the  porter's  lodge  ended,  Mr.  Warring- 
ton wondering  within  himself  at  this  strange  little  character  out 
of  the  West,  with  her  naivete  and  simplicities,  and  a  heartless- 
ness  which  would  have  done  credit  to  the  most  battered  old 
dowager  who  ever  turned  trumps  in  St.  James's. 

"  You  tell  me  to  respect  old  people  1  Why  ?  I  don't  see 
nothin'  to  respect  in  the  old  people,  I  know,"  she  said  to  War- 
rington. "  They  ain't  so  funny,  and  I'm  sure  they  ain't  so  hand- 
some. Look  at  grandfather  ;  look  at  Aunt  Bernstein.  They 
say  she  was  a  beauty  once  !  That  picture  painted  from  her ! 
I  don't  believe  it,  nohow.  No  one  shall  tell  me  that  I  shall 
ever  be  as  bad  as  that  ?  When  they  come  to  that,  people 
oughn't  to  live.     No,  that  they  oughtn't." 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


619 


Now,  at  Christmas,  Aunt  ^ernstein  came  to  pay  her  nephew 
and  niece  a  visit,  in  company  with  Mr,  Warrington.  They 
travelled  at  their  leisure  in  the  Baroness's  own  landau  ;  the  old 
lady  being  in  particular  good  health  and  spirits,  the  weather 
delightfully  fresh  and  not  too  cold ;  and,  as  they  approached 
her  paternal  home,  Aunt  Beatrix  told  her  companion  a  hundred 
stories  regarding  it  and  old  days.  Though  often  lethargic,  and 
not  seldom,  it  must  be  confessed,  out  of  temper,  the  old  lady 
would  light  up  at  times,  when  her  conversation  became  wonder- 
fully lively,  her  wit  and  malice  were  brilliant,  and  her  memory 
supplied  her  with  a  hundred  anecdotes  of  a  bygone  age  and  so- 
ciety. Sure,  'tis  hard  with  respect  to  Beauty,  that  its  possessor 
should  not  have  even  a  life-enjoyment  of  it,  but  be  compelled 
to  resign  it  after,  at  the  most,  some  forty  years'  lease.  As 
the  old  woman  prattled  of  her  former  lovers  and  admirers  (her 
auditor  having  much  more  information  regarding  her  past 
career  than  her  ladyship  knew  of),  I  would  look  in  her  face, 
and,  out  of  the  ruins,  try  to  build  up  in  my  fancy  a  notion  of 
her  beauty  in  its  prime.  What  a  homily  I  read  there  !  How 
•the  courts  were  grown  with  grass,  the  towers  broken,  the  doors 
ajar,  the  fine  gilt  saloons  tarnished,  and  the  tapestries  cobweb- 
bed  and  torn  !  Yonder  dilapidated  palace  was  all  alive  once 
with  splendor  and  music,  and  those  dim  windows  were  dazzling 
and  blazing  with  light !  What  balls  and  feasts  were  once  here, 
what  splendor  and  laughter  ?  I  could  see  lovers  in  waiting, 
crowds  in  admiration,  rivals  furious.  I  could  imagine  twilight 
assignations,  and  detect  intrigues,  though  the  curtains  were  close 
and  drawn.  I  was  often  minded  to  say  to  the  old  woman  as  she 
talked,  "  Madam,  I  know  the  story  was  not  as  you  tell  it,  but 
so  and  so  " — (I  had  read  at  home  the  history  of  her  life,  as  my 
dear  old  grandfather  had  wrote  it)  :  and  my  fancy  wandered 
about  in  her,  amused  and  solitary,  as  I  had  walked  about  our 
father's  house  at  Castlewood,  meditating  on  departed  glories, 
and  imagining  ancient  times. 

When  Aunt  Bernstein  came  to  Castlewood,  her  relatives 
there,  more,  I  think,  on  account  of  her  own  force  of  character, 
imperiousness  and  sarcastic  wit,  than  from  their  desire  to 
possess  her  money,  were  accustomed  to  pay  her  a  great  deal  of 
respect  and  deference,  which  she  accepted  as  her  due.  She 
expected  the  same  treatment  from  the  new  Countess,  whom  she 
was  prepared  to  greet  with  special  good-humor.  The  match  had 
been  of  her  making.  "  As  you,  you  silly  creature,  would  not 
have  the  heiress,"  she  said,  "  I  was  determined  she  should  not 
go  out  of  the  family,"  and  she  laughingly  told  of  many  little 


62 o  THE  VIRGINIANS. 

schemes  for  bringing  the  marriagp  about.  She  had  given  the 
girl  a  coronet  and  her  nephew  a  hundred  thousand  pounds. 
Of  course  she  should  be  welcome  to  both  of  them.  She  was 
delighted  with  the  little  Countess's  courage  and  spirit  in  rout- 
ing the  Dowager  and  Lady  Fanny.  Almost  always  pleased 
with  pretty  people  on  her  first  introduction  to  them,  Madame 
Bernstein  raffoled  of  her  niece  Lydia's  bright  eyes  and  lovely 
little  figure.  The  marriage  was  altogether  desirable.  The  old 
man  was  an  obstacle,  to  be  sure,  and  his  talk  and  appearance 
somewhat  too  homely.  But  he  Avill  be  got  rid  of.  He  is  old 
and  in  delicate  health.  "  He  will  want  to  go  to  America,  or 
perhaps  farther,"  says  the  Baroness,  with  a  shrug.  "As  for  the 
child,  she  had  great  fire  and  liveliness,  and  a  Cherokee  manner, 
which  is  not  without  its  charm,"'  said  the  pleased  old  Baroness. 
"  Your  brother  had  it — so  have  you,  Master  George  !  Nous  la 
formerons,  cette  petite.  Eugene  wants  character  and  vigor, 
but  he  is  a  finished  gentleman,  and  between  us  we  shall  make 
the  little  savage  perfectly  presentable."  In  this  way  we  dis- 
coursed on  the  second  afternoon  as  journeyed  towards  Cas- 
tlewood.  We  lay  at  the  "  King's  Arms  "  at  Bagshqt  the  first 
night,  where  the  Baroness  was  always  received  with  profound 
respect,  and  thence  drove  post  to  Hexton,  where  she  had  written 
to  have  my  lord's  horses  in  waiting  for  her;  but  these  were 
not  forthcoming  at  the  inn,  and  after  a  couple  of  hours  we  were 
obliged  to  proceed  with  our  Bagshot  horses  to  Castlewood  . 

During  this  last  stage  of  the  journey,  I  am  bound  to  say 
the  old  aunt's  testy  humour  returned,  and  she  scarce  spoke  a 
single  word  for  three  hours.  As  for  her  companion,  being 
prodigiously  in  love  at  the  time,  no  doubt  he  did  not  press  his 
aunt  for  conversation,  but  thought  unceasingly  about  his  Dul- 
cinea,  until  the  coach  actually  reached  Castlewood  Common, 
and  rolled  over  the  bridge  before  the  house. 

The  housekeeper  was  ready  to  conduct  her  ladyship  to  her 
apartments.  My  lord  and  lady  were  both  absent.  She  did  not 
know  what  had  kept  them,  the  housekeeper  said,  heading  the 
way. 

"  Not  that  door,  my  lady  ! "  cries  the  woman,  as  Madame 
de  Bernstein  put  her  hand  upon  the  door  of  the  room  which 
she  had  always  occupied.  "  That's  her  ladyship's  room  now. 
This  way,"  and  our  aunt  followed,  by  no  means  in  increased 
good-humor.  I  do  not  envy  her  maids  when  their  mistress 
was  displeased.  But  she  had  cleared  her  brow  before  she 
joined  the  family,  and  appeared  in  the  drawing-room  before 
supper-time  with  a  countenance  of  tolerable  serenity. 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  621 

"How  d'ye  do,  Aunt?"  -.was  the  Countess's  salutation, 
"  I  declare  now,  I  was  taking  a  nap  when  your  ladyship  arrived  ! 
Hope  you  found  your  room  fixed  to  your  liking  !  " 

Having  addressed  three  brief  sentences  to  the  astonished 
old  lady,  the  Countess  now  turned  to  her  other  guests,  and 
directed  her  conversation  to  them.  Mr.  Warrington  was  not  a 
little  diverted  by  her  behavior,  and  by  the  appearance  of 
surprise  and  wrath  which  began  to  gather  over  Madame 
Bernstein's  face.  "Z^  Petite^^''  whom  the  Baroness  proposed  to 
"form,"  was  rather  a  rebellious  subject,  apparently  and  pro- 
posed to  take  a  form  of  her  own.  Looking  once  or  twice  rather 
anxiously  towards  his  wife,  my  lord  tried  to  atone  for  her  pert- 
ness  towards  his  aunt  by  profuse  civility  on  his  own  part  \ 
indeed,  when  he  so  wished,  no  man  could  be  more  courteous 
or  pleasing.  He  found  a  score  of  agreeable  things  to  say  to 
Madame  Bernstein.  He  warmly  congratulated  Mr.  Warrington 
on  the  glorious  news  which  had  come  from  America,  and  on 
his  brother's  safety.  He  drank  a  toast  at  supper  to  Captain 
Warrington.  "  Our  family  is  distinguish^ ing  itself.  Cousin,"  he 
said  ;  and  added,  looking  with  fond  significance  towards  his 
Countess,  "  I  hope  the  happiest  days  are  in  store  for  us  all." 

"  Yes,  George  !  "  says  the  little  lady.  "You'll  write  and 
tell  Harry  that  we  are  all  very  much  pleased  with  him.  This 
action  at  Quebec  is  a  most  glorious  action  ;  and  now  we  have 
turned  the  French  king  out  of  the  country,  shouldn't  be  at  all 
surprised  if  we  set  up  for  ourselves  in  America." 

"  My  love,  you  are  talking  treason  !  "  cries  Lord  Castlewood. 

"  I  am  talking  reason,  anyhow,  my  lord.  I've  no  notion  of 
folks  being  kept  down,  and  treated  as  children  for  ever  !  " 

George  !  Harry !  I  protest  I  was  almost  as  much  aston- 
ished as  amused.  "  When  my  brother  hears  that  your  ladyship 
is  satisfied  with  his  conduct,  his  happiness  will  be  complete," 
I  said,  gravely. 

Next  day,  when  talking  beside  her  sofa,  where  she  choose 
to  lie  in  state,  the  little  Countess  no  longer  called  her  cousin 
"  George,"  but  "  Mr.  George,"  as  before  ;  on  which  Mr.  George 
laughingly  said  she  had  changed  her  language  since  the  pre- 
vious day. 

"Guess  I  did  it  to  tease  old  Madame  Buzwig,"  says  her 
ladyship.  "  She  wants  to  treat  me  as  a  child,  and  do  the  grand- 
mother over  me.  I  don't  want  no  grandmothers,  I  don't.  I'm 
the  head  of  this  house,  and  I  intend  to  let  her  know  it.  And 
I've  brought  her  all  the  way  from  London  in  order  to  tell  it  her, 
too  !     La  I     how  she  did   look  when  I  called  you  George  !     I 


62  2  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

might  have  called  you  George — only  you  had  seen   that  little 
Theo  first,  and  liked  her  best,  I  suppose." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  I  like  her  best,"  says  Mr.  George. 
"Well,  I  like  you  because  you  tell  the  truth.  Because  you 
was  the  only  one  of  'em  in  London  who  didn't  seem  to  care  for 
my  money,  though  I  was  downright  mad  and  angry  with  you 
once,  and  with  myself  too,  and  with  that  little  sweetheart  of 
yours,  who  ain't  to  be  compared  to  me,  I  know  she  ain't." 

"  Don't  let  us  make  the  comparison,  then  !  "  I  said,  laugh- 
ing. 

"  I  suppose  people  must  lie  on  their  beds  as  they  make 
'em,"  says  she,  with  a  little  sigh.  "  Dare  say  Miss  Theo  is 
very  good,  and  you'll  marry  her  and  go  to  Virginia,  and  be  as 
dull  as  we  are  here.  We  were  talking  of  Miss  Lambert,  my 
lord,  and  I  was  wishing  my  cousin  joy.  How  is  old  Goody  to- 
day ?  What  a  supper  she  did  eat  last  night,  and  drink  ! — drink 
like  a  dragoon  !  No  wonder  she  has  got  a  headache,  and 
keeps  her  room.  Gues's  it  takes  her  ever  so  long  to  dress 
herself." 

"  You,  too,  may  be  feeble  when  you  are  old,  and  require  rest 
and  wine  to  warm  you  !  "  says  Mr.  Warrington. 

"  Hope  I  shan't  be  like  Jier  when  I'm  old,  anyhow  !  "  says 
the  lady.  "  Can't  see  why  I  am  to  respect  an  old  woman,  be- 
cause she  hobbles  on  a  stick,  and  has  shaky  hands,  and  false 
teeth  !  "  And  the  little  heathen  sank  back  on  her  couch,  and 
showed  twenty-four  pearls  of  her  own. 

"  La  !  "  she  adds,  after  gazing  at  both  her  hearers  through 
the  curled  lashes  of  her  brilliant  dark  eyes.  "  How  frightened 
you  both  look  !  My  lord  has  already  given  me  ever  so  many 
sermons  about  old  Goody.  You  are  both  afraid  of  her  :  and  I 
ain't,  that's  all.  Don't  look  so  scared  at  one  another  !  I  ain't 
a-going  to  bite  her  head  off.  We  shall  have  a  battle,  and  I 
intend  to  win.  How  did  I  serve  the  Dowager,  if  you  please, 
and  my  Lady  Fanny,  with  their  high  and  mighty  airs,  when 
they  tried  to  put  down  the  Countess  of  Castlewood  in  her  own 
house,  and  laugh  at  the  poor  American  girl  t  We  had  a  fight, 
and  which  got  the  best  of  it,  pray  ?  Me  and  Goody  will  have 
another,  and  when  it  is  over,  you  will  see  that  we  shall  both  be 
perfect  friends  !" 

When,  at  this  point  of  our  conversation  the  door  opened, 
and  Madam  Beatrix,  elaborately  dressed  according  to  her  wont, 
actually  made  her  appearance,  I,  for  my  part,  am  not  ashamed 
to  own  that  I  felt  as  great  a  panic  as  ever  coward  experienced. 
My  lord,  with  his  profoundest  bows  and  blandest  courtesies, 


THE   VIRGLVrAXS. 


•2,3 


greeted  his  aunt  and  led  her  to  the  fire,  by  which  my  lady  (who 
was  already  hoping  for  an  heir  to  Castlewoodj  lay  reclining  on 
her  sofa.  She  did  not  attempt  to  rise,  but  smiled  a  greeting 
to  her  venerable  guest.  And  then,  after  a  brief  talk,  in  which 
she  showed  a  perfect  self-possession,  while  the  two  gentlemen 
blundered  and  hesitated  with  the  most  dastardly  tremor,  my 
lord  said  : 

"  If  we  are  to  look  for  those  pheasants,  Cousin,  we  had 
better  go  now." 

"  And  I  and  aunt  will  have  a  cozy  afternoon.  And  you 
will  tell  me  about  Castlewood  in  the  old  times,  won't  you, 
Baroness  t  "  says  the  new  mistress  of  the  mansion. 

O  Ics  laches  que  les  ho7nmcs  I  I  was  so  frightened,  that  I 
scarce  saw  anything,  but  vaguely  felt  that  Lady  Castlewood's 
dark  eyes  were  following  me.  My  Lord  gripped  my  arm  in  the 
corridor,  we  quickened  our  spaces  till  our  retreat  became  a  dis- 
graceful run.  We  did  not  breathe  freely  till  ^ve  were  in  the 
open  air  in  the  courtyard,  where  the   keepers   and  the  dogs 


And  what  happened  ?  I  protest,  children,  I  don't  know. 
But  this  is  certain  :  if  your  mother  had  been  a  woman  of  the 
least  spirit,  or  had  known  how  to  scold  for  five  minutes  during 
as  many  consecutive  days  of  her  early  married  life,  there  would 
have  been  no  more  humble,  henpecked  wretch  in  Christendom 
than  your  father.  When  Parson  Blake  comes  to  dinner,  don't 
you  see  how  at  a  glance  from  his  little  wife,  he  puts  his  glaes 
down  and  says,  "  No,  thank  you,  Mr.  Gumbo,"  when  old  Gum 
brings  him  wine  .''  Blake  wore  a  red  coat  before  he  took  to 
black,  and  walked  up  Breed's  Hill  with  a  thousand  bullets 
whistling  round  his  ears,  before  he  ever  saw^  our  Bunker  Hill  in 
Suffolk.  And  the  fire-eater  of  the  43d  now  dares  not  face  a 
glass  of  old  port  wine  !  'Tis  his  wife  has  subdued  his  courage. 
The  women  can  master  us,  and  did  they  know  their  own 
strength  were  invincible. 

Well,  then,  what  happened  I  know  not  on  that  disgraceful 
day  of  panic  when  your  father  fled  the  field,  nor  dared  to  see 
the  heroines  engage  ;  but  when  we  returned  from  our  shooting, 
the  battle  was  over.  America  had  revolted,  and  conquered  the 
mother  country. 


624  ^^^   VIRGINIANS. 

CHAPTER  LXXIV. 

NEWS      FROM      CANADA. 

Our  Castlewood  relatives  kept  us  with  them  till  the  CDm- 
mencement  of  the  new  year,  and  after  a  fortnight's  abseace 
(which  seemed  like  an  age  to  the  absurd  and  infatuated  young 
man)  he  returned  to  the  side  of  his  charmer.  Madame  de 
Bernstein  was  not  sorry  to  leave  the  home  of  her  father.  She 
began  to  talk  more  freely  as  we  got  away  from  t'le  j1  xe. 
What  passed  during  that  interview  in  which  the  battle  royal 
between  her  and  her  niece  occurred,  she  never  revealed. 
But  the  old  lady  talked  no  more  of  forming  cette petite,  and,  in- 
deed, when  she  alluded  to  her,  spoke  in  a  ner^'ous,  laughing 
way,  but  without  any  hostility '  tov/ards  the  young  Countess. 
Her  ne^Dhew  Eugene,  she  said,  was  doomed  to  be  henpecked 
for  the  rest  of  his  days  :  that  she  saw  clearly.  A  little  order 
brought  into  the  house  would  do  it  all  the  good  possible. 
The  little  old  vulgar  American  gentleman  seemed  co  be  a 
shrewd  person,  and  would  act  advantageously  as  a  steward. 
The  Countess's  mother  was  a  convict,  she  had  heard,  sent  out 
from  England,  where  no  doubt  she  had  beaten  hemp  in  most 
of  the  jails  ;  but  this  news  need  not  be  carried  to  the  town- 
crier  ;  and,  after  all,  in  respect  to  certain  kind  of  people,  what 
mattered  what  their  birth  was  ?  The  young  woman  would 
be  honest  for  her  own  sake  now  :  was  shrewd  enough,  and  would 
learn  English  presently ;  and  the  name  to  which  she  had  a 
right  was  great  enough  to  get  her  into  any  society.  A  grocer, 
a  smuggler,  a  slave-dealer,  what  mattered  Mr.  Van  den  Bosch's 
pursuit  or  previous  profession  ?  The  Countess  of  Castlewood 
could  afford  to  be  anybody's  daughter,  and  as  soon  as  my 
nephew  produced  her,  says  the  old  lady,  it  was  our  duty  to 
stand  by  her. 

The  ties  of  relationship  binding  Madame  de  Bernstein 
strongly  to  her  nephew,  Mr.  Warrington  hoped  that  she  would 
be  disposed  to  be  equally  affectionate  to  her  niece  ;  and  spoke 
of  his  visit  to  Mr.  Hagan  and  his  wife,  for  whom  he  entreated 
her  aunt's  favor.  But  the  old  lady  was  obdurate  regarding 
Lady  Maria  ;  begged  that  her  name  might  never  be  mentioned, 
and  immediately  went  on  for  two  hours  talking  about  no  one 
else.     She   related  a  series   of  anecdotes   regarding  her  niece, 


THE   VIRGIXIAXS.  625 

which,  as  this  book  lies  open  virginibus piierisque,  to  all  the  young 
people  of  the  family,  I  shall  not  choose  to  record.  But  this  I 
will  say  of  the  kind  creature,  that  if  she  sinned,  she  was  not 
the  only  sinner  of  the  family,  and  if  she  repented,  that  others 
will  do  well  to  follow  her  example.  Hagan,  'tis  known,  after 
he  left  the  stage,  led  an  exemplary  life,  and  was  remarkable 
for  elegance  and  eloquence  in  the  pulpit.  His  lady  adopted 
extreme  views,  but  was  greatly  respected  in  the  sect  which  she 
joined  ;  and  when  I  saw  her  last,  talked  to  me  of  possessing 
a  peculiar  spiritual  illumination,  which  I  strongly  suspected  at 
the  time  to  be  occasioned  by  the  too  free  use  of  liquor  :  but  I 
remember  when  she  and  her  husband  were  good  to  me  and 
mine,  at  a  period  when  sympathy  was  needful,  and  many  a 
Pharisee  turned  away. 

I  have  told  how  easy  it  was  to  rise  and  fall  in  my  fickle 
aunt's  favor,  and  how  each  of  us  brothers,  by  turns,  was  em- 
braced and  neglected.  My  turn  of  glory  had  been  after  the 
success  of  my  play.  I  was  introduced  to  the  town-wits  ;  held 
my  place  in  their  company  tolerably  well ;  was  pronounced  to 
be  pretty  well  bred  by  the  macaronis  and  people  of  fashion, 
and  might  have  run  a  career  amongst  them  had  my  purse 
been  long  enough  ;  had  I  chose  to  follow  that  life  ;  had  I  not 
loved  at  that  time  a  pair  of  kind  eyes  better  than  the  brightest 
orbs  of  the  Gunnings  or  Chudleighs,  or  all  the  painted  beauties 
of  the  Ranelagh  ring.  Because  I  was  fond  of  your  mother, 
will  it  be  believed,  children,  that  my  tastes  were  said  to  be  low, 
and  deplored  by  my  genteel  family  ?  So  it  was,  and  I  know 
that  my  godly  Lady  Warrington  and  my  worldly  Madame  Bern- 
stein both  laid  their  elderly  heads  together  and  lamented  my 
way  of  life.  "  Why,  with  his  name,  he  might  marry  anybody," 
says  meek  Religion,  who  had  ever  one  eye  on  heaven  and  one 
on  the  main  chance.  "  I  meddle  with  no  man's  affairs, 
and  admire  genius,"  says  uncle,  "but  it  is  a  pity  you  consort 
with  those  poets  and  authors,  and  that  sort  of  people,  and  that, 
when  you  might  have  had  a  lovely  creature,  with  a  hundred 
thousand  pounds,  you  let  her  slip  and  make  up  to  a  countr}^- 
girl  without  a  penny-piece." 

"  But  if  I  had  promised  her,  uncle  ?  "   says  I. 

"  Promise,  promise  !  these  things  are  matters  of  arrangement 
and  prudence,  and  demand  a  careful  look-out.  When  you  first 
committed  yourself  with  little  Miss  Lambert,  you  had  not  seen 
the  lovely  American  lady  whom  your  mother  wished  you  to 
marry,  as  a  good  mother  naturally  would.  And  your  duty  to 
your  mother,  nephew, — your  duty  to  the  Fifth   Commandment, 

40 


626  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

would  have  warranted  your  breaking  with  MissL.,  and  fulfilling 

your  excellent    mother's  intentions   regarding   Miss what 

was  the  Countess's  Dutch  name  ?  Never  mind.  A  name  is 
nothing ;  but  a  plum,  Master  George,  is  something  to  look  at ! 
Why,  I  have  my  dear  little  Miley  at  a  dancing-school  with  Miss 
Barwell,  Nabob  Barwell's  daughter,  and  I  don't  disguise  my 
wish  that  the  children  may  contract  an  attachment  which  may 
endure  through  their  lives  !  \  tell  the  Nabob  so.  We  went 
from  the  House  of  Commons  one  dancing-day  and  saw  them. 
'Twas  beautiful  to  see  the  young  things  walking  a  minuet 
together  !  It  brought  tears  into  my  eyes,  for  I  have  a  feeling 
heart,  George,  and  I  love  my  boy !" 

"  But  if  I  prefer  Miss  Lambert,  «ncle,  with  twopence  to  her 
fortune,  to  the  Countess,  with  her  hundred  thousand  pounds  ? " 

"  Why,  then,  sir,  you  have  a  singular  taste,  that's  all,"  says 
the  old  gentleman,  turning  on  his  heel  and  leaving  me.  And  I 
could  perfectly  understand  his  vexation  at  my  not  being  able 
to  see  the  world  as  he  viewed  it. 

Nor  did  my  Aunt  Bernstein  much  like  the  engagement  which 
I  had  made,  or  the  family  with  which  I  passed  so  much  of  my 
time.  Their  simple  ways  wearied,  and  perhaps  annoyed,  the 
old  woman  of  the  world,  and  she  no  more  relished  their  com- 
pany than  a  certain  person  (who  is  not  so  black  as  he  is  painted) 
likes  holy  water.  The  old  lady  chafed  at  my  for  ever  dangling 
at  my  sweetheart's  lap.  Having  risen  mightily  in  her  favor,  I 
began  to  fall  again  :  and  once  more  Harry  was  the  favorite,  and 
his  brother,  heaven  knows,  not  jealous. 

He  was  now  our  family  hero.  He  wrote  us  brief  letters 
from  the  seat  of  war  where  he  was  engaged,  Madame  Bernstein 
caring  little  at  first  about  the  letters  or  the  writer,  for  they 
were  simple,  and  the  facts  he  narrated  not  over  interesting. 
We  had  early  learned  in  London  the  news  of  the  action  on  the 
glorious  first  of  August  at  Minden,  where  Wolfe's  old  regiment 
was  one  of  the  British  six  which  helped  to  achieve  the  victory 
on  that  famous  day.  At  the  same  hour,  the  young  General  lay 
in  his  bed,  in  sight  of  Quebec,  stricken  down  by  fever,  and 
perhaps  rage  and  disappointment,  at  the  check  which  his  troops 
had  just  received. 

Arriving  in  the  St.  Lawrence  in  June,  the  fleet  which 
brought  Wolfe  and  his  army  had  landed  them  on  the  last  day 
of  the  month  on  the  Island  of  Orleans,  opposite  which  rises 
the  great  cliff  of  Quebec.  After  the  great  action  in  which  his 
General  fell,  the  dear  brother  who  accompanied  the  chief,  wrote 
home  to  me  one  of  his  simple   letters,  describing  his  modest 


THE   ]'IRGINIAi\S.  627 

share  in  that  glorious  day,  but  added  nothing  to  the  many 
descriptions  already  wrote  of  the  action  of  the  13th  of  Septem- 
ber, save  only  I  remember  he  wrote,  from  the  testimony  of  a 
brother  aide-de-camp  who  was  by  his  side,  that  the  General 
never  spoke  at  all  after  receiving  his  death-wound,  so  that  the 
phrase  which  has  been  put  into  the  mouth  of  the  dying  hero 
may  be  considered  as  no  more  authentic  than  an  oration  of 
Livy  or  Thucydides. 

From  his  position  on  the  island,  which  lies  in  the  great 
channel  of  the  river  to  the  north  of  the  town,  the  General  was 
ever  hungrily  on  the  look-out  for  a  chance  to  meet  and  attack 
his  enemy.  Above  the  city  and  below  it  he  landed, — now  here 
and  now  there  ;  he  was  bent  upon  attacking  wherever  he  saw 
an  opening.  'Twas  surely  a  prodigious  fault  on  the  part  of  the 
Marquis  of  Montcalm,  to  accept  a  battle  from  Wolfe  on  equal 
terms,  for  the  British  General  had  no  artillery,  and  when  we 
had  made  our  famous  scalade  of  the  heights,  and  were  on  the 
plains  of  Abraham,  we  were  a  little  nearer  the  city,  certainly, 
but  as  far  off  as  ever  from  being  within  it. 

The  game  that  was  played  between  the  brave  chiefs  of  those 
two  gallant  little  armies,  and  which  lasted  from  July  until  Mr. 
Wolfe  won  the  crowning  hazard  in  September,  must  have  been 
as  interesting  a  match  as  ever  eager  players  engaged  in.  On 
the  very  first  night  after  the  landing  (as  my  brother  has  narrated 
it)  the  sport  began.  At  midnight  the  French  sent  a  flaming 
squadron  of  fire-ships  down  upon  the  British  ships  which  were 
discharging  their  stores  at  Orleans.  Our  seamen  thought  it 
was  good  sport  to  tow  the  fire-ships  clear  of  the  fleet,  and 
ground  them  on  the  shore,  where  they  burned  out. 

As  soon  as  the  French  commander  heard  that  our  ships 
had  entered  the  river,  he  marched  to  Beauport  in  advance  of 
the  city  and  there  took  up  a  strong  position.  When  our  stores 
and  hospitals  were  established,  our  General  crossed  over  from 
his  island  to  the  left  shore,  and  drew  nearer  to  his  enemy.  He 
had  the  ships  in  the  river  behind  him,  but  the  whole  country 
in  face  of  him  was  in  arms.  The  Indians  in  the  forest  seized 
our  advanced  parties  as  they  strove  to  clear  it,  and  murdered 
them  with  horrible  tortures.  The  French  were  as  savage  as 
their  Indian  friends.  The  Montmorenci  river  rushed  between 
Wolfe  and  the  enemy.  He  could  neither  attack  these  nor  the 
city  behind  them. 

Bent  on  seeing  whether  there  was  no  other  point  at  which 
his  foe  might  be  assailable,  the  General  passed  round  the  town 
of  Quebec  and  skirted  the  left  shore  beyond.     Everywhere  it 


628  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

was  guarded,  as  well  as  in  his  immediate  front,  and  having  run 
the  gauntlet  of  the  batteries  up  and  down  the  river,  he  returned 
to  his  post  at  Montmorenci.  On  the  right  of  the  French 
position,  across  the  Montmorenci  river,  which  was  fordable  at 
low  tide,  was  a  redoubt  of  the  enemy.  He  would  have  that. 
Perhaps,  to  defend  it,  the  French  chief  would  be  forced  out 
from  his  lines,  and  a  battle  be  brought  on.  Wolfe  determined 
to  play  these  odds.  He  would  fetch  over  the  body  of  his  army 
from  the  island  of  Orleans,  and  attack  from  the  St.  Lawrence. 
He  would  time  his  attack,  so  that,  at  shallow  water,  his  lieu- 
tenants, Murray  and  Townsend,  might  cross  the  Montmorenci, 
and,  at  the  last  day  of  July,  he  played  this  desperate  game. 

He  first,  and  General  Monckton,  his  second  in  command 
(setting  out  from  Point  Levi,  which  he  occupied),  crossed  over 
the  St.  Lawrence  from  their  respective  stations,  being  received 
with  a  storm  of  shot  and  artillery  as  they  rowed  to  the  shore. 
No  sooner  were  the  troops  landed  than  they  rushed  at  the 
French  redoubt  without  order,  were  shot  down  before  it  in 
great  numbers,  and  were  obliged  to  fall  back.  At  the  precon- 
certed signal  the  troops  on  the  other  side  of  the  Montmorenci 
advanced  across  the  river  in  perfect  order.  The  enemy  even 
evacuated  the  redoubt,  and  fell  back  to  their  lines  ;  but  from 
these  the  assailants  were  received  with  so  severe  a  fire  that 
an  impression  on  them  was  hopeless,  and  the  General  had  to 
retreat 

That  battle  of  Montmorenci  (which  my  brother  Harry  and 
I  have  fought  again  many  a  time  over  our  wine)  formed  the 
dismal  burden  of  the  first  despatch  from  Mr.  Wolfe  which 
reached  England,  and  plunged  us  all  in  gloom.  What  more 
might  one  expect  of  a  commander  so  rash  t  What  disasters 
might  one  not  foretell  ?  Was  ever  scheme  so  wild  as  to  bring 
three  great  bodies  of  men,  across  broad  rivers,  in  the  face  of 
murderous  batteries,  merely  on  the  chance  of  inducing  an  ene- 
my strongly  entrenched  and  guarded,  to  leave  his  position  and 
come  out  and  engage  us  ?  'Twas  the  talk  of  the  town.  No 
wonder  grave  people  shook  their  heads,  and  prophesied  fresh 
disaster.  The  General,  who  took  to  his  bed  after  this  failure, 
shuddering  with  fever,  was  to  live  barely  six  weeks  longer,  and 
die  immortal  !  How  is  it,  and  by  what,  and  whom,  that  Great- 
ness is  achieved  ?  Is  Merit — is  Madness  the  patron  t  Is  it 
Frolic  or  Fortune  t  Is  it  Fate  that  awards  successes  and  de- 
feats ?  Is  it  the  Just  Cause  that  ever  wins  ?  How  did  the 
French  gain  Canada  from  the  savage,  and  we  from  the  French, 
and  after  which  of  the  conquests  was  the  right  time  to  sing  Te 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  629 

Deum  ?  We  are  always  for  implicating  heaven  in  our  quarrels, 
and  causing  the  gods  to  intervene  whatever  the  nodus  may  be. 
Does  Broughton,  after  pummelling  and  beating  Slack,  lift  up  a 
black  eye  to  Jove  and  thank  him  for  the  victory  ?  And  if  ten 
thousand  boxers  are  to  be  so  heard,  why  not  one  ?  And  if 
Broughton  is  to  be  grateful,  what  is  Slack  to  be  ? 

"  By  the  list  of  disabled  officers  (many  of  whom  are  of  rank)  you  may  perceive,  sir, 
that  the  army  is  much  weakened.  By  the  nature  of  this  river  the  most  formidable  part  of 
the  armament  is  deprived  of  the  power  of  acting,  yet  we  have  almost  the  whole  force  of 
Canada  to  oppose.  In  this  situation  there  is  sucU  a  choice  of  difficulties,  that  I  own  myself 
at  a  loss  how  to  determine.  The  affairs  of  Great  Britain,  1  know,  require  the  most  vigor- 
ous measures  ;  but  then  the  courage  of  a  handful  of  brave  men  should  be  exerted  only 
where  there  is  some  hope  of  a  favorable  event.  The  admiral  and  I  have  examined  the 
town  with  a  view  to  a  general  assault  :  and  he  would  readily  join  in  this  or  any  other  meas- 
ure for  the  public  service  ;  but  I  cannot  propose  to  hini  an  undertaking  of  so  dangerous  a 
nature,  and  promising  so  little  success.  *  *  *  *  I  found  myself  so  ill,  and  am  still  so 
weak,  that  I  begged  the  general  officers  to  consult  together  for  the  public  utility.  They  are 
of  opinion  that  they  should  try  by  conveying  up  a  corps  of  4,000  or  5,000  men  (which  is 
nearly  the  whole  strength  of  the  army,  after  the  points  of  Levi  and  Orleans  are  put  in  a 
proper  state  of  defence)  to  draw  the  enemy  from  their  present  position,  and  bring  them  to 
an  action.  I  have  acquiesed  in  their  proposal,  and  we  are  preparing  to  put  it  into  execu- 
tion." 

So  wrote  the.  General  (of  whose  noble  letters  it  is  clear  our 
dear  scribe  was  not  the  author  or  secretary)  from  his  head- 
quarters at  Montmorenci  Falls  on  the  2d  day  of  September  : 
and  on  the  14th  of  October  following,  the  Rodney  cutter  arrived 
with  the  sad  news  in  England.  The, attack  had  failed,  the  chief 
was  sick,  the  army  dwindling,  the  menaced  city  so  strong  that 
assault  was  almost  impossible;  "the  only  chance  was  to  fight 
the  Marquis  of  Montcalm  upon  terms  of  less  disadvantage  than 
attacking  his  intrenchments,  and,  if  possible,  to  draw  him  from 
his  present  position."  Would  the  French  chief,  whose  great 
military  genius  was  known  in  Europe,  fall  into  such  a  snare  ? 
No  wonder  there  were  pale  looks  in  the  City  at  the  news,  and 
doubt  and  gloom  wheresoever  it  was  known. 

Three  days  after  this  first  melancholy  intelligence,  came  the 
famous  letters  announcing  that  wonderful  consummation  of  for- 
tune with  which  Mr.  Wolfe's  wonderful  career  ended.  If  no 
man  is  to  be  styled  happy  till  his  death,  what  shall  we  say  of 
this  one  ?  His  end  was  so  glorious,  that  I  protest  not  even  his 
mother  nor  his  mistress  ought  to  have  deplored  it,  or  at  any 
rate  have  wished  him  alive  again.  I  know  it  is  a  hero  we  speak 
of ;  and  yet  I  vow  I  scarce  know  whether  in  the  last  act  of  his 
life  I  admire  the  result  of  genius,  invention,  and  daring,  or  the 
boldness  of  a  gambler  winning  surprising  odds.  Suppose  his 
ascent  discovered  a  half-hour  sooner,  and  his  people,  as  they 
would  have  been  assuredly,  beaten  back  ?  Suppose  the  Marquis 
of  Montcalm  not  to   quit  his  entrenched  lines  to   accept  that 


630  TH^   VIRGIXIAXS. 

Strange  challenge  ?  Suppose  these  points — and  none  of  them 
depend  upon  Mr.  Wolfe  at  all — and  what  becomes  of  the  glory 
of  the  young  hero,  of  the  great  IMinister  who  discovered  him,  of 
the  intoxicated  nation  which  rose  up  frantic  with  self-gratula- 
tion  at  the  victory  ?  I  say,  what  fate  is  it  that  shapes  our  ends, 
or  those  of  nations  ?  In  the  many  hazardous  games  which  my 
Lord  Chatham  played,  he  won  this  prodigious  one.  And  as  the 
greedy  British  hand  seized  the  Canadas,  it  let  fall  the  United 
States  out  of  its  grasp. 

To  be  sure  this  wisdom  d'apres  coup  is  easy.  We  wonder  at 
this  man's  rashness  now  the  deed  is  done,  and  marvel  at  the 
other's  fault.  What  generals  some  of  us  are  upon  paper ;  what 
rejDartees  come  to  our  mind  when  the  talk  is  finished  ;  and,  the 
game  over,  how  well  we  see  how  it  should  have  been  played  ! 
Writing  of  an  event  at  a  distance  of  thirty  years,  'tis  not  diffi- 
cult now  to  criticize  and  find  fault.  But  at  the  time  when  we 
first  heard  of  Wolfe's  glorious  deeds  upon  the  plains  of  Abra- 
ham— of  that  army  marshalled  in  darkness  and  carried  silently 
up  the  midnight  river — of  those  rocks  scaled  by  the  intrepid 
leader  and  his  troops — of  that  miraculous  security  of  the  enem}', 
of  his  present  acceptance  of  our  challenge  to  battle,  and  of  his 
defeat  on  the  open  plain  by  the  sheer  valor  of  his  conqueror — 
we  were  all  intoxicated  in  England  by  the  news.  The  whole 
nation  rose  up  and  felt  itself  the  stronger  for  Wolfe's  victory. 
Not  merely  all  men  engaged  in  the  battle,  but  those  at  home 
who  had  condemned  its  rashness  felt  themselves  heroes.  Our 
spirit  rose  as  that  of  our  enemy  faltered.  Friends  embraced 
each  other  when  they  met.  Coffee-houses  and  public  places 
were  thronged  with  people  eager  to  talk  the  news.  Courtiers 
rushed  to  the  King  and  the  great  Minister  by  whose  wisdom 
the  camjoaign  had  been  decreed.  When  he  showed  himself,  the 
people  followed  him  with  shouts  and  blessings.  People  did  not 
deplore  the  dead  warrior,  but  admired  his  eiitha?iasia.  Should 
James  Wolfe's  friends  weep  and  wear  mourning,  because  a 
chariot  had  come  from  the  skies  to  fetch  him  away  ?  Let  them 
watch  with  wonder,  and  see  him  departing,  radiant ;  rising  above 
us  superior.  To  have  a  friend  who  had  been  near  or  about  him 
was  to  be  distinguished.  Every  soldier  who  fought  with  him 
was  a  hero.  In  our  fond  little  circle  I  know  'twas  a  distinction 
to  be  Harry's  brother.  We  should  not  in  the  least  wonder  but 
that  he,  from  his  previous  knowledge  of  the  place,  had  found 
the  way  up  the  heights  which  the  British  army  took,  and  pointed 
it  out  to  his  General.  His  promotion  would  follow  as  a  matter 
of  course.     Why,  even   our  Uncle  Warrington  wrote  letters  to 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  631 

bless  heaven  and  congratulate  me  and  himself  upon  the  share 
Harr)--  had  had  in  the  glorious  achievement.  Our  Aunt  Beatrix 
opened  her  house  and  received  company  upon  the  strength  of 
the  victor}-.  I  became  a  hero  from  my  likeness  to  my  brother. 
As  for  Parson  Sampson,  he  preached  such  a  sermon  that  his 
auditors  (some  of  whom  had  been  warned  by  his  reverence  of 
the  coming  discourse)  were  with  difficulty  restrained  from 
huzzaing  the  orator,  and  were  mobbed  as  they  left  the  chapel. 
"  Don't  talk  to  me.  Madam,  about  grief,"  says  General  Lambert 
to  his  wife,  who,  dear  soul,  was  for  allowing  herself  some  small 
indulgence  of  her  favorite  sorrow  on  the  day  when  Wolfe's 
remains  were  gloriously  buried  at  Greenwich.  "  If  our  boys 
could  come  by  such  deaths  as  James's,  you  know  yQu  wouldn't 
prevent  them  from  being  shot,  but  would  scale  the  Abraham 
heights  to  see  the  thing  done  !  Wouldst  thou  mind  dying  in 
the  arms  of  victory,  Charley  ? "  he  asks  of  the  little  hero  from 
the  Chartreux.  "  That  I  wouldn't,"  says  the  little  man  ;  "  and 
the  doctor  gave  us  a  holiday,  too." 

Our  Harry's  promotion  was  insured  after  his  share  in  the 
famous  battle,  and  our  aunt  announced  her  intention  of  pur- 
chasing a  company  for  him. 


CHAPTER  LXV. 

THE    COURSE    OF    TRUE    LOVE. 


Had  your  father,  young  folks,  possessed  the  commonest 
share  of  prudence,  not  only  would  this  chapter  of  his  history 
never  have  been  written,  but  you  yourselves  would  never  have 
appeared  in  the  world  to  plague  him  in  a  hundred  ways  ;  to 
shout  and  laugh  in  the  passages  when  he  wants  to  be  quiet  at 
his  books  ;  to  wake  him  when  he  is  dozing  after  dinner,  as  a 
healthy  country  gentleman  should  :  to  mislay  his  spectacles  for 
him,  and  steal  away  his  newspaper  when  he  wants  to  read  it ; 
to  ruin  him  with  tailors'  bills,  mantua-makers'  bills,  tutors'  bills, 
as  you  all*  of  you  do  :  to  break  his  rest  of  nights  when  you 
have  the  impudence  to  fall  ill,  and  when  he  would  sleep  undis- 
turbed, but  that  your  silly  mother  will  never  be  quiet  for  half- 
an-hour;  and  when  Joan' can't  sleep,  what  use,  pray,  is  there  in 
Darby  putting  on  his  night-cap  ?  Every  trifling  ailment  that 
anv  one  of  vou  has  had,  has  scared  her  so  that  I  protest  I  have 


632  T^E    VIRGIXJAXS. 

never  been  tranquil  ;  and,  \vere  I  not  the  most  long-suffering 
creature  in  the  world,  would  have  liked  to  be  rid  of  the  whole 
pack  of  you.  And  now,  forsooth,  that  you  have  grown  out  of 
childhood,  long  petticoats,  chicken-pox,  small-pox,  whooping 
cough,  scarlet  fever,  and  the  other  delectable  accidents  of 
puerile  life,  what  must  that  unconscionable  woman  propose  but 
to  arrange  the  south  rooms  as  a  nursery  for  possible  grand- 
children, and  set  up  the  Captain  with  a  wife,  and  make  him 
marry  early  because  we  did  !  He  is  too  fond,  she  says,  of 
Brookes's  and  Goosetree's  when  he  is  in  London.  She  has 
even  the  perversity  to  hint  that,  though  an  entree  to  Carlton 
House  may  be  very  jDleasant,  'tis  very  dangerous  for  a  young 
gentleman  i,  and  she  would  have  IVIiles  live  away  from  tempta- 
tion, and  sow  his  wild  oats,  and  marry,  as  we  did.  Marry  ! 
my  dear  creature,  we  had  no  business  to  marry  at  all  !  By  the 
laws  of  common  prudence  and  duty,  I  ought  to  have  backed 
out  of  my  little  engagement  with  Miss  Theo  (who  would  have 
married  somebody  else),  and  taken  a  rich  wife.  Your  Uncle 
John  was  c\  parson  and  couldn't  fight,  poor  Charley  was  a  boy 
at  school,  and  your  grandfather  was  too  old  a  man  to  call  me 
to  account  with  sword  and  pistol.  I  repeat  there  never  was  a 
more  foolish  match  in  the  world  than  ours,  and  our  relations 
were  perfectly  right  in  being  angry  with  us.  What  are  relations 
made  for,  indeed,  but  to  be  angry  and  find  fault  ?  When 
Hester  marries,  do  you  mind.  Master  George,  to  quarrel  with 
her  if  she  does  not  take  a  husband  of  your  selecting.  When 
George  has  got  his  living,  after  .being  senior  wrangler  and 
fellow  of  his  college,  Miss  Hester,  do  you  toss  up  your  little 
nose  at  the  young  lady  he  shall  fancy.  As  for  you,  my  little 
Theo,  I  can't  part  with  you.^  You  must  not  quit  your  old 
father  ;  for  he  likes  you  to  play  Haydn  to  him,  and  peel  his 
walnuts  after  dinner. 

Whilst  they  had  the  blessing  (forsooth  \)  of  meeting,  and 
billing  and  cooing  every  day,  the  two  young  people,  your 
parents,  went  on  in  a  fools'  paradise,  little  heeding  the  world 
round  about  them,  and  all  its  tattling  and  meddling.  Rinaldo 
was  as  brave  a  warrior  as  ever  slew  Turk,  but  you  know  he 
loved  dangling  in  Armida's  garden.  Pray,  my  Lady  Armida, 
what  did  you  mean  by  flinging  your   spells   over  me   in  youth, 

*  On  the   blank   leaf  opposite    this   paragraph    is    written,    in    a   large,  girlish    hand : 

"  I  never  intend  to  go. — Theodosia." 

"  Nor  I. — Hester." 

They  both  married,  as  I  see  by  a  note  in  the  family  Bible,  Miss  Theodosia  Warrington 
to  Joseph  Clinton,  son  cf  the  Rev.  Joseph  Blake,  and  himself  subsequently  Master  of  Rod- 
well  Res;is  Grammar  School  ;  and  Miss  Hester  Mary,  in  1804,  to  Captain  Y .  Handvraan, 
R.N.— Ed. 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  633 

SO  that  not  glory,  not  fashion,  not  gaming-tables,  not  the 
society  of  men  of  wit  in  whose  way  I  fell,  could  keep  me  long 
from  your  apron-strings,  or  out  of  reach  of  your  dear  simple 
prattle  ?  Pray,  my  dear,  what  used  we  to  say  to  each  other 
during  those  endless  hours  of  meeting  ?  I  never  went  to  sleep 
after  dinner  then.  Which  of  us  was  so  witty  ?  Was  it  I  or 
3^ou  ?  And  how  came  it  our  conversation  was  so  delightful  ? 
I  remember  that  year  I  did  not  even  care  to  go  and  see  my 
Lord  Ferrers  tried  and  hung,  when  all  the  world  was  running 
after  his  lordship.  The  King  of  Prussia's  capital  was  taken  ; 
had  the  Austrians  and  Russians  been  encamped  round  the 
Tower  there  could  scarce  have  been  more  stir  in  London  :  yet 
Miss  Theo  and  her  young  gentleman  felt  no  inordinate  emotion 
of  pity  or  indignation.  What  to  us  was  the  fate  of  Leipzig  or 
Berlin  ?  The  truth  is,  that  dear  old  house  in  Dean  Street  was 
an  enchanted  garden  of  delights.  I  have  been  as  idle  since, 
but  never  as  happy.  Shall  we  order  the  post-chaise,  my  dear, 
leave  the  children  to  keep  house  ;  and  drive  up  to  London  and 
see  if  the  old  lodgings  are  still  to  be  let  ?  And  you  shall  sit 
at  your  old  place  in  the  window,  and  wave  a  little  handkerchief 
as  I  walk  up  the  street.  Say  what  we  did  was  imprudent. 
Would  we  not  do  it  over  again  ?  My  good  folks,  if  Venus  had 
walked  into  the  room  and  challenged  the  apple,  I  was  so 
infatuated,  I  would  have  given  it  your  mother.  And  had  she 
had  the  choice,  she  would  have  preferred  your  humble  servant 
in  a  threadbare  coat  to  my  Lord  Clive  with  all  his  diamonds. 
Once,  to  be  sure,  and  for  a  brief  time  in  that  year,  I  had  a 
notion  of  going  on  the  highway  in  order  to  be  caught  and 
hung  as  my  Lord  Ferrers  ;  or  of  joining  the  King  of  Prussia, 
and  requesting  some  of  his  Majesty's  enemies  to  knock  my 
brains  out ;  or  of  enlisting  for  the  Indian  service,  and  per- 
forming some  desperate  exploit  which  should  end  in  my  bodily 
destruction.  Ah  me  !  that  Vv-as  indeed  a  dreadful  time  !  Your 
mother  scarce  dares  speak  of  it  now,  save  in  a  whisper  of  terror  ; 
or  think  of  it — it  was  such  cruel  pain.  She  was  unhappy  years 
after  on  the  anniversary  of  the  day,  until  one  of  you  was  born 
on  it.  Suppose  we  had  been  parted  ;  what  had  come  to  us  ? 
What  had  my  lot  been  without  her?  As  I  think  of  that 
possibility,  the  whole  world  is  a  blank.  I  do  not  say  were  we 
parted  now.  It  has  pleased  God  to  give  us  thirty  years  of 
union.  We  have  reached  the  autumn  season.  Our  successors 
are  appointed  and  ready  ;  and  that  one  of  us  who  is  first 
called  away  knows  the  survivor  will  follow  ere  long.  But  we 
were  actually   parted   in   our  youth ;  and   I   tremble   to  think 


634 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


what  might  have   been,  had  not  a  dearest  friend  brought   us 
together. 

Unknown  to  myself,  and  very  likely  meaning  only  my  ad- 
vantage, my  relatives  in  England  had  chosen  to  write  to  Madam 
Esmond  in  Virginia,  and  represent  what  they  were  pleased  to 
call  the  folly  of  the  engagement  I  had  contracted.  Every  one 
of  them  sang  the  same  song  :  and  I  saw  the  letters,  and  burned 
the  whole  cursed  pack  of  them  years  afterwards  when  my 
mother  show^ed  them  to  me  at  home  in  Virginia.  Aunt  Bern- 
stein was  forward  with  her  advice.  A  young  person,  with  no 
\vonderful  good  looks,  of  no  family,  wdth  no  money  ; — was  ever 
such  an  imprudent  connection,  and  ought  it  not  for  dear 
George's  sake  to  be  broken  off  ?  She  had  several  eligible 
matches  in  view  for  me.  With  my  name  and  prospects,  'twas 
a  shame  I  should  throw  myself  away  on  this  young  lady ;  her 
sister  ought  to  interpose — and  so  forth. 

My  Lady  Warrington  must  wTite,  too,  and  in  her  peculiar 
manner.  Her  ladyship's  letter  was  garnished  with  scripture 
texts.  She  dressed  her  worldliness  out  in  phylacteries.  She 
pointed  out  how  I  was  living  in  an  unworthy  society  of  player- 
folks,  and  the  like  people,  who  she  could  not  say  were  abso- 
lutely without  religion  (heaven  forbid !),  but  who  were  deplora- 
bly worldly.  She  would  not  say  an  artful  woman  had  inveigled 
me  for  her  daughter,  having  in  vain  tried  to  captivate  my  younger 
brother.  She  was  far  from  saying  any  harm  of  the  young 
woman  I  had  selected  ;  but  at  the  least  this  was  certain,  Miss 
L.  had  no  fortune  or  expectations,  and  her  parents  might  natu- 
rally be  anxious  to  compromise  me.  She  had  taken  counsel, 
&c.,  &c.  She  had  sought  for  guidance  wdiere  it  was,  &c. 
Feeling  what  her  duty  was,  she  had  determined  to  speak.  Sir 
Miles,  a  man  of  excellent  judgment  in  the  affairs  of  this  world 
(though  he  knew  and  sought  a  better),  fully  agreed  with  her  in 
opinion,  nay,  desired  her  to  write,  and  entreat  her  sister  to 
interfere,  that  the  ill-advised  match  should  not  take  place. 

And  who  besides  must  put  a  little  finger  into  the  pie  but 
the  new  Countess  of  Castlewood  ?  She  wrote  a  majestic  letter 
to  Madam  Esmond,  and  stated,  that  having  been  placed  by 
Providence  at  the  head  of  the  Esmond  family,  it  was  her  duty 
to  communicate  with  her  kinsw^oman  and  warn  her  to  break  off 
this  marriage.  I  believe  the  three  women  laid  their  heads 
together  previously  ;  and,  packet  after  packet,  sent  off  their 
warnings  to  the  Virginian  lad}'. 

One  raw  April  morning,  as  Corydon  goes  to  pay  his  usual 
duty  to  Phillis,  he  finds,  not  his  charmer  with  her  dear  smile 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  635 

as  usual  ready  to  welcome  him,  but  Mrs.  Lambert,  with  very 
red  eyes,  and  the  General  as  pale  as  death.  "  Read  this, 
George  Warrington  !  "  says  he,  as  his  wife's  head  drops  between 
her  hands  ;  and  he  puts  a  letter  before  me,  of  which  I  recognized 
the  handwriting.  I  can  hear  now  the  sobs  of  the  good  Aunt 
Lambert,  and  to  this  day  the  noise  of  fire-irons  stirring  a  fire  in 
a  room  overhead  gives  me  a  tremor.  I  heard  such  a  noise  that 
day  in  the  girls'  room  where  the  sisters  were  together.  Poor 
gentle  child  !     Poor  Theo  ! 

"  What  can  I  do  after  this,  George,  my  poor  boy  ? "  asks  the 
General,  pacing  the  room  with  desperation  in  his  face. 

I  did  not  quite  read  the  whole  of  Madam  Esmond's  letter, 
for  a  kind  of  sickness  and  faintness  came  over  me  ;  but  I  fear 
I  could  say  some  of  it  now  by  heart.  Its  style  was  good,  and 
its  actual  words  temperate  enough,  though  they  only  implied 
that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lambert  had  inveigled  me  into  the  marriage  ; 
that  they  knew  such  an  union  was  unworthy  of  me  ;  that  (as 
Madam  E.  understood)  they  had  desired  a  similar  union  for  her 
younger  son,  which  project,  not  unluckily  for  him,  perhaps,  was 
given  up  when  it  was  found  that  Mr.  Henry  Warrington  was  not 
the  inheritor  of  the  Virginian  property.  If  Mr.  Lambert  was  a 
man  of  spirit  and  honor,  as  he  was  represented  to  be.  Madam 
Esmond  scarcely  supposed  that,  after  her  representations,  he 
would  persist  in  desiring  this  match.  She  would  not  lay  com- 
mands upon  her  son,  whose  temper  she  knew  ;  but  for  the  sake 
of  Miss  Lambert's  own  reputation  and  comfort,  she  urged  that 
the  dissolution  of  the  engagement  should  come  from  /^<fr  family, 
and  not  from  the  just  unwillingness  of  Rachel  Esmond  War- 
rington of  Virginia. 

"  God  help  us,  George  !  "  the  General  said,  "  and  give  us 
all  strength  to  bear  this  grief,  and  these  charges  which  it  has 
pleased  your  mother  to  bring  !  They  are  hard,  but  they  don't 
matter  now.  What  is  of  most  importance,  is  to  spare  as  much 
sorrow  as  we  can  to  my  poor  girl.  I  know  you  love  her  so 
well,  that  you  will  help  me  and  her  mother  to  make  the  blow 
as  tolerable  as  we  may  to  that  poor  gentle  heart.  Since  she 
was  born  she  has  never  given  pain  to  a  soul  alive,  and  'tis  cruel 
that  she  should  be  made  to  suffer."  -And  as  he  spoke  he  passed 
his  hand  across  his  dry  eyes. 

"  It  was  my  fault,  A^rtin  !  It  was  my  fault !  "  weeps  the 
poor  mother. 

"  Your  mother  spoke  us  fair,  and  gave  her  promise,"  said 
the  father. 

'•  And  do  you   think  I  will  withdraw  mine  .'* "  cried  I  ;  and 


636  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

protested  with  a  thousand  frantic  vows,  what  they  knew  full 
well,  "  that  I  was  bound  to  Theo  before  heaven,  and  that  noth- 
ing should  part  me  from  her." 

"  She  herself  will  demand  the  parting.  She  is  a  good  gjrl, 
God  help  me  !  and  a  dutiful.  She  will  not  have  her  father  and 
mother  called  schemers,  and  treated  with  scorn.  Your  motlier 
knew  not,  very  likely,  what  she  was  doing,  but  'tis  done.  Yom 
may  see  the  child,  and  she  will  tell  you  as  much.  Is  Theo 
dressed,  Molly  ?  I  brought  the  letter  home  from  my  office  last 
evening  after  you  were  gone.  The  women  have  had  a  bad 
night.  She  knew  at  once  by  my  face  that  there  was  bad  news 
from  America.  She  read  the  letter  quite  firmly.  She  said  she 
would  like  to  see  you  and  say  Good-by.  Of  course,  George, 
you  will  give  me  your  word  of  honor  not  to  try  and  see  her 
afterwards.  As  soon  as  my  business  will  let  me  we  will  get 
away  from  this,  but  mother  and  I  think  we  are  best  all  together. 
'Tis  you,  perhaps,  had  best  go.  But  give  me  your  word,  at  any 
rate,  that  you  will  not  try  and  see  her.  We  -  must  spare  her 
pain,  sir  !  We  must  spare  her  pain  !  "  And  the  good  man  sat 
down  in  such  deep  anguish  himself  that  I,  who  was  not  yet 
under  the  full  pressure  of  my  own  grief,  actually  felt  his,  and 
pitied  it.  It  could  not  be  that  the  dear  lips  I  had  kissed  yes- 
terday were  to  speak  to  me  only  once  more.  We  were  all  here 
together:  loving  each  other,  sitting  in  the  room  where  we  met 
every  day  ;  my  drawing  on  the  table  by  her  little  work-box  :  she 
was  in  the  chamber  up  stairs ;  she  must  come  down  presently. 

Who  is  this  opens  the  door  ?  I  see  her  sweet  face.  It  was 
like  our  little  Mary's  when  we  thought  she  would  die  of  the 
fever.  There  was  even  a  smile  upon  her  lips.  She  comes  up 
and  kisses  me.  "  Good-by,  dear  George  ! "  she  says.  Great 
heaven  !  An  old  man  sitting  in  this  room, — with  my  wife's 
work-box  opposite,  and  she  but  five  minutes  away,  my  eyes 
grow  so  dim  and  full  that  I  can't  see  the  book  before  me.  I 
am  three-and-twenty  years  old  again.  I  go  through  every  stage 
of  that  agony.  I  once  had  it  sitting  in  my  own  post-chaise,  wdth 
my  wife  actually  by  my  side.  Who  dared  to  sully  her  sweet 
love  with  suspicion  ?  Who  had  a  right  to  stab  such  a  soft 
bosom  ?  Don't  you  see  my  ladies  getting  their  knives  ready, 
and  the  poor  child  bearing  it  .^  My  wife  comes  in.  She  has 
been  serving  out  tea  or  tobacco  to^  some  of  her  pensioners. 
"  What  is  it  makes  you  look  so  angry.  Papa  ?  "  she  says.  "  My 
love  !  "  I  say,  '*  it  is  the  thirteenth  of  April."  A  pang  of  pain 
shoots  across  her  face,  followed  by  a  tender  smile.  She  has 
undergone  the  martyrdom,  and  in  the  midst  of  the  pang  comes 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  637 

a  halo  of  forgiveness.  I  can't  forgive  ;  not  until  my  days  of 
dotage  come,  and  I  cease  remembering  anything.  "  Hal  will 
be  home  for  Easter;  he  will  bring  two  or  three  of  his  friends 
with  him  from  Cambridge,"  she  says.  And  straightway  she 
falls  to  devising  schemes  for  amusing  the  boys.  When  is  she 
ever  occupied,  but  with  plans  for  making  others  happy  ? 

A  gentleman  sitting  in  spectacles  before  an  old  ledger,  and 
writing  down  pitiful  remembrances  of  his  own  condition,  is  a 
quaint  and  ridiculous  object.  My  corns  hurt  me,  I  know,  but  I 
suspect  my  neighbor's  shoes  pinch  him  too.  I  am  not  going  to 
howl  much  over  my  own  grief,  or  enlarge  at  any  great  length 
on  this  one.  Many  another  man,  I  dare  say,  has  had  the  light 
of  his  day  suddenly  put  out,  the  joy  of  his  life  extinguished,  and 
has  been  left  to  darkness  and  vague  torture.  I  have  a  book  I 
tried  to  read  at  this  time  of  grief — "  Howel's  Letters  " — and 
when  I  come  to  the  part  about  Prince  Charles  in  Spain,  up 
starts  the  whole  tragedy  alive  again.  I  went  to  Brighthelm- 
stone,  and  there,  at  the  inn,  had  a  room  facing  the  east,  and 
saw  the  sun  get  up  ever  so  many  mornings,  after  blank  nights 
of  wakefulness,  and  smoked  my  pipe  of  Virginia  in  his  face. 
When  I  am  in  that  jDlace  by  chance,  and  see  the  sun  rising  now, 
I  shake  my  fist  at  him,  thinking,  O  orient  Phoebus,  what  hor- 
rible grief  and  savage  wrath  have  you  not  seen  me  suffer  ! 
Though  my  wife  is  mine  ever  so  long,  I  say  I  am  angry  just  the 
same.  Who  dared,  I  want  to  know,  to  make  us  suft^er  so .''  I 
was  forbidden  to  see  her.  I  kept  my  promise,  and  remained 
away  from  the  house  :  that  is,  after  that  horrible  meeting  and 
parting.  But  at  night  I  would  go  and  look  at  her  window,  and 
w^atch  the  lamp  burning  there ;  I  would  go  to  the  Chartreux 
(where  I  knew  another  boy),  and  call  for  her  brother,  and  gorge 
him  with  cakes  and  half-crowns.  I  w^ould  meanly  have  her 
elder  brother  to  dine,  and  almost  kiss  him  when  he  went  away. 
I  used  to  breakfast  at  a  coffee-house  in  Whitehall,  in  order  to 
see  Lambert  go  to  his  office  ;  and  we  w^ould  salute  each  other 
sadly,  and  pass  on  without  speaking.  Why  did  not  the  women 
come  out  ?  They  never  did.  They  were  practising  on  her,  and 
persuading  her  to  try  and  forget  me.  Oh,  the  weary,  w^eary 
days  !  Oh,  the  maddening  time  !  At  last  a  doctor's  chariot 
used  to  draw  up  before  the  General's  house  every  day.  Was 
she  ill  ?  I  fear  I  was  rather  glad  she  was  ill.  My  own  suffer- 
ing was  so  infernal,  that  I  greedily  wanted  her  to  share  my  pain. 
And  would  she  not  ?  What  grief  of  mine  has  it  not  felt,  that 
gentlest  and  most  compassionate  of  hearts  ?  What  pain  would 
it  not  suffer  to  spare  mine  a  pang  ? 


638 


THE  VIRGINIANS. 


I  sought  that  doctor  out.  I  had  an  interview  with  him.  I 
told  my  story,  and  laid  bare  my  heart  to  him,  with  an  out- 
burst of  passionate  sincerity,  which  won  his  sympathy.  My 
confession  enabled  him  to  understand  his  young  patient's 
malady  ;  for  which  his  drugs  had  no  remedy  or  anodyne.  I 
had  promised  not  to  see  her,  or  to  go  to  her :  I  had  kept  my 
promise.  I  had  promised  to  leave  London  :  I  had  gone  away. 
Twice,  thrice  I  went  back  and  told  my  sufferings  to  him.  He 
would  take  my  fee  now  and  again,  and  always  receive  me  kindly, 
and  let  me  speak.  Ah  !  how  I  clung  to  him  !  I  suspect  he 
must  have  been  unhappy  once  in  his  own  life,  he  knew  so  well 
and  gently  how  to  succor  the  miserable. 

He  did  not  tell  me  how  dangerously,  though  he  did  not 
disguise  from  me  how  gravely  and  seriously,  my  dearest  girl 
had  been  ill.  I  told  him  everything — that  I  would  marry  her, 
and  brave  every  chance  and  danger ;  that,  without  her,  I  was  a 
man  utterly  wrecked  and  ruined,  and  cared  not  what  became  of 
me.  My  mother  had  once  consented,  and  had  now  chosen  to 
withdraw  her  consent,  when  the  tie  between  us  had  been,  as  I 
held,  drawn  so  closely  together,  as  to  be  paramount  to  all  filial 
duty. 

"  I  think,  sir,  if  your  mother  heard  you,  and  saw  Miss 
Lambert,  she  would  relent,"  said  the  Doctor.  Who  was  my 
mother  to  hold  me  in  bondage  ;  to  claim  a  right  of  misery  over 
me  ;  and  to  take  this  angel  out  of  my  arms  ? 

"  He  could  not,"  he  said,  "  be  a  message-carrier  between 
young  ladies  who  were  jDining  and  young  lovers  on  whom  the 
sweethearts'  gates  were  shut :  but  so  much  he  would  venture 
to  say  that  he  had  seen  me,  and  was  prescribing  for  me,  too." 
Yes,  he  must  have  been  unhappy  once,  himself.  I  saw  him, 
you  may  be  sure,  on  the  very  day  when  he  had  kept  his  promise 
to  me.  He  said  she  seemed  to  be  comforted  by  hearing  news 
of  me. 

"  She  bears  her  suffering  with  an  angelical  sweetness.  I 
prescribe  Jesuit's  bark,  which  she  takes  ;  but  I  am  not  sure 
the  hearing  of  you  has  not  done  more  good  than  the  medicine." 
The  women  owned  afterwards  that  they  had  never  told  the 
General  of  the  Doctor's  new  patient. 

I  know  not  what  wild  expressions  of  gratitude  I  poured  out 
to  the  good  doctor  for  the  comfort  he  brought  me.  His  treat- 
ment was  curing  two  unhappy  sick  persons.  'Twas  but  a  drop 
of  water,  to  be  sure ;  but  then  a  drop  of  water  to  a  man  raging 
in  torment.  I  loved  the  ground  he  trod  upon,  blessed  the  hand 
that  took  mine,  and  had  felt  her  pulse.  I  had  a  ring  with  a 
pretty  cameo  head  of  Hercules  upon  it.     'Twas  too  small  for 


THE  VIRGINIANS.  639 

his  finger,  nor  did  the  good  old  man  wear  such  ornaments.  I 
made  him  hang  it  to  his  watch-chain,  in  hopes  that  she  might 
see  it,  and  recognize  that  the  token  came  from  me.  How  I 
fastened  upon  Spencer  at  this  time  (my  friend  of  the  Temple 
who  also  had  an  unfortunate  love-match),  and  walked  with  him 
from  my  apartments  to  the  Temple,  and  he  back  with  me  to 
Bedford  Gardens,  and  our  talk  was  for  ever  about  our  women  !  I 
dare  say  I  told  everybody  of  my  grief.  My  good  landlady  and 
Betty  the  housemaid  pitied  me.  My  son  Miles,  who,  for  a 
wonder,  has  been  reading  in  my  MS.,  says,  "  By  Jove,  sir,  I  didn't 
know  you  and  my  mother  were  took  in  this  kind  of  way.  The 
year  I  joined,  I  was  hit  very  bad  myself.  An  infernal  little  jilt 
threw  me  over  for  Sir  Craven  Oaks  of  our  regiment.  I  thought 
I  should  have  gone  crazy."  And  he  gives  a  melancholy  whistle, 
and  walks  away. 

The  General  had  to  leave  London  presently  on  one  of  his 
military  inspections,  as  the  doctor  casually  told  me  ;  but,  having 
given  my  word  that  I  would  not  seek  to  present  myself  at  his 
house,  I  kept  it,  availing  myself,  however,  as  you  may  be  sure, 
of  the  good  physician's  leave  to  visit  him,  and  have  news  of  his 
dear  patient.  His  accounts  of  her  were  far  from  encouraging. 
"  She  does  not  rally,"  he  said.  "  We  must  get  her  back  to 
Kent  again,  or  to  the  sea."  I  did  not  know  then  that  the  poor 
child  had  begged  and  prayed  so  piteously  not  to  be  moved, 
that  her  parents,  divining,  perhaps,  the  reason  of  her  desire  to 
linger  in  London,  and  feeling  that  it  might  be  dangerous  not 
to  humor  her,  had  yielded  to  her  entreaty,  and  consented  to 
remain  in  town. 

At  last  one  morning  1  came,  pretty  much  as  usual,  and  took 
my  place  in  the  doctor's  front  parlor,  whence  his  patients  were 
called  in  their  turn  to  his  consulting-room.  Here  I  remained, 
looking  heedlessly  over  the  books  on  the  table  and  taking  no 
notice  of  any  person  in  the  room,  which  speedily  emptied  itself 
of  all,  save  me  and  one  lady  who  sat  with  her  veil  down.  I 
used  to  stay  till  the  last,  for  Osborn,  the  doctor's  man,  knew 
my  business,  and  that  it  was  not  my  own  illness  I  came  for. 

When  the  room  was  empty  of  all  save  me  and  the  lady,  she 
puts  out  two  little  hands,  cries  in  a  voice  which  made  me  start, 
"  Don't  you  know  me,  George  ?  "  And  the  next  minute  I  have 
my  arms  round  her,  and  kissed  her  as  heartily  as  ever  I  kissed 
in  my  life,  and  gave  way  to  a  passionate  outgush  of  emotion 
the  most  refreshing,  for  my  parched  soul  had  been  in  a  rage 
and  torture  for  six  weeks  past,  and  this  was  a  glimpse  of  heaven. 

Who  was  it,  children  ?  You  think  it  was  your  mother  whom 
the  doctor  had  brought  to  me  ?     No.     It  was  Hetty. 


640  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

CHAPTER  LXXVI. 

INFORMS    US    HOW    MR.    WARRINGTON     JUMPED    INTO    A    LANDAU. 

The  emotion  at  the  first  surprise  and  greeting  over,  the 
httle  maiden  began  at  once. 

"  So  you  are  come  at  last  to  ask  after  Theo,  and  you  feel 
very  sorry  that  your  neglect  has  made  her  so  ill  t  For  six 
weeks  she  has  been  unwell,  and  you  have  never  asked  a  word 
about  her  !     Very  kind  of  you,  Mr.  George,  I'm  sure  !  " 

"  Kind  !  "  gasps  out  Mr.  Warrington. 

'•  I  suppose  you  call  it  kind  to  be  with  her  every  day  and 
all  day  for  a  year,  and  then  to  leave  her  without  a  word  ?  " 

"  My  dear,  you  know  my  promise  to  your  father  .?  "  I  reply. 

"  Promise  !  "  says  Miss  Hetty,  shrugging  her  shoulders.  "  A 
very  fine  promise,  indeed,  to  make  my  darling  ill,  and  then  sud- 
denly one  fine  day  to  say,  '  Good-by,  Theo,'  and  walk  away  for 
ever.  I  suppose  gentlemen  make  these  promises,  because  they 
wish  to  keep  'em.  /  wouldn't  trifle  with  a  poor  child's  heart, 
and  leave  her  afterwards,  if  I  were  a  man.  What  has  she  ever 
done  to  you,  but  be  a  fool  and  too  fond  of  you  ?  Pray,  sir,  by 
what  right  do  you  take  her  away  from  all  of  us,  and  then  desert 
her,  because  an  old  woman  in  America  don't  approve  of  her  ? 
She  was  happy  with  us  before  you  came.  She  loved  her  sister 
— there  never  was  such  a  sister — until  she  saw  you.  And  now, 
because  your  mamma  thinks  her  young  gentleman  might  do 
better,  you  must  leave  her  forsooth  !  " 

"  Great  powers,  child  !  "  I  cried,  exasperated  at  this  wrong- 
headedness.  "  Was  it  I  that  drew  back  ?  Is  it  not  I  that  am 
forbidden  your  house ;  and  did  not  your  father  require,  on  my 
honor,  that  I  should  not  see  her  ?  " 

"  Honor  !  And  you  are  the  men  who  pretend  to  be  our 
superiors  ;  and  it  is  we  who  are  to  respect  you  and  admire 
you  !  I  declare,  George  Warrington,  you  ought  to  go  back  to 
your  schoolroom  in  Virginia  again  ;  have  your  black  nurse  to 
tuck  you  up  in  bed,  and  ask  leave  from  your  mamma  when  you 
might  walk  out.  Oh,  George  !  I  little  thought  that  my  sister 
was  giving  her  heart  away  to  a  man  who  hadn't  the  spirit  to 
stand  by  her  ;  but,  at  the  first  difficulty,  left  her  !  When  Doc- 
tor Heberden  said  he  was  attending  3-ou,  I  determined  to  come 
and  see  you,  and  you  do  look  very  ill,  that  I  am  glad  to   see ; 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  641 

and  I  suppose  it's  your  mother  you  are  frightened  of.  But  I 
sha'n't  tell  Theo  that  you  are  unwell.  She  hasn't  left  off  caring 
for  you.  She  can't  walk  out  of  a  room,  break  her  solemn  en- 
gagements, and  go  into  the  world  the  next  clay  as  if  nothing 
had  happened  !  That  is  left  for  men,  our  superiors  in  courage 
and  wisdom  ;  and  to  desert  an  angel — yes,  an  angel  ten  thou- 
sand times  too  good  for  you  ;  an  angel  who  used  to  love  me  till 
she  saw  you,  and  who  was  the  blessing  of  life  and  of  all  of  us — 
is  what  you  call  honor }  Don't  tell  me,  sir  !  I  despise  you  all ! 
You  are  our  betters,  are  you  1  We  are  to  worship  and  wait  on 
you,  I  suppose  ?  /  don't  care  about  your  wit,  and  your  trage- 
dies, and  your  verses  ;  and  I  think  they  are  often  very  stupid. 
/  won't  sit  up  at  nights  copying  your  manuscripts,  nor  watch 
hour  after  hour  at  a  window  wasting  my  time  and  neglecting 
everybody  because  I  want  to  see  your  worship  walk  down  the 
street  with  your  hat  cocked  !  If  you  are  going  away,  and  wel- 
come, give  me  back  my  sister,  I  say  !  Give  me  back  my  dar- 
ling of  old  days,  who  loved  every  one  of  us,  till  she  saw  you. 
And  you  leave  her  because  your  mamma  thinks  she  can  find 
somebody  richer  for  you  !  Oh,  you  brave  gentleman  !  Go  and 
marry  the  person  your  mother  chooses,  and  let  my  dear  die 
here  deserted  ! " 

''  Great  Heavens,  Hetty  !  "  I  cry,  amazed  at  the  logic  of  the 
little  woman.  "  Is  it  I  who  wish  to  leave  your  sister  ?  Did  I 
not  offer  to  keep  my  promise,  and  was  it  not  your  father  who 
refused  me,  and  made  me  promise  never  to  see  her  again  ? 
What  have  I  but  my  word,  and  my  honor  ? " 

"  Honor,  indeed  !  You  keep  your  word  to  him,  and  you 
break  it  to  her  !  Pretty  honor  !  If  I  were  a  man,  I  would 
soon  let  you  know  what  I  thought  of  your  honor  !  Only  I  for- 
got— you  are  bound  to  keep  the  peace  and  musn't  =*  *  ^  Oh, 
George,  George  !  Don't  you  see  the  grief  I  am  in  ?  I  am  dis- 
tracted, and  scarce  know  what  I  say.  You  must  not  leave  my 
darling.  They  don't  know  it  at  home.  They  don't  think  so: 
but  I  know  her  best  of  all,  and  she  will  die  if  you  leave  her. 
Say  you  won't  ?  Have  pity  upon  me,  Mr.  Warrington,  and 
give  me  my  dearest  back  ! "  Thus  the  warm-hearted,  dis- 
tracted creature  ran  from  anger  to  entreaty,  from  scorn  to 
tears.  Was  my  little  doctor  right  in  thus  speaking  of  the  case 
of  her  dear  patient  ?  Was  there  no  other  remedy  than  that 
which  Hetty  cried  for  ?  Have  not  others  felt  the  same  cruel 
pain  of  amputation,  undergone  the  same  exhaustion  and  fever 
afterwards,  lain  hopeless  of  anything  save  death,  and  yet  re- 
covered after  all,  and  limped  through  life  subsequently  ?     Why, 

41 


642  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

but  that  love  is  selfish,  and  does  not  heed  other  people's  griefs 
and  passions,  or  that  ours  was  so  intense  and  special  that  we 
deemed  no  other  lovers  could  suffer  like  ourselves  ; — here"  in 
the  passionate  young  pleader  for  her  sister,  we  might  have 
shown  an  instance,  that  a  fond  heart  could  be  stricken  with  the 
love  malady  and  silently  suffer  it,  live  under  it,  recover  from  it, 
What  had  happened  in  Hetty's  own  case  ?  Her  sister  and  I, 
in  our  easy  triumph  and  fond  confidential  prattle,  had  many  a 
time  talked  over  that  matter,  and  egotists  as  we  were,  perhaps 
drawn  a  secret  zest  and  security  out  of  her  less  fortunate  at- 
tachment. 'Twas  like  sitting  by  the  fireside,  and  hearing  the 
winter  howling  without ;  'twas  like  walking  by  the  7nari  7tiagno, 
and  seeing  the  ship  tossing  at  sea.  We  clung  to  each  other 
only  the  more  closely,  and,  wrapped  in  our  own  happiness, 
viewed  others'  misfortunes  with  complacent  pity.  Be  the  truth 
as  it  may  ; — grant  that  we  might  have  been  sundered,  and  after 
a  while  survived  the  separation,  so  much  my  skeptical  old  age 
may  be  disposed  to  admit.  Yet,  at  that  time,  I  was  eager 
enough  to  share  my  ardent  little  Hetty's  terrors  and  apprehen- 
sions, and  willingly  chose  to  believe  that  the  life  dearest  to  me 
in  the  world  would  be  sacrificed  if  separated  from  mine.  Was 
I  wrong?  I  would  not  say  much  now.  I  may  doubt  about 
myself  (or  not  doubt,  I  know),  but  of  her,  never ;  and  Hetty 
found  in  me  quite  a  willing  sharer  in  her  alarms  and  terrors.  I 
was  for  imparting  some  of  these  to  our  doctor;  but  the  good 
gentleman  shut  my  mouth.  "  Hush,"  says  he,  with  a  comical 
look  of  fright.  "  I  must  hear  none  of  this.  If  two  people  who 
happen  to  know  each  other,  chance  to  meet  and  talk  in  my 
patients'  room,  I  cannot  help  myself;  but  as  for  match-making 
and  love-making,  I  am  your  humble  servant !  What  will  the 
General  do  when  he  comes  back  to  town  ?  He  will  have  me 
behind  Montague  House  as  sure  as  I  am  a  live  doctor,  and 
alive  I  wish  to  remain,  my  good  sir  !  "  and  he  skips  into  his 
carriage,  and  leaves  me  there  meditating.  "  And  you  and  Miss 
Hetty^nust  have  no  meetings  here-  again,  mind  you  that,"  he 
had  said  previously. 

Oh,  no  !  Of  course  we  would  have  none  !  We  are  gentle- 
men of  honor,  and  so  forth,  and  our  word  is  our  word.  Be- 
sides, to  have  seen  Hetty,  was  not  that  an  inestimable  boon, 
and  would  we  not  be  for  ever  grateful  t  I  am  so  refreshed 
with  that  drop  of  water  I  have  had,  that  I  think  I  can  hold  out 
for  ever  so  long  a  time  now.  I  walk  away  with  Hetty  to  Soho, 
and  never  once  thought  of  arranging  a  new  meeting  with  her. 
But  the  little  emissary  was   more  thoughtful,  and  she  asks  me 


DESPONDENCY. 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  643 

whether  I  go  to  the  Museum  now  to  read  ?  And  I  say,  "  Oh, 
yes,  sometimes,  my  dear;  but  I  am  too  wretched  for  reading 
now  ;  I  cannot  see  what  is  on  the  paper.  I  do  not  care  about 
my  books.  Even  Pocahontas  is  w^earisome  to  me.  i  *  *  * " 
I  might  have  continued  ever  so  much  farther,  when,  "Non- 
sense !  "  she  says,  stamping  her  Uttle  foot.  "  Why,  I  declare, 
George,  you  are  more  stupid  than  Harry  !  " 

"  How  do  you  mean,  my  dear  child  ?  "  I  ask. 

''  When  do  you  go  ?  You  go  away  at  three  o'clock.  You 
strike  across  on  the  road  to  Tottenham  Court.  You  walk 
through  the  village,  and  return  through  the  Green  Lane  that 
leads  back  towards  the  new  hospital.  You  know  you  do  !  If 
you  walk  for  a  week  there,  it  can't  do  you  any  harm.  Good- 
morning,  sir !  You'll  please  not  follow  me  any  further." 
And  she  drops  me  a  curtsey,  and  walks  away  with  a  veil  over 
her  face. 

That  Green  Lane,  which  lay  to  the  north  of  the  new  hospi- 
tal, is  built  all  over  with  houses  now.  In  my  time,  when  good 
old  George  II.  was  yet  King,  'twas  a  shabby  rural  outlet  of 
London ;  so  dangerous,  that  the  City  folks  who  went  to  their 
villas  and  junketing-houses  at  Hampstead  and  the  outlying 
villages,  would  return  in  parties  of  nights,  and  escorted  by 
waiters  with  lanthorns,  to  defend  them  from  the  footpads  who 
prowled  about  the  town  outskirts.  Hampstead  and  Highgate 
churches,  each  crowning  its  hill,  filled  up  the  background  of 
the  view  which  you  saw  as  you  turned  3'our  back  to  London  ; 
and  one,  two,  three  days  Mr.  George  Warrington  had  the  pleas- 
ure of  looking  upon  this  landscape,  and  walking  back  in  the 
direction  of  the  new  hospital.  Along  the  lane  were  sundry 
small  houses  of  entertainment ;  and  I  remember  at  one  place, 
where  they  sold  cakes  and  beer,  at  the  sign  of  the  "  Protestant 
Hero,''  a  decent  woman  smiling  at  me  on  the  third  or  fourth 
day,  and  curtseying  in  her  clean  apron,  as  she  says,  "  It  ap- 
pears the  lady  don't  come,  sir  !  Your  honor  had  best  step  in 
and  take  a  can  of  my  cool  beer." 

At  length  as  I  am  coming  back  through  Tottenham  Road, 
on  the  25th  of  May  —  O  day  to  be  marked  with  the  whitest 
stone  !  — a  little  way  beyond  Mr.  Whitfield's  Tabernacle,  I  see 
a  landau  before  me,  and  on  the  box-seat  by  the  driver  is  my 
young  friend  Charley,  who  waves  his  hat  to  me,  and  calls  out, 
"  George,  George  ! "  I  ran  up  to  the  carriage,  my  knees 
knocking  together  so  that  I  thought  I  should  fall  by  the  wheel  ; 
and  inside  I  see  Hetty,  and  by  her  my  dearest  Theo,  propped 
with  a  pillow.     How  thin  the  little  hand  had  become  since  last 


644  ^-^-^  VIRGINIANS. 

it  was  laid  in  mine  !  The  cheeks  were  flushed  and  wasted,  the 
eyes  strangely  bright,  and  the  thrill  of  the  voice  when  she 
spoke  a  word  or  two,  smote  me  with  a  pang,  I  know  not  of 
grief  or  joy  was  it,  so  intimately  were  they  blended. 

"I  am  taking  her  an  airing  to  Hampstead,"  says  Hetty, 
demurely.     "  The  doctor  says  the  air  will  do  her  good." 

"  I  have  been  ill,  but  I  am  better  now,  George,"  says  Theo. 
There  came  a  great  burst  of  music  from  the  people  in  the 
chapel  hard  by,  as  she  was  speaking.  I  held  her  hand  in  mine. 
Her  eyes  were  looking  into  mine  once  more.  It  seemed  as  if 
we  had  never  been  parted. 

I  can  never  forget  the  tune  of  that  psalm.  I  have  heard  it 
all  through  my  life.  My  wife  has  touched  it  on  her  harpsi- 
chord, and  her  little  ones  have  warbled  it.  Now,  do  you  under- 
stand, young  people,  why  I  love  it  so  ?  Because  'twas  the 
music  played  at  our  amoris  redinicgratio.  Because  it  sang  hope 
to  me,  at  the  period  of  my  existence  the  most  miserable.  Yes, 
the  most  miserable  :  for  that  dreary  confinement  of  Duquesne 
had  its  tenderness  and  kindly  associations  connected  with  it ; 
and  many  a  time  in  after  days  I  have  thought  with  fondness  of 
the  poor  Biche  and  my  tipsy  jailer ;  and  the  reveillee  of  the 
forest  birds  and  the  military  music  of  my  prison. 

Master  Charley  looks  down  from  his  box-seat  upon  his 
sister  and  me  engaged  in  beatific  contemplation,  and  Hetty 
listening  too,  to  the  music.  "  I  think  I  should  like  to  go  and 
hear  it.  And  that  famous  Mr.  Whitfield,  perhaps  he  is  going 
to  preach  this  very  day  1  Come  in  with  me,  Charley  —  and 
George  can  drive  for  half  an  hour  with  dear  Theo  towards 
Hampstead  and  back." 

Charley  did  not  seem  to  have  any  very  strong  desire  for 
witnessing  the  devotional  exercises  of  good  Mr.  Whitfield  and 
his  congregation,  and  j^roposed  that  George  Warrington  should 
take  Hetty  in  ;  but  Het  was  not  be  denied.  "  I  will  never 
help  you  in  another  exercise  as  long  as  I  live,  sir,"  cries  ]\Iiss 
Hett}^,  "  if  you  don't  come  on," — while  the  youth  clambered 
down  from  his  box-seat,  and  they  entered  the   temple  together. 

Can  any  moralist,  bearing  my  previous  promises  in  mind, 
excuse  me  for  jumjDing  into  the  carriage  and  sitting  down  once 
more  by  my  dearest  Theo  ?  Suppose  I  did  break  'em  ?  Will 
he  blame  me  much  ?  Reverend  sir,  you  are  welcome.  I  broke 
my  promise  ;  and  if  you  would  not  do  as  much,  good  friend,  you 
are  welcome  to  your  virtue.  Not  that  I  for  a  moment  suspect 
my  own  children  will  ever  be  so  bold  as  to  think  of  having 
hearts  of  their  own,  and  bestowing  them  according  to  their 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  645 

liking.  No,  my  3-oung  people,  you  will  let  your  papa  choose 
for  you ;  be  hungry  when  he  tells  you  ;  be  thirsty  when  he 
orders  ;  and  settle  your  children's  marriages  afterwards. 

And  now  of  course  you  are  anxious  to  hear  what  took  place 
when  papa  jumped  into  the  landau  by  the  side  of  poor  little 
mamma,  propped  up  by  her  pillows.  "  I  am  come  to  your  part 
of  the  storv,  my  dear,"  says  I,  looking  over  to  my  wife  as  she 
is  plying  her  needles. 

"  To  wdiat,  pray  ?  "  says  my  lady.  "  You  should  skip  all 
that  part,  and  come  to  the  grand  battles,  and  your  heroic 
defence  of " 


"  Of  Fort  Fiddlededee  in  the  year  1778,  when  I  pulled  off 
Mr.  Washington's  epaulet,  gouged  General  Gates's  eye,  cut  off 
Charles  Lee's  head,  and  pasted  it  on  again  ! " 

"  Let  us  hear  all  about  the  fighting,"  says  the  boys.  Even 
the  Captain  condescends  to  own  he  will  listen  to  any  military 
details,  though  only  from  a  militia  officer. 

"  Fair  and  softly,  young  people  !  Everything  in  its  turn.  I 
am  not  yet  arrived  at  the  war.  I  am  only  a  young  gentleman, 
just  stepping  into  a  landau,  by  the  side  of  a  young  lady  whom 
I  promised  to  avoid.  I  am  taking  her  hand,  which,  after  a 
little  ado,  she  leaves  in  mine.  Do  you  remember  how  hot  it 
was,  the  Uttle  thing,  how  it  trembled,  and  how  it  throbbed  and 
jumped  a  hundred  and  twenty  in  a  minute  ?  And  as  we  trot 
on  towards  Hampstead,  I  address  Miss  Lambert  in  the  following 
terms " 

"Ah,  ah,  ah  !  "  say  the  girls  in  chorus  with  Mademoiselle, 
their  French  governess,  who  cries,  "  Nous  ecoutons  maintenant. 
La  parole  est  a  vous.  Monsieur  le  Chevalier  !  " 

"  Here  we  have  them  all  in  a  circle  :  mamma  at  her  side  of 
the  fire,  papa  at  his  ;  Mademoiselle  Eleonore,  at  whom  the  Cap- 
tain looks  rather  sweetly  (eyes  off.  Captain  !)  ;  the  two  girls, 
listening  like — like  nymphas  discentes  to  Apollo,  let  us  say  ;  and 
John  and  Tummas  (with  obtuse  ears),  who  are  bringing  in  the 
teatrays  and  urns. 

''Very  good,"  says  the  Squire,  pulling  out  the  MS.,  and 
waving  it  before  him.  "  We  are  going  to  tell  3^our  mother's 
secrets  and  mine." 

"  I  am  sure  you  may,  papa,"  cries  the  house  matron. 
"  There's  nothing  to  be  ashamed  of."  And  a  blush  rises  over 
her  kind  face. 

"  But  before  I  begin,  young  folks,  permit  me  two  or  three 
questions." 

"  Aliens,    toujours    des    questions ! "    says    Mademoiselle, 


646  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

with  a  shrug  of  her  pretty  shoulders.    (Florae  has  recommended 
her  to  us.,  and  1  suspect  the  little  Chevalier  has  himself  an  eye 
upon  the  pretty  Mademoiselle  de  Blois.) 
To  the  questions,  then. 


CHAPTER  LXXVII. 

AND  HOW  EVERYBODY  GOT  OUT  AGAIN. 

I  SEE  you,  Captain  Miles  Warrington,  have  the  honor  of 
winning  the  good  graces  of  a  lady — of  ever  so  many  ladies — of 
the  Duchess  of  Devonshire,  let  us  say,  of  Mrs.  Crew,  of  Mrs. 
Fitzherbert,  of  the  Queen  of  Prussia,  of  the  Goddess  Venus,  of 
Mademoiselle  Hillisberg  of  the  Opera — never  mind  of  whom, 
in  fine.  If  you  win  a  lady's  graces,  do  you  always  go  to  the 
mess  and  tell  what  happened  ? 

"  Not  such  a  fool.  Squire  !  ''  says  the  Captain,  surveying  his 
side-curl  in  the  glass. 

"  Have  you.  Miss  Theo,  told  your  mother  every  word  you 
said  to  Mr.  Joe  Blake,  Junior,  in  the  shrubberv,  this  morn- 
ing?" 

"  Joe  Blake,  indeed  !  "  cries  Theo  Junior. 

"  And  you.  Mademoiselle  .?  That  scented  billet  which  came 
to  you  under  Sir  Thomas's  frank,  have  you  told  us  all  the  letter 
contains  ?  Look  how  she  blushes  !  As  red  as  the  curtain,  on 
my  word  !  No,  Mademoiselle,  we  all  have  our  secrets  "  (says  the 
Squire,  here  making  his  best  French  bow).  "  No,  Theo,  there 
was  nothing  in  the  shrubbery — only  nuts,  my  child  !  No,  Miles, 
my  son,  we  don't  tell  all,  even  to  the  most  indulgent  of  fathers 
— and  if  I  tell  what  happened  in  a  landau  on  the  Hamp- 
stead  road,  on  the  25th  of  May,  1760,  may  the  Chevalier  Rus- 
pini  pull  out  every  tooth  in  my  head  !  " 

"  Pray  tell,  papa  !  ''  cries  mamma  ;  or,  as  Jobson,  who  drove 
us,  is  in  your  service  now,  perhaps  you  will  have  him  in  from 
the  stables  !     I  insist  upon  your  telling  !  " 

"  What  is,  then,  this  mystery  } "  asks  Mademoiselle,  in  her 
pretty  French  accent,  of  my  wife. 

"  Eh,  ma  fille  !  "  whispers  the  lady.  "Thou  wouldst  ask 
me  what  I  said  !  I  said  '  yes  ! ' — behold  all  I  said."  And  so 
'tis  my  wife  has  peached,  and  not  I  ;  and  this  was  the  sum  of 
our  conversation,  as  the  carriage,  all  too  swiftly  as  I  thought, 


THE   VIR  GINIA  ^  S. 


647 


galloped  towards  Hampstead,  and  flew  back  again.  Theo  had 
not  agreed  to  fly  in  the  face  of  her  honored  parents — no  such 
thing.  But  we  would  marry  no  other  person  ;  no,  not  if  we 
lived  to  be  as  old  as  Methuselah  ;  no,  not  the  Prince  of  Wales  • 
himself  would  she  take.  Her  heart  she  had  given  away  with 
her  papa's  consent — nay,  order — it  was  not  hers  to  resume. 
So  kind  a  father  must  relent  one  of  these  days  ;  and  if  George 
would  keep  his  promise — were  it  now,  or  were  it  in  twenty 
years,  or  were  it  in  another  world,  she  knew  she  should  never 
break  hers. 

Hetty's  face  beamed  with  delight  when,  my  little  interview 
over,  she  saw  Theo's  countenance  wearing  a  sweet  tranquility. 
All  the  doctor's  medicine  has  not  done  her  so  much  good,  the 
fond  sister  said.  The  girls  went  home  after  their  act  of  dis- 
obedience. I  gave  up  the  place  which  I  had  held  during  a 
brief  period  of  happiness  by  my  dear  invalid's  side.  Hetty 
skipped  back  into  her  seat,  and  Charley  on  to  his  box.  He 
told  me,  in  after  days,  that  it  was  a  very  dull,  stupid  sermon  he 
had  heard.  The  little  chap  was  too  orthodox  to  love  dissenting 
preachers'  sermons. 

Hetty  was  not  the  only  one  of  the  family  who  remarked 
her  sister's  altered  countenance  and  improved  spirits.  I  am 
told  that  on  the  girls'  return  home,  their  mother  embraced 
both  of  them,  especially  the  invalid,  with  more  than  common 
ardor  of  affection.  "  There  was  nothing  like  a  country  ride," 
Aunt  Lambert  said,  "  for  doing  her  dear  Theo  good.  She  had 
been  on  the  road  to  Hampstead,  had  she  ?  She  must  ha\-e 
another  ride  to-morrow.  Heaven  be  blessed,  my  Lord  Wroth- 
am's  horses  were  at  their  orders  for  three  or  four  times  a 
week,  and  the  sweet  child  might  have  the  advantage  of  them  !  " 
As  for  the  idea  that  Mr.  Warrington  might  have  happened  to 
meet  the  children  on  their  drive.  Aunt  Lambert  never  once 
entertained  it, — at  least  spoke  of  it.  I  leave  anybody  who  is 
interested  in  the  matter  to  guess  whether  Mrs.  Lambert  could 
by  any  possibility  have  supposed  that  her  daughter  and  her 
sweetheart  could  ever  have  come  together  again.  Do  women 
help  each  other  in  love  perplexities  ?  Do  women  scheme,  in- 
trigue, make  little  plans,  tell  little  fibs,  provide  little  amorous 
opportunities,  hang  up  the  rope-ladder,  coax,  wheedle,  mystify 
the  guardian  or  Abigail,  and  turn  their  attention  away  while 
Strephon  and  Chloe  are  billing  and  cooing  in  the  twilight,  or 
whisking  off  in  the  postchaise  to  Gretna  Green  ?  My  dear  young 
folks,  some  people  there  are  of  this  nature  ;  and  some  kind  souls 
who  have  loved  tenderly  and  truly  in  their  own  time,  continue 


648  THE   VIRGIXTANS. 

ever  after  to  be  kindly  and  tenderly  disposed  towards  their 
young  successors,  when  they  begin  to  play  the  same  pretty 
game. 

Miss  Prim  doesn't.  If  she  hears  of  two  young  persons  at- 
tached to  each  other,  it  is  to  snarl  at  them  for  fools,  or  to 
imagine  of  them  all  conceivable  evil.  Because  she  has  a  hump- 
back herself,  she  is  for  biting  everybody  else's.  I  believe  if 
she  saw  a  pair  of  turtles  cooing  in  a  wood,  she  w^ould  turn  her 
eyes  down,  or  fling  a  stone  to  frighten  them  ;  but  I  am  speak- 
ing, you  see,  young  ladies,  of  your  grandmother.  Aunt  Lambert, 
Vv'ho  was  one  great  syllabub  of  human  kindness ;  and,  besides, 
about  the  affair  at  present  under  discussion,  how  am  I  ever  to 
tell  whether  she  knew  anything  regarding  it  or  not  t 

So,  all  she  says  to  Theo  on  her  return  home  is,  "  My  child, 
the  country  air  has  done  you  all  the  good  in  the  world,  and  I 
hope  you  will  take  another  drive  to-morrow^,  and  another,  and 
another,  and  so  on." 

"  Don't  you  think.  Papa,  the  ride  has  done  the  child  most 
wonderful  good,  and  must  not  she  be  made  to  go  out  in  the 
air  ?  "  Aunt  Lambert  asks  of  the  General,  when  he  comes  in 
for  supper. 

Yes,  sure,  if  a  coach  and  six  will  do  this  little  Theo  good, 
she  shall  have  it,  Lambert  says,  or  he  will  drag  the  landau  up 
Hampstead  Hill  himself,  if  there  are  no  horses  ;  and  so  the  good 
man  would  have  spent,  freely,  his  guineas,  or  his  breath,  or  his 
blood,  to  give  his  child  pleasure.  He  was  charmed  at  his  girl's 
altered  countenance;  she  picked  a  bit  of  chicken  with  appetite  : 
she  drank  a  little  negus,  which  he  made  for  her :  indeed  it  did 
seem  to  be  better  than  the  kind  doctor's  best  medicine,  which 
hitherto,  God  wot,  had  been  of  little  benefit.  Mamma  w^as 
gracious  and  happy.  Hetty  was  radiant  and  rident.  It  was 
quite  like  an  evening  at  home  at  Oakhurst.  Never  for  months 
past,  never  since  that  fatal,  cruel  day,  that  no  one  spoke  of, 
had  they  spent  an  evening  so  delightful. 

But,  if  the  other  women  chose  to  coax  and  cajole  the  good, 
simple  father,  Theo  herself  was  too  honest  to  continue  for  long 
even  that  sweet  and  fond  delusion.  When,  for  the  third  or 
fourth  time,  he  comes  back  to  the  delightful  theme  of  his 
daughter's  improved  health,  and  asks,  "  What  has  done  it  ?  Is 
it  the  countr}^  air  ?  is  it  the  Jesuit's  bark  ?  is  it  the  new  medi- 
cine ? " 

"  Can't  you  think,  dear,  what  it  is  ?  "  she  says,  laying  a  hand 
upon  her  father's,  with  a  tremor  in  her  voice,  perhaps,  but  eyes 
that  are  quite  open  and  bright. 


THE   VIRGTNTANS.  649 

"And  what  is  it,  my  child  ? '"'  asks  the  General. 

"  It  is  because  I  have  seen  him  again,  Papa  ! "  she  says. 

The  other  two  women  turned  pale,  and  Theo's  heart,  too, 
begins  to  palpitate,  and  her  cheek  to  whiten,  as  she  continues 
to  look  in  her  father's  scared  face. 

"  It  was  not  wrong  to  see  him,"  she  continues,  more  quickly  ; 
"it  would  have  been  wrong  not  to  tell  you." 

"  Great  God  !  "  groans  the  father,  drawing  his  hand  back, 
and  with  such  a  dreadful  grief  in  his  countenance,  that  Hetty 
runs  to  her  almost  swooning  sister,  clasps  her  to  her  heart,  and 
cries  out,  rapidly,  "  Theo  knew  nothing  of  it,  sir !  It  was  my 
doing — it  was  all  my  doing  !  " 

Theo  lies  on  her  sister's  neck,  and  kisses  it  twenty,  fifty 
times. 

"  Women,  women  !  are  you  playing  with  my  honor  ?  "  cries 
the  father  bursting  out  with  a  fierce  exclamation. 

Aunt  Lambert  sobs,  wildly,  "  Martin  !  Martin  !  "  "  Don't 
say  a  word  to  her !  "  again  calls  out  Hetty,  and  falls  back  her- 
self staggering  towards  the  wall,  for  Theo  has  fainted  on  her 
shoulder. 

I  was  taking  my  breakfast  next  morning,  with  what  appetite 
I  might,  when  my  door  opens,  and  my  faithful  black  announces, 
"  General  Lambert."  At  once  I  saw,  by  the  General's  face, 
that  the  yesterday's  transaction  was  known  to  him.  "  Your 
accomplices  did  not  confess,"  the  General  said,  as  soon  as  my 
servant  had  left  us,  "  but  sided  with  you  against  their  father — 
a  proof  how  desirable  clandestine  meetings  are.  It  was  from 
Theo  herself  I  heard  that  she  had  seen  you." 

"  Accomplices,  sir  !  "  I  said  (perhaps  not  unwilling  to  turn 
the  conversation  from  the  real  point -at  issue).  "You  know 
how  fondly  and  dutifully  your  young  people  regard  their  father. 
If  they  side  against  you  in  this  instance,  it  must  be  because 
justice  is  against  you.  A  man  like  you  is  not  going  to  set  up 
sic  volo  sic  jubeo  as  the  sole  law  in  his  family  !" 

"  Psha,  George  !  "  cries  the  General.  "  For  though  we  are 
parted,  God  forbid  I  should  desire  that  we  should  cease  to  love 
each  other.  I  had  your  promise  that  you  would  not  seek  to 
see  her." 

"  Nor  did  I  go  to  her,  sir,"  I  said,  turning  red,  no  doubt; 
for  though  this  was  truth,  I  own  it  was  untrue. 

"  You  mean  she  was  brought  to  you  ?  "  says  Theo's  father, 
in  great  agitation.  "  It  is  behind  Hester's  petticoat  that  you 
will  shelter  yourself?     What  a  fine  defence  for  a  gentleman  I  " 

"  Well,  I  won't  screen   myself  behind   the  poor  child,"  I 


650 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


replied.  "  To  speak  as  I  did  was  to  make  an  attempt  at  evasion, 
and  I  am  ill-accustomed  to  dissemble.  I  did  not  infringe  the 
letter  of  my  agreement,  but  I  acted  against  the  spirit  of  it. 
From  this  moment  I  annul  it  altogether." 

*' You  break  your  word  given  to  me  !  "  cries  Mr.  Lambert. 

"  I  recall  a  hasty  promise  made  on  a  sudden  at  a  moment 
of  extreme  excitement  and  perturbation.  No  man  can  be  for 
ever  bound  by  words  uttered  at  such  a  time  ;  and,  what  is  more, 
no  man  of  honor  or  humanitv,  Mr.  Lambert,  would  try  to  bind 
him." 

''  Dishonor  to  me .'  sir,"  exclaims  the  General. 

"  Yes,  if  the  phrase  is  to  be  shuttlecocked  between  us  ! "  I 
answered,  hotly.  "  There  can  be  no  question  about  love,  or 
mutual  regard,  or  difference  of  age,  when  that  word  is  used  : 
and  were  you  my  own  father — and  I  love  you  better  than  a 
father,  Uncle  Lambert, — I  would  not  bear  it !  What  have  I 
done  ?  I  have  seen  the  woman  whom  I  consider  my  wife  before 
God  and  man,  and  if  she  calls  me  I  will  see  her  again.  If  she 
comes  to  me,  here  is  my  home  for  her,  and  the  half  of  the  little 
I  have.  'Tis  you,  who  have  no  right,  having  made  me  the  gift, 
to  resume  it.  Because  my  mother  taunts  you  unjustly,  are 
you  to  visit  Mrs.  Esmond's  wa'ong  upon  this  tender,  innocent 
creature  t  You  profess  to  love  your  daughter,  and  you  can't 
bear  a  little  wounded  pride  tor  her  sake.  Better  she  should 
perish  away  in  misery,  than  an  old  woman  in  Virginia  should 
say  that  Mr.  Lambert  had  schemed  to  marry  one  of  his  daughters. 
Say  that  to  satisfy  what  you  call  honor  and  I  call  selfishness, 
we  part,  w^e  break  our  hearts  wellnigh,  we  rally,  w^e  try  to  forget 
each  other,  we  marry  elsewhere  ?  Can  any  man  be  to  my  dear 
as  I  have  been  'i  God  forbid  !  Can  any  woman  be  to  me  what 
she  is  ?  You  shall  marry  her  to  the  Prince  of  Wales  to-morrow, 
and  it  is  a  cowardice  and  treason.  How  can  we,  how  can  you, 
undo  the  promises  we  have  made  to  each  other  before  heaven  ? 
You  may  part  us  :  and  she  will  die  as  surely  as  if  she  were 
Jephthah's  daughter.  Have  you  made  any  vow  to  heaven  to 
compass  her  murder  ?  Kill  her  if  you  conceive  your  promise 
so  binds  you  :  but  this  I  swear,  that  I  am  glad  you  have  come, 
so  that  I  may  here  formally  recall  a  hasty  pledge  which  I  gave, 
and  that,  call  me  when  she  will,  I  will  come  to  her  !  " 

No  doubt  this  speech  was  made  with  the  flurry  and  agitation 
belonging  to  Mr.  Warrington's  youth,  and  with  the  firm  con- 
viction that  death  would  infallibly  carr}^  off  one  or  both  of  the 
parties,  in  case  their  worldly  separation  was  inevitably  decreed. 
Who    does    not   believe   his   first   passion    eternal }      Having 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


65^ 


watched  the  world  since  and  seen  the  rise,  progress,  and — alas, 
that  I  must  say  it ! — decay  of  other  amours,  I  may  smile  now 
as  I  think  of  my  own  youthful  errors  and  ardors;  but,  if  it  be 
a  superstition,  I  had  rather  hold  it ;  I  had  rather  think  that 
neither  of  us  could  have  lived  with  any  other  mate,  and  that, 
of  all  its  innumerable  creatures,  heaven  decreed  these  special 
two  should  be  joined  together. 

"  We  must  come,  then,  to  what  I  had  fain  have  spared 
myself,"  says  the  General,  in  reply  to  my  outbreak ;  "  to  an 
unfriendly  separation.  When  I  meet  you,  Mr.  Warrington,  I 
must  know  you  no  more.  I  must  order — and  they  will  not  do 
other  than  obey  me — my  family  and  children  not  to  recognize 
you  when  they  see  you,  since  you  will  not  recognize  in  your 
intercourse  with  me  the  respect  due  to  my  age,  the  courtesy  of 
gentlemen.  I  had  hoped  so  far  from  your  sense  of  honor,  and 
the  idea  I  had  formed  of  you,  that,  in  my  present  great  grief 
and  perplexity,  I  should  have  found  you  willing  to  soothe  and 
help  me  as  far  as  you  might — for,  God  knows,  I  have  need  of 
everybody's  sympathy.  But,  instead  of  help,  you  fling  obstacles 
in  my  way.  Instead  of  a  friend — a  gracious  heaven  pardon 
me  ! — I  find  in  you  an  enemy  !  An  enemy  to  the  peace  of  my 
home  and  the  honor  of  my  children,  sir  !  And  as  such  I  shall 
treat  you,  and  know  how  to  deal  with  you,  when  you  molest  n.e  !  " 

And,  waving  his  hand  to  me,  and  putting  on  his  hat,  Mr. 
Lambert  hastily  quitted  my  apartment. 

I  was  confounded,  and  believed,  indeed,  there  was  war  be- 
tween us.  The  brief  happiness  of  yesterday  was  clouded  over 
and  gone,  and  I  thought  that  never  since  the  day  of  the  first 
separation  had  I  felt  so  exquisitely  unhappy  as  now,  when  the 
bitterness  of  quarrel  was  added  to  the  pangs  of  parting,  and  I 
stood  not  only  alone  but  friendless.  In  the  course  of  one 
year's  constant  intimacy  I  had  come  to  regard  Lambert  with  a 
reverence  and  affection  which  I  had  never  before  felt  for  any 
mortal  man  except  my  dearest  Harry.  That  his  face  should 
be  turned  from  me  in  anger  was  as  if  the  sun  had  gone  out  of 
my  sphere,  and  all  was.  dark  around  me.  And  yet  I  felt  sure 
that  in  withdrawing  the  hasty  promise  I  had  made  not  to  see  Theo, 
I  was  acting  rightly — that  my  fidelity  to  her,  as  hers  now  to  me, 
was  paramount  to  all  other  ties  of  duty  or  obedience,  and  that, 
ceremony  or  none,  I  was  hers,  first  and  before  all.  Promises 
were  passed  between  us,  from  which  no  parent  could  absolve 
either;  and  all  the  priests  in  Christendom  could  no  more  than 
attest  and  confirm  the  sacred  contract  which  had  tacitly  been 
ratified  between  us. 


5^2  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

I  saw  Jack  Lambert  by  chance  that  day,  as  I  went  mechan- 
ically to  my  not  unusual  haunt,  the  library  of  the  new  ^luseum  ; 
and  with  the  impetuousness  of  youth,  and  eager  to  impart  my 
sorrow  to  some  one  I  took  him  out  of  the  room  and  led  him 
about  the  gardens,  and  poured  out  my  grief  to  him.  I  did  not 
much  care  for  Jack  (who  in  truth  was  somewhat  of  a  prig,  and 
not  a  little  pompous  and  wearisome  with  his  Latin  quotations) 
except  in  the  time  of  my  own  sorrow,  when  I  would  fasten 
U]3on  him  or  any  one ;  and  having  suffered  himself  in  his  affair 
with  the  little  American,  being  haudigjiarus  mali  (as  I  knew  he 
would  say),  I  found  the  college  gentleman  ready  to  compas- 
sionate another's  misery.  I  told  him,  what  has  here  been 
represented  at  greater  length,  of  my  yesterday's  meeting  with 
his  sister  ;  of  my  interview  with  his  father  in  the  morning  ;  of 
my  determination  at  all  hazards  never  to  part  with  Theo. 
When  I  found  from  the  various  quotations  from  the  Greek  and 
Latin  authors  which  he  uttered  that  he  leaned  to  my  side  in  the 
dispute,  I  thought  him  a  man  of  great  sense,  clung  eagerly  to 
his  elbow,  and  bestowed  upon  him  much  more  affection  than  he 
was  accustomed  at  other  times  to  have  from  me.  I  walked 
with  him  up  to  his  father's  lodgings  in  Dean  Street ;  saw  him 
enter  at  the  dear  door ;  surveyed  the  house  from  without  with 
a  sickening  desire  to  know  from  its  exterior  appearance  how  my 
beloved  fared  within  ;  and  called  for  a  bottle  at  the  coffee- 
house where  I  waited  Jack's  return.  I  called  him  Brother 
when  I  sent  him  away.  I  fondled  him  as  the  condemned  wretch 
at  Newgate  hangs  about  the  jailer  or  the  parson,  or  any  one 
who  is  kind  to  him  in  his  misery.  I  drank  a  whole  bottle  of 
wine  at  the  coffee-house — by  the  way.  Jack's  Coffee-House  was 
its  name — called  another.  I  thought  Jack  would  never  come 
back. 

He  appeared  at  length  with  rather  a  scared  face ;  and 
coming  to  my  box,  poured  out  for  himself  two  or  three  bumpers 
from  my  second  bottle,  and  then  fell  to  his  story,  which,  to  me 
at  least,  was  not  a  little  interesting.  My  poor  Theo  was 
keeping  her  room,  it  appeared,  being  much  agitated  by  the 
occurrences  of  yesterday ;  and  Jack  had  come  home  in  time  to 
find  dinner  on  table  ;  after  wdiich  his  good  father  held  forth 
upon  the  occurrences  of  the  morning,  being  anxious  and  able  to 
speak  more  freely,  he  said,  because  his  eldest  son  was  present 
and  Theodosia  was  not  in  the  room.  The  General  stated  what 
had  happened  at  my  lodgings  between  me  and  him.  He  bade 
Hester  be  silent,  who  indeed  was  as  dumb  as  a  mouse,  poor 
thing  !  he  told  Aunt  Lambert  (who  was  indulging  in  that  made- 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  653 

faction  of  pocket-handkerchiefs  which  I  have  before  described;, 
and  with  something  hke  an  imprecation,  that  the  women  were 
all  against  him,  and  pimps  (he  called  them)  for  one  another  ; 
and  frantically  turning  round  to  Jack,  asked  what  was  his  view 
in  the  matter? 

To  his  father  surprise  and  his  mother's  and  sister's  delight 
Jack  made  a  speech  on  my  side.  He  ruled  with  me  (citing 
what  ancient  authorities  I  don't  know),  that  the  matter  had 
gone  out  of  the  hands  of  the  parents  on  either  side  ;  that  having 
given  their  consent,  some  months  previously,  the  elders  had  put 
themselves  out  of  court.  Though  he  did  not  hold  with  a  great, 
a  respectable,  he  might  say  a  host  of  divines,  those  sacramentii] 
views  of  the  marriage-ceremony — for  which  there  was  a  great 
deal  to  be  said — yet  he  held  it,  if  possible,  even  more  sacredly 
than  they  ;  conceiving  that  though  marriages  were  made  before 
the  civil  magistrate,  and  without  the  priest,  yet  they  were, 
before  heaven,  binding  and  indissoluble. 

"  It  is  not  merely,  sir,"  says  Jack,  turning  to  his  father, 
"  those  whom  I,  John  Lambert,  Priest,  have  joined,  let  no  man 
put  asunder  ;  it  is  those  whom  God  has  joined  let  no  man 
separate."  (Here  he  took  off  his  hat,  as  he  told  the  story  to 
me.)  "  My  views  are  clear  upon  the  point,  and  surely  these 
young  people  were  joined,  or  permitted  to  plight  themselves  to 
each  other  by  the  consent  of  you,  the  priest  of  your  own  family. 
My  views,  I  say,  are  clear,  and  I  will  lay  them  down  at  length 
in  a  series  of  two  or  three  discourses  which,  no  doubt,  will 
satisfy  you.  Upon  which,"  says  Jack,  "my  father  said,  'I  am 
satisfied  already,  my  dear  boy,'  and  my  lively  little  Het  (who  has 
much  harshness)  whispers  to  me,  'Jack,  mother  and  I  will  make 
you  a  dozen  shirts,  as  sure  as  eggs  is  eggs.'  " 

"  Whilst  we  were  talking,"  Mr.  Lambert  resumed,  "  my 
sister  Theodosia  made  her  appearance,  I  must  say  very  much 
agitated  and  pale,  kissed  our  father,  and  sat  down  at  his  side, 
and  took  a  sippet  of  toast — (my  dear  George,  this  port  is  ex- 
cellent, and  I  drink  your  health) — and  took  a  sippet  of  toast 
and  dipped  it  in  his  negus." 

"  '  You  should  have  been  here  to  hear  Jack's  sermon  ! '  says 
Hester.     '  He  has  been  preaching  most  beautifully.' 

"  '  Has  he  ? '  asks  Theodosia,  who  is  too  languid  and  weak, 
poor  thing,  much  to  care  for  the  exercises  of  eloquence,  or  the 
display  of  authorities,  such  as  I  must  own,"  says  Jack,  "  it  was 
given  to  me  this  afternoon  to  bring  forward. 

"  '  He  has  talked  for  three  quarters  of  an  hour  by  Shrews- 
bury clock,'  says  my  father,  though  I  certainly  had  not  talked 


6S4 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


so  long  or  half,  so  long  by  my  own  watch.  '  And  his  discourse 
has  been  you,  my  dear,'  says  papa,  playing  with  Theodosia's 
hand. 

"  '  Me,  Papa?' 

"  '  You  and — and  Mr.  Warrington — and — and  George,  my 
love,'  says  papa.  Upon  which  "  (says  Mr.  Jack)  "  my  sister 
came  closer  to  the  General,  and  laid  her  head  upon  him,  and 
wept  upon  his  shoulder. 

"  '  This  is  different,  sir,'  says  I,  '  to  a  passage  I  remember 
in  Pausanias.' 

'•  '  In  Pausanias  ?  Indeed  !  '  said  the  General.  And  pray 
who  was  he  ? ' 

"  I  smiled  at  my  father's  simplicity  in  exposing  his  igno- 
rance before  his  children.  '  When  Ulysses  was  taking  away 
Penelope  from  her  father,  the  king  hastened  after  his  daughter 
and  bridegroom,  and  besought  his  darling  to  return.  Where- 
upon, it  is  related,  Ulysses  offered  her  her  choice, — whether  she 
would  return,  or  go  on  with  him  1  Upon  which  the  daughter 
of  Icarius  covered  her  face  with  her  veil.  For  want  of  a  veil 
my  sister  has  taken  refuge  in  your  waistcoat,  sir,'  I  said,  and 
we  all  laughed :  though  my  mother  vowed  that  if  such  a  pro- 
posal had  been  made  to  her,  or  Penelope  had  been  a  girl  of 
spirit,  she  would  have  gone  home  with  her  father  that  instant. 

"  '  But  I  am  not  a  girl  of  any  spirit,  dear  mother ! '  says 
Theodosia,  still  i?i  gremio  patris.  I  do  not  remember  that  this 
habit  of  caressing  was  frequent  in  my  own  youth,"  continues 
Jack.  "  But  after  some  more  discourse.  Brother  Warrington ! 
I  bethought  me  of  you,  and  left  my  parents  insisting  upon 
Theodosia  returning  to  bed.  The  late  transactions  have,  it 
appears,  weakened  and  agitated  her  much.  I  myself  have  ex- 
perienced, in  my  own  case,  how  full  of  soIUciti  tmioris  is  a  cer- 
tain passion  ;  how  it  racks  the  spirits  ;  and  I  make  no  doubt,  if 
carried  far  enough,  or  indulged  to  the  extent  to  which  women 
who  have  little  philosophy  will  permit  it  to  go — I  make  no 
doubt,  I  say,  is  ultimately  injurious  to  the  health.  My  service 
to  you,  brother !  " 

From  grief  to  hope,  how  rapid  the  change  was  1  What  a 
flood  of  happiness  poured  into  my  soul,  and  glowed  in  my  whole 
being  !  Landlord,  more  port  !  Would  honest  Jack  have  drunk 
a  binful  I  would  have  treated  him ;  and,  to  say  truth,  Jack's 
sympathy  was  large  in  this  case,  and  it  had  been  generous  all 
day.  I  decline  to  score  the  bottles  of  port :  and  place  to  the 
fabulous  computations  of  interested  waiters,  the  amount  scored 
against  me  in  the  reckoning.     Jack  was  my  dearest,  best  of 


The  VIRGINIANS  65s 

brothers.  My  friendship  for  him  I  swore  should  be  eternal.  If 
I  could  do  him  any  service,  were  it  a  bishopric,  by  George  !  he 
should  have  it.  He  says  I  was  interrupted  by  the  watchman 
rhapsodizing  verses  beneath  the  loved  one's  window.  I  know 
not.  I  know  I  awoke  joyfully  and  rapturously,  in  spite  of  a 
racking  headache  the  next  morning. 

Nor  did  I  know  the  extent  of  my  happiness  quite,  or  the 
entire  conversion  of  my  dear  noble  enemy  of  the  previous 
morning.  It  must  have  been  galling  to  the  pride  of  an  elder 
man  to  have  to  yield  to  representations  and  objections  couched 
in  language  so  little  dutiful  as  that  I  had  used  towards  Mr. 
Lambert.  But  the  true  Christian  gentleman,  retiring  from  his 
talk  with  me,  mortified  and  wounded  by  my  asperity  of  remon- 
strance, as  well  as  by  the  pain  which  he  saw  his  beloved 
daughter  suffer,  went  thoughtfully  and  sadly  to  his  business,  as 
he  subsequently  told  me,  and  in  the  afternoon  (as  his  custom 
not  unfrequently  was),  into  a  church  which  was  open  for  jDrayers. 
And  it  was  here,  on  his  knees,  submitting  his  case  in  the  quarter 
whither  he  frequently,  though  privately,  came  for  guidance  and 
comfort,  that  it  seemed  to  him  that  his  child  was  right  in  her 
persistent  fidelity  to  me,  and  himself  wrong  in  demanding  her 
utter  submission.  Hence  Jack's  czv.sc  was  won  almost  before 
he  began  to  plead  it ;  and  the  brave,  gentle  heart,  which  could 
bear  no  rancor,  which  bled  at  inflicting  pain  on  those  it  loved, 
which  even  shrank  from  asserting  authority  or  demanding  sub- 
mission, was  only  too  glad  to  return  to  its  natural  pulses  of  love 
and  affection. 


CHAPTER  LXXYIII. 

P  Y  R  A  M  U  S     AND     T  H  I  S  B  E 


In  examining  the  old  papers  at  home,  years  afterwards,  I 
found,  docketed  and  labelled  with  my  mother's  well-known  neat 
handwriting,  '"  From  London,  April,  1760.  My  son's  dreadful 
letter."  When  it  came  to  be  mine  I  burnt  the  document,  not 
choosing  that  that  story  of  domestic  grief  and  disunion  should 
remain  amongst  our  family  annals  for  future  Warringtons  to 
gaze  on,  mayhap,  and  disobedient  sons  to  hold  up  as  examples 
of  foregone  domestic  rebellions.     For  similar  reasons,  I  have 


656  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

destroyed  the  paper  which  my  mother  despatched  to  me  at  this 
time  of  tyranny,  revolt,  annoyance,  and  irritation. 

Maddened  by  the  pangs  of  separation  from  my  mistress,  and 
not  unrightly  considering  that  Mrs.  Esmond  was  the  prime'cause 
of  the  greatest  grief  and  misery  which  had  ever  befallen  me  in 
the  world,  I  wrote  home  to  Virginia  a  letter,  which  might  have 
been  more  temperate,  it  is  true,  but  in  which  I  endeavored  to 
maintain  the  extremest  respect  and  reticence.  I  said  I  did  not 
know  by  what  motives  she  had  been  influenced,  but  that  I  held 
her  answerable  for  the  misery  of  my  future  life,  which  she  had 
chosen  wilfully  to  mar  and  render  wretched.  She  had  occasioned 
a  separation  between  me  and  a  virtuous  and  innocent  young 
creature,  whose  own  hopes,  health,  and  happiness  were  cast 
down  for  ever  by  Mrs.  Esmond's  interference.  The  deed  was 
done,  as  I  feared,  and  I  w^ould  offer  no  comment  upon  the 
conduct  of  the  perpetrator,  who  was  answerable  to  God  alone  ; 
but  I  did  not  disguise  from  my  mother  that  the  injury  which 
she  had  done  me  was  so  dreadful  and  mortal,  that  her  life  or 
mine  could  never  repair  it ;  that  the  tie  of  my  allegiance  was 
broken  towards  her,  and  that  I  never  could  be,  as  heretofore, 
her  dutiful  and  respectful  son. 

Madame  Esmond  replied  to  me  in  a  letter  of  very  great 
dignity  (her  style  and  correspondence  were  extraordinarily  ele- 
gant and  fine).  She  uttered  not  a  single  reproach  or  hard 
word,  but  coldly  gave  me  to  understand  that  it  was  before  that 
awful  tribunal  of  God  she  had  referred  the  case  between  us, 
and  asked  for  counsel  ;  that,  in  respect  of  her  own  conduct,  as 
a  mother,  she  was  ready,  in  all  humility,  to  face  it.  Might  I, 
as  a  son,  be  equal  able  to  answer  for  myself,  and  to  show%  when 
the  Great  Judge  demanded  the  question  of  me,  whether  I  had 
done  my  own  duty,  and  honored  my  father  and  mother  !  O 
popoi!  My  grandfather  has  quoted  in  his  memoir  a  line  of 
Homer,  showing  how  in  our  troubles  and  griefs  the  gods  are 
are  always  called  in  question.  When  our  pride,  our  avarice, 
our  interest,  our  desire  to  domineer,  are  worked  upon,  are  we 
not  for  ever  pestering  heaven  to  decide  in  their  favor  .'^  In  our 
great  American  quarrel,  did  we  not  on  both  sides  appeal  to  the 
skies  as  to  the  justice  of  our  causes,  sing  Te  Deiun  for  victory, 
and  boldly  express  our  confidence  that  the  right  should  prevail .? 
Was  America  right  because  she  was  victorious  .^  Then  I  sujDpose 
Poland  was  wrong  because  she  was  defeated  ? — How  am  I 
wandering  into  this  digression  about  Poland,  America,  and 
what  not,  and  all  the  while  thinking  of  a  little  w^oman  now  no 
more,  who  appealed  to  heaven  and  confronted  it  with  a  thousand 


THE   VIRGnVIAiVS. 


657 


texts  out  of  its  own  book,  because  her  son  wanted  to  make  a 
marriage  not  of  her  liking  !  We  appeal,  we  imprecate,  we  go 
clown  on  our  knees,  we  demand  blessings,  we  shriek  out  for 
sentance  according  to  law  ;  the  great  course  of  the  great  world 
moves  on  ;  we  part  and  strive,  and  struggle  ;  we  hate  ;  we 
rage ;  we  weep  passionate  tears  ;  we  reconcile  ;  we  race  and 
win  ;  we  race  and  lose  ;  we  pass  away,  and  other  little  strug- 
glers  succeed  ;  our  days  are  spent ;  our  night  comes,  and  an- 
other morning  rises,  which  shines  on  us  no  more. 

My  letter  to  Madam  Esmond,  announcing  my  revolt  and 
disobedience  (perhaps  I  myself  was  a  little  proud  of  the  com- 
position of  that  document),  I  showed  in  duplicate  to  Mr. 
Lambert,  because  I  wished  him  to  understand  what  my  relations 
to  my  mother  were,  and  how  I  was  determined,  whatever  of 
threats  or  quarrels  the  future  might  bring,  never  for  my  own 
part  to  consider  my  separation  from  Theo  as  other  than  a  forced 
one.  Whenever  I  could  see  her  again  I  would.  My  word  given 
to  her  was  in  secida  seculonnfi,  or  binding  at  least  as  long  as  my 
life  should  endure.  I  implied  that  the  girl  was  similarly  bound 
to  me,  and  her  poor  father  knew  indeed  as  much.  He  might  sepa- 
rate us  ;  as  he  might  give  her  a  dose  of  poison,  and  the  gentle, 
obedient  creature  would  take  it  and  die  ;  but  the  death  or  sepa- 
ration would  be  his  doing  ;  let  him  answer  them.  Now  he  was 
tender  about  his  children  to  weakness,  and  could  not  have  the 
heart  to  submit  any  one  of  them — this  one  especially — to  tor- 
ture. We  had  tried  to  part :  we  could  not.  He  had  endeavored  to 
separate  us  :  it  was  more  than  was  in  his  power.  The  bars  were 
up,  but  the  young  couple — the  maid  within  and  the  knight  with- 
out were  loving  each  other  all  the  same.  The  wall  was  built, 
but  Pyramus  and  Thisbe  were  whispering  on  either  side.  In 
the  midst  of  all  his  grief  and  perplexity,  Uncle  Lambert  had 
plenty  of  humor,  and  could  not  but  see  that  his  7'dle  was  rather 
a  sorry  one.  Light  was  beginning  to  show  through  that  lime 
and  rough  plaster  of  the  wall :  the  lovers  were  getting  their  hands 
through,  then  their  heads  through — indeed,  it  was  wall's  best 
business  to  retire. 

I  forget  what  happened  stage  by  stage  and  day  by  day  -, 
nor,  for  the  instruction  of  future  ages,  does  it  much  matter. 
When  my  descendants  have  love  scrapes  of  their  own,  they  will 
find  their  own  means  of  getting  out  of  their  troubles.  I  believe 
I  did  not  go  back  to  Dean  Street,  but  that  practice  of  driving 
in  the  open  air  was  considered  most  healthful  for  Miss  Lam- 
bert. I  got  a  fine  horse,  and  rode  by  the  side  of  her  carriage. 
The  old  woman  at  Tottenham  Court  came  to  know  both  of  us 

42 


658  THE  VIRGINIANS. 

quite  well,  and  nod  and  wink  in  the  most  friendly  manner  when 
•we  passed  by.  I  fancy  the  old  goody  was  not  unaccustomed 
to  interest  herself  in  young  couples,  and  has  dispensed  the  hos- 
pitality of  her  roadside  cottage  to  more  than  one  pair. 

The  doctor  and  the  country  air  effected  a  prodigious  cure 
upon  Miss  Lambert.  Hetty  always  attended  as  duenna,  and 
sometimes  of  his  holiday,  Master  Charley  rode  my  horse  when 
I  got  into  the  carriage.  What  a  deal  of  love-making  Miss 
Hetty  heard  ! — with  what  exemplary  patience  she  listened  to 
it !  I  do  not  say  she  went  to  hear  the  Methodist  sermons  any 
more,  but  'tis  certain  that  when  we  had  a  closed  carriage  she 
would  very  kindly  and  considerately  look  out  of  the  v»'indow. 
Then,  what  heaps  of  letters  there  were  ! — what  running  to  and 
fro  !  Gumbo's  bandy  legs  were  for  ever  on  the  trot  from  my 
quarters  to  Dean  Street ;  and,  on  my  account  or  her  own,  Mrs. 
Molly,  the  girls'  maid,  was  for  ever  bringing  back  answers  to 
Bloomsbur)'.  By  the  time  when  the  alitumn  leaves  began  to 
turn  pale,  Miss  Theo's  roses  were  in  full  bloom  again,  and  my 
good  Doctor  Heberden's  cure  was  pronounced  to  be  complete. 
What  else  happened  during  this  blessed  period  ?  Mr.  War- 
rington completed  his  great  tragedy  of  "  Pocahontas,"  which 
was  not  only  accepted  by  Mr.  Garrick  this  time  (his  friend  Dr. 
Johnson  having  spoken  not  unfavorably  of  the  work),  but  my 
jfriend  and  cousin,  Hagan,  was  en'^aged  by  the  manager  to  per- 
form the  part  of  the  hero,  Captain  Smith.  Hagan's  engage- 
ment was  not  made  before  it  was  wanted.  I  had  helped  him 
and  his  family  with  means  disproportioned,  perhaps,  to  my 
power,  especially  considering  my  feud  with  Madam  Esmond, 
whose  answer  to  my  angry  missive  of  April  came  to  me  towards 
autumn,  and  who  wrote  back  from  Virginia  with  war  for  war, 
controlment  for  controlment.  These  menaces,  however,  fright- 
ened me  little  :  my  poor  mother's  thunder  could  not  reach  me ; 
and  my  conscience,  or  casuistry,  supplied  me  with  other  inter- 
pretations for  her  texts  of  Scripture,  so  that  her  oracles  had 
not  the  least  weight  with  me  in  frightening  me  from  my  pur- 
pose. How  my  new  loves  speeded  I  neither  informed  her,  nor 
any  other  members  of  my  maternal  or  paternal  family,  who,  on 
both  sides,  had  been  bitter  against  my  marriage.  Of  what  use 
wrangling  with  them  ?  It  was  better  to  carpcre  die?n  and  its 
sweet  loves  and  pleasures,  and  to  leave  the  railers  to  grumble, 
or  the  seniors  to  advise,  at  their  ease. 

Besides  Madam  Esmond  I  had,  it  must  be  owned,  in  the 
frantic  rage  of  my  temporary  separation,  addressed  notes  of 
wondrous  sarcasm  to  my  Uncle  Warrington,  to  my  Aunt  Ma- 


THE   VIRGimANS. 


659 


dame  de  Bernstein,  and  to  my  Lord  or  Lady  of  Castlewood  (I 
forget  to  which  individually),  thanking  them  for  the  trouble 
which  they  had  taken  in  preventing  the  dearest  happiness  of 
my  life,  and  promising  them  a  corresponding  gratitude  from 
their  obliged  relative.  Business  brought  the  jovial  Baronet 
and  his  family  to  London  somewhat  earlier  than  usual,  and 
Madame  de  Bernstein  was  never  sorry  to  get  back  to  Clarges 
Street  and  her  cards.  I  saw  them.  They  found  me  perfectly 
well.  They  concluded  the  match  was  broken  off,  and  I  did  not 
choose  to  undeceive  them.  The  Baron^^iss  took  heart  at  see- 
ing how  cheerful  I  was,  and  made  many  sly  jokes  about  my 
philosophy,  and  my  prudent  behavior  as  a  man  of  the  world. 
She  was,  as  ever,  bent  upon  finding  a  rich  match  for  me  :  and 
I  fear  I  paid  many  comp'iments  at  her  house  to  a  rich  young 
soap-boiler's  daughter  from  Mile  End,  whom  the  worthy  Bar- 
oness wished  to  place  in  my  arms. 

'^'  You  court  her  with  infinite  wit  and  esprit,  m}^  dear,"  says 
my  pleased  kinswoman,  "  but  she  does  not  understand  half  you 
say,  and  the  other  half,  I  think,  frightens  her.  This  to?i  de  per- 
siflage is  very  well  in  our  society,  but  you  must  be  sparing  of 
it,  my  dear  nephew,  amongst  these  roturiers." 

Miss  Badge  married  a  young  gentleman  of  royal  dignity, 
though  shattered  fortunes,  from  a  neighboring  island  ;  and  I 
trust  Mrs.  Mackshane  has  ere  this  pardoned  my  levity.  There 
was  another  person  besides  Miss  at  my  aunt's  house,  who  did 
not  understand  my  persflage  much  better  than  Miss  herself  \ 
and  that  was  a  lady  who  had  seen  James  the  Second's  reign, 
and  who  was  alive  and  as  worldly  as  ever  in  King  George's.  I 
loved  to  be  with  her :  but  that  my  little  folks  have  access  to 
this  volume,  I  could  put  down  a  hundred  stories  of  the  great 
old  folks  whom  she  had  known  in  the  great  old  days — of  George 
the  First  and  his  ladies,  of  St.  John  and  Marlborough,  of  his 
reigning  Majesty  and  the  late  Prince  of  Wales,  and  the  causes 
of  the  quarrel  between  them — but  my  modest  muse  pipes  for 
boys  and  virgins.  Son  Miles  does  not  care  about  court  stories, 
or  if  he  doth,  has  a  fresh  budget  from  Carlton  House,  quite  as 
bad  as  the  worst  of  our  old  Baroness.  No,  my  dear  wife,  thou 
hast  no  need  to  shake  thy  powdered  locks  at  me  !  Papa  is  not 
going  to  scandalize  his  nursery  with  old-world  gossip,  nor  bring 
a  blush  over  our  chaste  bread  and  butter. 

But  this  piece  of  scandal  I  cannot  help.  My  aunt  used  to 
tell  it  with  infinite  gusto ;  for,  to  do  her  justice,  she  hated  your 
would-be  good  people,  and  sniggered  over  the  faults  of  the 
self-styled  righteous  with  uncommon  satisfaction.     In  her  later 


66 o  TJ'^E   VIRGINIANS. 

days  she  had  no  hypocris}-,  at  least ;  and  in  so  far  was  better 
than  some  whitewashed  *  *  *  Well,  to  the  story.  My  Lady 
Warrington,  one  of  the  tallest  and  the  most  virtuous  of  her  sex, 
who  had  goodness  for  ever  on  her  lips  and  "  heaven  in  her 
eye/'  like  the  woman  in  Mr.  Addison's  tedious  tragedy  (which 
has  kept  the  stage,  from  which  some  others,  which  shall  be 
nameless,  have  disappeared,)  had  the  world  in  her  other  eye, 
and  an  exceedingly  shrewd  desire  of  pushing  herself  in  it. 
What  does  she  do  when  my  marriage  with  your  ladyship  yon- 
der was  supposed  to  be  broken  off,  but  attempt  to  play  off  on 
me  those  arts  which  she  had  tried  on  my  poor  Harry  with  such 
signal  ill  success,  and  which  failed  with  me  likewise  !  It  was 
not  the  Beauty — Miss  Flora  was  for  my  Tx.aster — (and  what  a 
master!  I  protest  I  take  off  my  hat  at  the  idea  of  such  an 
illustrious  connection  !) — it  was  Dora,  the  Muse,  was  set  upon 
me  to  languish  at  me  and  to  pity  me,  and  to  read  even  my  god- 
less tragedy,  and  applaud  me  and  console  me.  Meanwhile, 
how  was  the  Beauty  occupied  ?  Will  it  be  believed  that  my 
severe  aunt  gave  a  great  entertainment  to  my  Lady  Yarmouth, 
presented  her  boy  to  her,  and  placed  poor  little  Miles  under 
her  ladyship's  august  protection  ?  That,  so  far,  is  certain  ;  but 
can  it  be  that  she  sent  her  daughter  to  stay  at  my  lady's  house, 
which  our  gracious  lord  and  master  daily  visited,  and  with  the 
views  which  old  Aunt  Bernstein  attributed  to  her  ?  "  But  for 
that  fit  of  apoplexy,  my  dear,"  Bernstein  said,  "  that  aunt  of 
yours  intended  there  should  have  been  a  Countess  in  her  own 
7'ight  in  the  Warrington  family  !  "  ^  My  neighbor  and  kins- 
woman, my  Lady  Claypool,  is  dead  and  buried.  Grow  white, 
ye  daisies  upon  Flora's  tomb  !  I  can  see  my  prett}^  Miles,  in  a 
gay  little  uniform  of  the  Norfolk  Militia,  led  up  by  his  parent 
to  the  lady  whom  the  king  delighted  to  honor,  and  the  good- 
natured  old  Jezebel  lating  her  hand  upon  the  boy's  curly  pate. 
I  am  accused  of  being  but  a  lukewarm  royalist ;  but  sure  I  can 
contrast  those  times  with  ours,  and  acknowledge  the  differ- 
ence between  the  late  Sovereign  and  the  present,  who,  born  a 
Briton,  has  given  to  every  family  in  the  empire  an  example 
of  decorum  and  virtuous  life.f 

Thus  my  life  sped  in  the  pleasantest  of  all  occupation  ;  and, 
being  so  happy  myself,  I  could  afford  to  be  reconciled  to  those 
who,  after  all,  had  done  me  no  injur}-,  but  rather  added  to   the 

*  Compare  Walpole's  letters  in  Mr.  Cunningham's  excellent  new  edition.  See  the 
story  of  the  supper  at  N-  House,  to  show  what  great  noblemen  would  do  for  a  king's  mis- 
tress, and  the  pleasant  account  of  the  waiting  for  the  Prince  of  Wales  before  Holland 
House. — Editor. 

t  The  Warrington  MS.  is  dated  1793. — Ed. 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  66 1 

zest  of  my  happiness  by  the  brief  obstacle  which  they  had 
placed  in  my  way.  No  specific  plans  were  formed,  but  Theo 
and  I  knew  that  a  day  would  come  when  we  need  say  Farewell 
no  more.  Should  the  day  befall  a  year  hence — ten  years  hence 
— we  were  ready  to  wait.  Day  after  day  we  discussed  our  little 
plans,  with  Hetty  for  our  confidante.  On  our  drives  we  spied 
out  pretty  cottages  that  we  thought  might  suit  young  people  of 
small  means  ;  we  devised  all  sorts  of  delightful  schemes  and 
childish  economies.  We  were  Strephon  and  Chloe  to  be  sure. 
A  cot  and  a  brown  loaf  should  content  us  !  Gumbo  and  Molly 
should  wait  upon  us  (as  indeed  they  have  done  from  that  day 
until  this).  At  twenty  who  is  afraid  of  being  poor  ?  Our  trials 
would  only  confirm  our  attachment.  The  "  sweet  sorrow^  "  of 
every  day's  parting  but  made  the  morrow's  meeting  more  de- 
lightful ;  and  when  we  separated  we  ran  home  and  wrote  each 
other  tliose  precious  letters,  which  we  and  other  young  gentle- 
men an  1  la Jies  write  under  such  circumstances;  but  though 
my  wife  has  them  all  in  a  great  tin  sugar-box  in  the  closet  in 
her  bed-room,  and,  I  own,  I  myself  have  looked  at  them  once, 
and  even  thought  some  of  them  pretty, — I  hereby  desire  my 
heirs  and  executors  to  burn  them  all  unread,  at  our  demise; 
specially  desiring  my  son  the  Captain  (to  whom  I  know  the 
perusal  of  MSS.  is  not  pleasant)  to  perform  this  duty.  Those 
secrets  whispered  to  the  penn3^-post,  or  delivered  between  Molly 
and  Gumbo,  were  intended  for  us  alone,  and  no  ears  of  our 
descendants  shall  overhear  them. 

We  heard  in  successive  brief  letters  how  our  dear  Harry 
continued  with  the  army,  as  General  Amherst's  aide-de-camp, 
after  the  death  of  his  own  glorious  general.  By  the  middle  of 
October  there  came  news  of  the  Capitulation  of  Montreal  and 
the  whole  of  Canada,  and  a  brief  postscrij^t  in  which  Hal  said 
he  would  ask  for  leave  now,  and  must  go  and  see  the  old  lady 
at  home,  who  wrote  as  sulky  as  a  bear,  Captain  Warrington 
remarked,  I  could  guess  why,  though  the  claws  could  not 
reach  me.  I  had  written  pretty  fully  to  my  brother  how  affairs 
were  standing  with  me  in  England. 

Then  on  the  25th  October,  comes  the  news  that  his  Majesty 
has  fallen  down  dead  at  Kensington,  and  that  George  III. 
reigned  over  us.  I  fear  we  grieved  but  little.  What  do  those 
care  for  the  Atridae,  whose  hearts  are  strung  only  to  erota 
mounon  ?  A  modest,  handsome,  brave  new  Prince,  we  gladly 
acept  the  common  report  that  he  is  endowed  with  every  vir- 
tue ;  and  we  cr}^  huzzay  with  the  loyal  crowd  that  hails  his 
accession  :  it  could  make  little  difference  to  us,  as  we  thouo:ht, 


662  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

simple  3'oung  sweethearts,  whispering  out  Uttle  love-stories  in 
our  corner. 

But  who  can  say  how  great  events  affect  him  ?  Did  not 
our  little  Charley,  at  the  Chartreux,  wish  impiously  for  a  new 
king  immediately,  because  on  his  gracious  Majesty's  accession 
Doctor  Crusius  gave  his  boys  a  holiday  ?  He  and  I,  and  Hetty, 
and  Theo  (Miss  Theo  was  strong  enough  to  walk  many  a  de- 
lightful mile  now),  heard  the  Heralds  proclaim  his  new  Majesty 
before  Saville  House  in  Leicester  Fields,  and  a  pickpocket  got 
the  watch  and  chain  of  a  gentleman  hard  by  us,  and  was  caught 
and  carried  to  Bridewell,  all  on  account  of  his  Majesty's  acces- 
sion. Had  the  king  not  died,  the  gentleman  would  not  have 
been  in  the  crowd  ;  the  chain  would  not  have  been  seized  ;  the 
thief  would  not  have  been  caught  and  soundly  whipped  ;  in 
this  way  many  of  us,  more  or  less  remotely,  were  implicated  in 
the  great  change  which  ensued,  and  even  we  humble  folks  were 
affected  by  it  presently. 

As  thus.  My  Lord  Wrotham  was  a  great  friend  of  the 
august  family  of  Saville  House,  who  knew  and  esteemed  his 
many  virtues.  Now,  of  all  living  men,  my  Lord  Wrotham  knew 
and  loved  best  his  neighbor  and  old  fellow-soldier,  Martin  Lam- 
bert, declaring  that  the  world  contained  few  better  gentlemen. 
And  my  Lord  Bute,  being  all  potent,  at  first,  with  his  Majesty, 
and  a  nobleman,  as  I  believe,  very  eager  at  the  commencement 
of  his  brief  and  luckless  tenure  of  power,  to  patronize  merit 
wherever  he  could  find  it,  was  strongly  prejudiced  in  Mr.  Lam- 
bert's favor  by  the  latter's  old  and  constant  friend. 

My  (and  Harry's)  old  friend  Parson  Sampson,  who  had 
been  in  and  out  of  jail  I  don't  know  how  many  times  of  late 
years,  and  retained  an  ever-enduring  hatred  for  the  Esmonds 
of  Castle  wood,  and  as  lasting  a  regard  for  me  and  my  brother, 
was  occupying  poor  Hal's  vacant  bed  at  my  lodgings  at  this 
time  (being,  in  truth,  hunted  out  of  his  own  by  the  bailiffs).  I 
liked  to  have  Sampson  near  me,  for  a  more  amusing  Jack-friar 
never  walked  in  cassock ;  and,  besides,  he  entered  into  all  my 
rhapsodies  about  Miss  Theo :  was  never  tired  (so  he  vowed)  of 
hearing  me  talk  of  her  ;  admired  "  Pocahontas  "  and  "  Carpe- 
zan,"  with,  I  do  believe,  an  honest  enthusiasm;  and  could  re- 
peat whole  passages  of  those  tragedies  with  an  emphasis  and 
effect  that  Barry  or  Cousin  Hagan  himself  could  not  surpass. 
Sampson  was  the  go-between  between  Lady  Maria  and  such  of 
her  relations  as  had  not  disowned  her  ;  and,  always  in  debt  him- 
self, was  never  more  happy  than  in  drinking  a  pot,  or  mingling 
his  tears  with  his  friends  in  similar  poverty.     His  acquaintance 


THE   VIRGIXIANS. 


663 


with  pawnbrokers'  shops  was  prodigious.  He  could  procure 
more  money,  he  boasted,  on  an  article  than  any  gentleman  of 
his  cloth.  He  never  paid  his  own  debts,  to  be  sure,  but  he 
was  ready  to  forgive  his  debtors.  Poor  as  he  was,  he  always 
found  means  to  love  and  help  his  needy  little  sister,  and  a  more 
prodigal,  kindly,  amiable  rogue  never  probably  grinned  behind 
bars.  They  say  that  I  love  to  have  parasites  about  me.  I 
own  to  have  had  a  great  liking  for  Sampson,  and  to  have  es- 
teemed him  much  better  than  probably  much  better  men. 

When  he  heard  how  my  Lord  Bute  was  admitted  into  the 
cabinet,  Sampson  vowed  and  declared  that  his  lordship — a 
great  lover  of  the  drama,  w^ho  had  been  to  see  "  Carpezan," 
who  had  admired  it,  and  who  would  act  the  part  of  the  king 
very  finely  in  it — he  vowed,  by  George  1  that  my  lord  must  give 
me  a  place  worthy  of  my  birth  and  merits.  He  insisted  upon 
it  that  I  should  attend  his  lordship's  leve'e.  I  wouldn't  ?  The 
Esmonds  were  all  'as  proud  as  Lucifer ;  and,  to  be  sure,  my 
birth  was  as  good  as  that  of  any  man  in  Europe.  Where  was 
my  lord  himself  when  the  Esmonds  were  lords  of  great  counties, 
warriors,  and  Crusaders  ?  Where  were  they  ?  Beggarly  Scotch- 
men, without  a  rag  to  their  backs — by  George  !  tearing  raw  fish 
in  their  islands.  But  now  the  times  were  changed.  The 
Scotchmen  were  in  luck.  Mum's  the  word  !  "  I  don't  envy 
him,"  says  Sampson,  ''  but  he  shall  provide  for  you  and  my 
dearest,  noblest,  heroic  captain  !  He  shall,  by  George  !  " 
would  my  worthy  parson  roar  out.  And  when,  in  the  month 
after  his  accession,  his  Majesty  ordered  the  play  of  "  Richard 
ni."  at  Drury  Line,  my  chaplain  cursed,  vowed,  swore,  but  he 
would  have  him  ^o  Covent  Garden  to  see  "  Carpezan  "  too. 
And  now,  one  morning,  he  bursts  into  my  apartment,  where  I 
happened  to  lie  rather  late,  waving  the  newspaper  in  his  hand, 
and  singing  "  Huzzay  !  "  with  all  his  might. 

"  What  is  it,  Sampson  ?  "  says  I.  "  Has  my  brother  got  his 
promotion  ?  " 

'^  No,  in  truth  :  but  some  one  else  has.  Huzzay  !  huzzay  ! 
His  Majesty  has  appointed  Major-General  Martin  Lambert  to 
be  Governor  and  Commander-in-Chief  of  the  Island  of  Ja- 
maica." 

I  started  up.  Here  was  news,  indeed  !  Mr.  Lambert 
would  go  to  his  government :  and  who  would  go  with  him  t  I 
had  been  supping  with  some  genteel  young  fellows  at  the 
"  Cocoa-Tree."  The  rascal  Gumbo  had  a  note  for  me  from 
my  dear  mistress  on  the  night  previous,  conveying  the  same 
news  to  me;   and  had  delayed  to  deliver  it.     Theo  begged  me 


664 


THE   VIRGINIAXS. 


to   see  her  at  the   old  place   at  midday  the   next  day  without 
fail.^* 

There  was  no  little  trepidation  in  our  little  council  when  we 
reached  our  jDlace  of  meeting.  Papa  has  announced  his  accept- 
ance of  the  appointment,  and  his  speedy  departure.  He  would 
have  a  frigate  given  him,  and  take  his  faDiily  with  him.  Merci- 
ful powers !  and  were  we  to  be  parted  ?  My  Theo's  old  deathly 
paleness  returned  to  her.  Aunt  Lambert  thought  she  would 
have  swooned ;  one  of  Mrs.  Goodison's  girls  had  a  bottle  of 
salts,  and  ran  up  with  it  from  the  work-room.  "Going  away? 
Going  away  in  a  frigate,  Aunt  Lambert  ?  Going  to  tear  her 
away  from  me  1  Great  God  !  Aunt  Lambert,  I  shall  die  !  " 
She  was  better  when  mamma  came  up  from  the  work-room  with 
the  young  lady's  bottle  of  salts.  You  see  the  women  used  to 
meet  me  :  knowing  dear  Theo's  delicate  state,  how  could  they 
refrain  from  compassionating  her  t  But  the  General  was  so 
busy  with  his  levees  and  his  waiting  on  Ministers,  and  his  out- 
fit, and  the  settlement  of  his  affairs  at  home,  that  they  never 
happened  to  tell  him  about  our  little  walks  and  meetings  ;  and 
even  when  orders  for  the  outfit  of  the  ladies  were  given,  Mrs. 
Goodison,  who  had  known  and  worked  for  Miss  Molly  Benson 
as  a  school-girl  (she  remembered  Miss  Esmond  of  Virginia  per- 
fectly, the  worthy  lady  told  me,  and  a  dress  she  made  for  the 
young  lady  to  be  presented  at  her  Majesty's  Ball) — "  even 
when  the  outfit  was  ordered  for  the  three  ladies,"  says  Mrs. 
Goodison,  demurely,  "  why,  I  thought  I  could  do  no  harm  in 
completing  the  order." 

Now  I  need  not  say  in  what  perturbation  of  mind  Mr.  War- 
rington went  home  in  the  evening  to  his  lodgings,  after  the 
discussion  with  the  ladies  of  the  above  news.  No,  or  at  least  a 
very  few,  more  walks ;  no  more  rides  to  dear,  dear  Hampstead 
or  beloved  Islington  ;  no  more  fetching  and  carrying  of  letters 
for  Gumbo  and  Molly !  The  former  blubbered  so,  that  Mr. 
Warrington  was  quite  touched  by  his  fidelity,  and  gave  him  a 
crown-piece  to  go  to  supper  with  the  poor  girl,  who  turned  out 
to  be  his  sweetheart.  What,  you  too  unhappy,  Gumbo,  and 
torn  from  the  maid  you  love  ?  I  was  ready  to  mingle  with  him 
tear  for  tear. 

What  a  solemn  conference  I  had  with  Sampson  that  evening  ! 
He  knew  my  affairs,  my  expectations,  my  mother's  anger. 
Psha  !    that  was   far  off,  and  he  knew  some   excellent  liberal 

*  In  the  Warrington  MS.  there  is  not  a  word  to  say  what  the  "  old  place  "  was. 
Perhaps  some  obliging  reader  of  "Notes  and  Queries  "  will  be  able  to  inform  me,  and 
who  Mrs.  Goodison  was. — Ed. 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


665 


people  (of  the  order  of  Melchisedec)  who  would  discount  the 
other.  The  General  would  not  give  his  consent  ?  Sampson 
shrugged  his  broad  shoulders  and  swore  a  great  roaring  oath. 
My  mother  would  not  relent  ?  What  then  ?  A  man  was  a  man, 
and  to  make  his  own  way  in  the  world,  he  supposed.  He  is 
only  a  churl  who  won't  play  for  such  a  stake  as  that,  and  lose 
or  win,  by  George  !  shouts  the  Chaplain,  over  a  bottle  of  Bur- 
gundy at  the  "  Bedford  Head,"  where  we  dined.  I  need  not 
put  down  our  conversation.  We  were  two  of  us,  and  I  think 
there  w^as  only  one  mind  between  us.  Our  talk  was  of  a 
Saturday  night  *  *  ^  * 

I  did  not  tell  Theo,  nor  any  relative  of  hers,  what  was  being 
done.  But  when  the  dear  child  faltered  and  talked,  trembling, 
of  the  coming  departure,  I  bade  her  bear  up,  and  vowed  all 
would  be  well,  so  confidently,  that  she,  who  ever  has  taken  her 
alarms  and  joys  from  my  face  (I  wish,  my  dear,  it  were  some- 
times not  so  gloomy),  could  not  but  feel  confidence  ;  and  placed 
(with  many  fond  words  that  need  not  here  be  repeated)  her 
entire  trust  in  me — murmuring  those  sweet  words  of  Ruth  that 
must  have  comforted  myriads  of  tender  hearts  in  my  dearest 
maiden's  plight ;  that  whither  I  would  go  she  would  go,  and  that 
my  people  should  be  hers.  At  last,  one  day,  the  General's 
preparations  being  made,  the  trunks  encumbering  the  passages 
of  the  dear  old  Dean  Street  lodging,  which  I  shall  love  as  long 
as  I  shall  remember  at  all — one  day,  almost  the  last  of  his  stay, 
when  the  good  man  (his  Excellency  we  call  him  now),  came 
home  to  his  dinner — a  comfortless  meal  enough  it  was  in  the 
present  condition  of  the  family — he  looked  round  the  table  at 
the  place  where  I  had  used  to  sit  in  happy  old  days,  and  sighed 
out  :  "  I  wish,  ]Molly,  George  was  here." 

"  Do  you,  Martin  ? "  says  Aunt  Lambert,  flinging  into  his 
arms. 

"Yes,  I  do  ;  but  don't  wish^you  to  choke  me,  Molly,"  he 
says.  "  I  love  him  dearly.  I  may  go  away  and  never  see  him 
again,  and  take  his  foolish  little  sweetheart  along  with  me. 
I  suppose  you  will  write  to  each  other,  children  ?  I  can't 
prevent  that,  you  know ;  and  until  he  changes  his  mind,  I  sup- 
pose Miss  Theo  won't  obey  papa's  orders,  and  get  him  out  of 
her  foolish  little  head.     Wilt  thou,  Theo  ?" 

"  No,  dearest,  dearest,  best  papa  !  " 

"  What !  more  embraces  and  kisses  !  What  does  all  this 
mean  ? '' 

"  It  means  that — that  George  is  in  the  drawing-room,"  says 
mamma. 


666  -  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

"Is  he?  My  dearest  bo}^ !  "  cries  the  General.  ''Come 
to  me — come  in  !  "  And  when  I  entered  he  held  me  to  his 
heart,  and  kissed  me. 

I  confessed  at  this  I  was  so  overcome  that  I  fell  down  on 
my  knees  before  the  dear,  good  man,  and  sobbed  on  his  own, 

"  God  bless  you,  my  dearest  boy !  "  he  mutters  hurriedly. 
"  Always  loved  you  as  a  son — haven't  I,  Molly  ?  Broke  my 
heart  nearly  when  I  quarrelled  with  you  about  this  little — 
What ! — odds  marrow^bones  ! — all  down  on  your  knees  !  Mrs. 
Lambert,  pray  what  is  the  meaning  of  all  this  ?  " 

"  Dearest,  dearest  papa  !  I  will  go  with  you  all  the  same  !  " 
whimpers  one  of  the  kneeling  party.  "  And  I  will  wait — oh  ! 
as  long  as  ever  my  dearest  father  wants  me  !  " 

"  In  heaven's  name  !  "  roars  the  General,  "  tell  me  what 
has  happened  ?  " 

What  had  happened  was,  that  George  Esmond  Warrington 
and  Theodosia  Lambert  had  been  married  in  Southwark  that 
morning,  their  banns  having  been  duly  called  in  the  church  of 
a  certain  friend  of  the  Reverend  Mr.  Sampson. 


CHAPTER  LXXIX. 

CONTAINING    BOTH    COMEDY    AND    TRAGEDY. 

We,  who  had  been  active  in  the  guilty  scene  of  the  morn- 
ing, felt  trebly  guilty  when  we  saw  the  effect  which  our  con- 
duct had  produced  upon  him,  whom,  of  all  others,  we  loved  and 
respected.  The  shock  to  the  good  man  was  strange,  and  piti- 
ful to  us  to  witness  who  had  administered  it.  The  child  of  his 
heart  had  deceived  and  disobeyed  him — I  declare  I  think,  my 
dear,  now,  we  would  not  or  could  not  do  it  over  again  :  — 
his  whole  family  had  entered  into  a  league  against  him.  Dear, 
kind  friend  and  father !  We  know  thou  hast  pardoned  our 
wrong — in  the  heaven  where  thou  dwellest  amongst  purified 
spirits  who  learned  on  earth  how  to  love  and  pardon  !  To 
love  and  forgive  were  easy  duties  with  that  man.  Benefi- 
cence was  natural  to  him,  and  a  sweet,  smiling  humility ;  and 
to  wound  either  was  to  be  savage  and  brutal,  as  to  torture  a 
child,  or  strike  blows  at  a  nursing  woman.     The  deed  done, 


THE    VIRGINIANS. 


667 


all  we  guilty  ones  grovelled  in  the  earth,  before  the  man  we 
had  injured.  I  pass  over  the  scenes  of  forgiveness,  of  recon- 
ciliation, of  common  worship  together,  of  final  separation  when 
the  good  man  departed  to  his  government,  and  the  ship  sailed 
away  before  us,  leaving  me  and  Theo  on  the  shore.  We  stood 
there  hand  in  hand  horribly  abashed,  silent,  and  guilty.  My 
wife  did  not  come  to  me  till  her  father  went :  hi  the  interval 
between  the  ceremony  of  our  marriage  and  his  departure,  she 
had  remained  at  home,  occupying  her  old  place  by  her  father, 
and  bed  by  her  sister's  side  :  he  as  kind  as  ever,  but  the 
women  almost  speechless  among  themselves  ;  Aunt  Lambert, 
for  once,  unkind  and  fretful  in  her  temper ;  and  little  Hetty 
feverish  and  strange,  and  saying,  "  I  wish  we  were  gone. 
I  wish  we  were  gone."  Though  admitted  to  the  house,  and 
forgiven,  I  slunk  away  during  those  last  days,  and  only  saw  my 
wife  for  a  mmute  or  two  in  the  street,  or  with  her  family.  She 
was  not  mine  till  they  were  gone.  We  went  to  Winchester  and 
Hampton  for  what  may  be  called  our  wedding.  It  was  but  a 
dismal  business.  For  a  while  we  felt  utterly  lonely :  and  of 
our  dear  father  as  if  we  had  buried  him,  or  drove  him  to  the 
grave  by  our  undutifulness. 

I  made  Sampson  announce  our  marriage  in  the  papers. 
(My  wife  used  to  hang  down  her  head  before  the  poor  fellow 
afterwards.)  I  took  Mrs.  Warrington  back  to  my  old  lodgings 
in  Bloom sbury,  where  there  was  plenty  of  room  for  us,  and  our 
modest  married  life  began.  I  wrote  home  a  letter  to  my 
mother  in  Virginia,  informing  her  of  no  particulars,  but  only 
that  Mr.  Lambert  being  about  to  depart  for  his  government,  I 
considered  myself  bound  in  honor  to  fulfil  my  promise  towards 
his  dearest  daughter  ;  and  stated  that  I  intended  to  carry  out 
my  intention  of  completing  my  studies  for  the  Bar,  and  qualify- 
ing myself  for  employment  at  home,  or  in  our  own  or  any 
other  colony.  My  good  Mrs.  Mountain  answered  this  letter, 
by  desire  of  Madam  Esmond,  she  said,  who  thought  that  for 
the  sake  of  peace  my  communications  had  best  be  conducted 
that  way.  I  found  my  relatives  in  a  fury  which  was  perfectly 
amusing  to  witness.  The  butler's  face,  as  he  said,  "  Not  at 
home,"  at  my  uncle's  house  in  Hill  Street,  was  a  blank  tragedy 
that  might  have  been  studied  by  Garrick  when  he  sees  Banquo. 
My  poor  little  wife  was  on  my  arm,  and  we  were  tripping  away 
laughing  at  the  fellow's  accueil,  when  we  came  upon  my  lady  in 
a  street  stoppage  in  her  chair.  I  took  off  my  hat  and  made 
her  the  lowest  possible  bow.  I  affectionately  asked  after  my 
dear  cousins.     "  I — I  wonder  you  dare  look  me  in  the  face  !  " 


668  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

Lady  Warrington  gasped  out.  ''  Nay,  don't  deprive  me  of  tha^ 
precious  privilege  !  "  says  I.  "  Move  on,  Peter,"  she  screams 
to  her  chairman.  "Your  lady  ship  would  not  impale  your  hus- 
band's own  flesh  and  blood  !  "  says  I.  She  rattles  up  the 
glass  of  her  chair  in  a  fury.  I  kiss  my  hand,  take  off  my  hat, 
and  perform  another  of   my   very  finest  bows. 

Walking  shortly  afterwards  in  Hyde  Park  with  my  dearest 
companion,  I  met  my  little  cousin  exercising  on  horseback  with 
a  groom  behind  him.  As  soon  r;s  he  sees  us,  he  gallops  up  to 
us,  the  groom  powdering  afterwards  and  bawling  out,  "  Stop, 
Master  Miles,  stop  !  "  "I  am  not  to  speak  to  my  cousin,"  says 
Miles,  "  but  telling  you  to  send  my  love  to  Harry  is  not  speak- 
i:ig  to  you,  is  it  ?  Is  that  my  new  cousin  ?  I'm  not  told  not  to 
speak  to  her.  P'm  Miles,  Cousin,  Sir  Miles  Warrington  Bar- 
onet's son,  and  you  are  very  pretty  !  "  "  Now,  duee  now,  Mas- 
ter Miles,"  says  the  groom,  touching  his  hat  to  us  ;  and  the 
boy  trots  away  laughing  and  looking  at  us  over  his  shoulder. 
"  You  see  how  my  relations  have  determined  to  treat  me,"  I 
say  to  my  partner.  "  As  if  J  married  you  for  your  relations  ! " 
says  Theo,  her  eyes  beaming  joy  and  love  into  mine.  Ah,  how 
happy  we  were  !  how  brisk  and  pleasant  the  winter !  How 
snug  the  kettle  by  the  fire  (where  the  abashed  Sampson  some- 
times came  and  made  the  punch) ;  how  delightful  the  night  at 
the  theatre,  for  which  our  friends  brought  us  tickets  of  admis- 
sion, and  where  we  daily  expected  our  new  play  of  "  Pocahon- 
tas "  would  rival  the  successes  of  all  former  tragedies. 

The  fickle  old  aunt  of  Clarges  Street,  who  received  me  on 
my  first  coming  to  London  with  my  wife,  with  a  burst  of  scorn, 
mollified  presently,  and  as  soon  as  she  came  to  know  Theo 
(whom  she  had  pronounced  to  be  an  insignificant  little  country- 
faced  chit),  fell  utterly  in  love  with  her,  and  would  have  her  to 
tea  and  supper  every  day  when  there  was  no  other  company. 
"  As  for  company,  my  dears,"  she  would  say,  "  I  don't  ask  you. 
Vou  are  no  longer  du  monde.  Your  marriage  has  put  that 
entirely  out  of  the  question."  So  she  would  have  us  come  to 
amuse  her,  and  go  in  and  out  by  the  back  stairs.  My  wife  was 
fine  lady  enough  to  feel  only  amused  at  this  reception  ;  and  I 
must  do  the  Baroness's  domestics  the  justice  to  say  that,  had 
we  been  duke  and  duchess,  we  could  not  have  been  received 
with  more  respect.  Madame  de  Bernstein  was  very  much 
tickled  and  amused  with  my  story  of  Lady  Warrington  and  the 
chair.  I  acted  it  for  her,  and  gave  her  anecdotes  of  the  pious 
Baronet's  lady  and  her  daughters,  which  pleased  the  mischiev- 
ous,  lively  old  woman. 


THE   VIRGIA'IAiYS.  669 

The  Dowager  Countess  of  Castlewood,  now  established  in 
her  house  at  Kensington,  gave  us  that  kind  of  welcome  which 
genteel  ladies  extend  to  their  poorer  relatives.  We  went  once 
or  twice  to  her  ladyship's  drums  at  Kensington  ;  but  losing 
more  money  at  cards,  and  spending  more  money  in  coach-hire 
than  I  liked  to  afford,  we  speedily  gave  up  those  entertain- 
ments, and  I  dare  say,  were  no  more  missed  or  regretted  than 
other  people  in  the  fashionable  world,  who  are  carried  by  death, 
debt,  or  other  accident  out  of  the  polite  sphere.  My  Theo 
did  not  in  the  least  regret  this  exclusion.  She  had  made  her 
appearance  at  one  of  these  drums,  attired  in  some  little  orna- 
ments which  her  mother  left  behind  her,  and  by  which  the 
good  lady  set  some  store ;  but  I  thought  her  own  white  neck 
was  a  great  deal  prettier  than  these  poor  twinkling  stones ; 
and  there  were  dowagers,  whose  wrinkled  old  bones  blazed 
with  rubies  and  diamonds,  which,  I  am  sure,  they  would  gladly 
have  exchanged  for  her  modest /(^r?/rt'  of  beauty  and  freshness. 
Not  a  soul  spoke  to  her — except,  to  be  sure,  Beau  Lothair,  a 
friend  of  Mr.  Will's,  who  prowled  about  Bloomsbury  afterwards, 
and  even  sent  my  wife  a  billet.  I  met  him  in  Covent  Garden 
shortly  after,  and  promised  to  break  his  ugly  face  if  ever  I  saw 
it  in  the  neighborhood  of  my  lodgings,  and  Madam  Theo  was 
molested  no  farther. 

The  only  one  of  our  relatives  who  came  to  see  us  (Madame 
de  Bernstein  never  came  ;  she  sent  her  coach  for  us  sometimes, 
or  made  inquiries  regarding  us  by  her  woman  or  her  major- 
aomo)  was  our  poor  Maria,  who,  with  her  husband,  Mr.  Hagan, 
often  took  a  share  of  our  homely  dinner.  Then  we  had  friend 
Spencer  from  the  Temple,  who  admired  our  Arcadian  felicity, 
and  gently  asked  our  sympathy  for  his  less  fortunate  loves  ; 
and  twice  or  thrice  the  famous  Doctor  Johnson  came  in  for  a 
dish  of  Theo's  tea.  A  dish  ?  a  pailful !  "  And  a  pail  the  best 
thing  to  feed  him,  sar  !"  says  Mr.  Gumbo,  indignantly :  for  the 
Doctor's  appearance  was  not  pleasant,  nor  his  linen  particularly 
white.  He  snorted,  he  grew  red,  and  sputtered  in  feeding ;  he 
flung  his  meat  about,  and  bawled  out  in  contradicting  people  : 
and  annoyed  my  Theo,  whom  he  professed  to  admire  greatly, 
by  saying,  every  time  he  saw^  her,  ''  Madam,  you  do  not  love 
me;  I*  see  by  your  manner  you  do  not  love  me;  though  I 
admire  you,  and  come  here  for  your  sake.  Here  is  my  friend 
Mr.  Reynolds  that  shall  paint  you  :  he  has  no  ceruse  in  his 
paint-box  that  is  as  brilliant  as  your  complexion."  And  so 
Mr.  Reynolds,  a  most  perfect  and  agreeable  gentleman,  would 
have  painted  my  wife  :  but  I  knew  what  his  price  was,  and  did 


670  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

not  choose  to  incur  that  expense.  I  wish  I  had  now,  for  the 
sake  of  the  children,  that  they  might  see  what  yonder  face  was 
like  some  five-and-thirty  years  ago.  To  me,  Madam,  'tis  the 
same  now  as  ever  ;  and  your  ladyship  is  always  young  ! 

What  annoyed  Mrs.  Warrington  with  Dr.  Johnson  more 
than  his  contradictions,  his  sputterings,  and  his  dirty  nails,  was, 
I  think,  an  unfavorable  opinion  which  he  formed  of  my  new 
tragedy.  Hagan  once  proposed  that  he  should  read  some 
scenes  from  it  after  tea. 

"  Nay,  sir,  conversation  is  better,"  says  the  Doctor.  "  I 
can  read  for  myself,  or  hear  you  at  the  theatre.  I  had  rather 
hear  Mrs.  Warrington's  artless  prattle  than  your  declamation 
of  Mr.  Warrington's  decasyllabics.  Tell  us  about  your  house- 
hold affairs.  Madam,  and  whether  his  Excellency  your  father 
is  well,  and  whether  you  made  the  pudden  and  the  butter  sauce. 
The  butter  sauce  was  delicious  !  "  (He  loved  it  so  well  that  he 
had  kept  a  large  quantity  in  the  bosom  of  a  very  dingy  shirt.) 
"  You  made  it  as  though  you  loved  me.  You  helped  me  as 
though  you  loved  me,  though  you  don't." 

"  Faith,  sir,  you  are  taking  some  of  the  present  away  with 
you  in  your  waistcoat,"  says  Hagan,  with  much  spirit. 

"  Sir,  you  are  rude  !  "  bawls  the  Doctor.  "  You  are  unac- 
quainted with  the  first  principles  of  politeness,  which  is  courtesy 
before  ladies.  Having  received  an  university  education,  I  am 
surprised  that  you  have  not  learned  the  rudiments  of  politeness. 
I  respect  Mrs.  Warrington.  I  should  never  think  of  making 
personal  remarks  about  her  guests  before  her  !  " 

"Then,  sir,"  says  Hagan,  fiercely,  "why  did  you  speak  of 
my  theatre  ?  " 

"  Sir,  you  are  saucy  !  "  roars  the  Doctor. 

"  De  te  fabula,"  says  the  actor.  "  I  think  it  is  your  waiSL- 
coat  that  is  saucy.  Madam,  shall  I  make  some  punch  in  the 
way  we  make  it  in  Ireland  ?  " 

The  Doctor,  puffing,  and  purple  in  the  face,  was  wiping  the 
dingy  shirt  with  a  still  more  dubious  pocket-handkerchief, 
which  he  then  applied  to  his  forehead.  After  this ,  exercise,  he 
blew  a  hyperborean  whistle,  as  if  to  blow  his  wrath  away.  "  It 
is  de  me,  sir — though,  as  a  young  man,  perhaps  you  n^ed  not 
have  told  me  so." 

"  I  drop  my  point,  sir  !  If  you  have  been  wrong,  I  am  sure 
I  am  bound  to  ask  your  pardon  for  setting  you  so  !  "  says  Mr. 
Hagan,  with  a  fine  bow. 

"  Doesn't  he  look  like  a  god  ?  "  says  Maria,  clutching  my 
wife's  hand;  and  indeed  Mr.  Hagan  did  look  like  a  handsome 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  671 

young  gentleman.  His  color  had  risen  :  he  had  put  his  hand 
to  his  breast  with  a  noble  air  :  Chamont  or  Castalio  could  not 
present  himself  better. 

"  Let  me  make  you  some  lemonade,  sir  ;  my  papa  has  sent 
us  a  box  of  fresh  limes.  May  we  send  you  some  to  the  Tem- 
ple ?  " 

"  Madam,  if  they  stay  in  your  house,  they  will  lose  their 
quality  and  turn  sweet,"  says  the  Doctor.  "Mr.  Hagan,  you 
are  a  young  saucebox,  that's  what  you  are  !  Ho  !  ho  !  It  is  I 
have  been  wrong." 

"  O  my  lord,  my  Polidore  !  "  bleats  Lady  Maria,  when  she 
was  alone  in  my  wife's  drawing-room  : 

"  '  Oh,  I  could  hear  thee  talk  for  every  thus, 
Eternally  admiring, — fix  and  gaze 
On  those  dear  eyes,  for  every  glance  they  send 
Darts  through  my  soul,  and  fills  my  heart  with  rapture  !  ' 

Thou  knowest  not,  my  Theo,  what  a  pearl  and  paragon  of  a 
man  my  Castalio  is ;  my  Chamont,  my — O  dear  me,  child, 
what  a  pity  it  is  that  in  your  husband's  tragedy  he  should  have 
to  take  the  horrid  name  of  Captain  Smith  !  " 

Upon  this  tragedy  not  only  my  literary  hopes,  but  much  of 
my  financial  prospects  were  founded.  My  brother's  debts  dis- 
charged, my  mother's  drafts  from  home  duly  honored,  my  own 
expenses  paid,  which,  though  moderate,  were  not  inconsiderable, 
— pretty  nearly  the  whole  of  my  patrimony  had  been  spent, 
and  this  auspicious  moment  I  must  choose  for  my  marriage  ! 
I  could  raise  money  on  my  inheritance :  that  was  not  impos- 
sible, though  certainly  costly.  My  mother  could  not  leave  her 
eldest  son  without  a  maintenance,  whatever  our  quarrels  might 
be.  I  had  health,  strength,  good  wits,  some  friends,  and  repu- 
tation— above  all,  my  famous  tragedy,  which  the  manager  had 
promised  to  perform,  and  upon  the  proceeds  of  this  I  counted 
for  my  present  support.  What  becomes  of  the  arithmetic  of 
youth  ?  How  do  we  then  calculate  that  a  hundred  pounds  is  a 
maintenance,  and  a  thousand  a  fortune  ?  How  did  I  dare  play 
against  Fortune  with  such  odds  ?  I  succeeded,  I  remember, 
in  convincing  my  dear  General,  and  he  left  home  convinced 
that  his  son-in-law  had  for  the  present  necessity  at  least  a 
score  of  hundred  pounds  at  his  command.  He  and  his  dear 
Molly  had  begun  life  with  less,  and  the  ravens  had  somehow 
always  fed  them.  As  for  the  women,  the  question  of  poverty 
was  one  of  pleasure  to  those  sentimental  souls,  and  Aunt 
Lambert,  for  her  part,  declared  it  would  be  wicked  and  irre- 
ligious to  doubt  of  a  provision  being  made  for  her  children. 


672 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


Was  the  righteous  ever  forsaken  ?  Did  the  just  man  ever  have 
to  beg  his  bread  ?  She  knew  better  than  that !  "  No,  no,  my 
dears  !  I  not  going  to  be  afraid  on  that  account,  I  warrant 
you  !     Look  at  me  and  my  General !  " 

Theo  beUeved  all  I  said  and  wished  to  believe  myself.  So 
we  actually  began  life  upon  a  capital  of  Five  Acts,  and  about 
three  hundred  pounds  of  ready  money  in  hand  ! 

Well,  the  time  of  the  appearance  of  the  famous  tragedy 
drew  near,  and  my  friends  canvassed  the  town  to  get  a  body  of 
supporters  for  the  opening  night.  I  am  ill  at  asking  favors 
from  the  great ;  but  when  my  Lord  Wrotham  came  to  London, 
I  went,  with  Theo  in  my  hand,  to  wait  on  his  lordship,  who  re- 
ceived us  kindly,  out  of  regard  for  his  old  friend,  her  father — 
though  he  good-naturedly  shook  a  finger  at  me  (at  which  my 
little  wife  hung  down  her  head),  for  having  stole  a  march  on 
the  good  General.  However,  he  would  do  his  best  for  her 
father's  daughter :  hoped  for  a  success  ;  said  he  had  heard 
great  things  of  the  piece ;  and  engaged  a  number  of  places  for 
himself  and  his  friends.  But  this  patron  secured,  I  had  no 
other.  ^''  MoTi  c/ier,  at  my  age,"  says  the  Baroness,  "  I  should 
bore  myself  to  death  at  a  tragedy:  but  I  will  do  my  best;  and  I 
will  certainly  send  my  people  to  the  boxes.  Yes  !  Case  in  his 
best  black  looks  like  a  nobleman  ;  and  Brett  in  one  of  my  gowns 
has  2.  faux  air  de  ;;/^?  which  is  quite  distinguished.  Put  down  my 
name  for  two  in  the  front  boxes.  Good-by,  my  dear.  Bo7i?ie 
chance  /^^  The  Dowager  Countess  presented  compliments  (on 
the  back  of  the  nine  of  clubs),  had  a  card-party  that  night,  and 
was  quite  sorry  she  and  Fanny  could  not  go  to  my  tragedy.  As 
for  my  uncle  and  Lady  Warrington,  they  were  out  of  the  ques- 
tion. After  the  affair  of  the  sedan  chair  I  might  as  well  hlave 
asked  Queen  Elizabeth  to  go  to  Drury  Lane.  These  were  alp  my 
friends — that  host  of  aristocratic  connections  about  whom  aoor 
Sampson  had  bragged  ;  and  on  the  strength  of  whom,  the  mhna- 
ger,  as  he  said,  had  given  Mr.  Hagan  his  engagement !  "  Woere 
was  my  Lord  Bute  ?  Had  I  not  promised  his  lordship  shf  uld 
come  ? "  he  asks,  snappishly,  taking  snuff  (how  different  from 
the  brisk,  and  engaging,  and  obsequious  little  manager  o  six 
months  ago  !) — "  I  promised  Lord  Bute  should  come  ?  " 

"Yes,"  says  Mr,  Garrick,  "and  her  Royal  Highness  the 
Princess  of  Wales,  and  his  Majesty  too." 

Poor  Sampson  owned  that  he,  buoyed  up  by  vain  hopes, 
had  promised  the  appearance  of  these  august  personages. 

The  next  day.  at  rehearsal,  matters  were  worse  still,  and 
the  manager  in  a  fury. 


THE  VIRGINIANS. 


673 


"  Great  heavens,  sir  !  "  says  he,  "  into  what  a  pretty  guet-d- 
pens  have  you  led  me  !  Look  at  that  letter,  sir ! — read  that 
letter  !  "     And  he  hands  me  one  : 

"  My  Dear  Sir  "  (said  the  letter),  —  "I  have  seen  his  Lordship,  and  conveyed  to  him 
Mr.  Warrington's  request  that  he  would  honor  the  tragedy  of  '  Pocahontas  '  by  his  presence. 
His  Lordship  is  a  patron  of  the  drama,  and  a  magnificent  friend  of  all  the  liberal  arts  ;  but 
he  desires  me  to  say  that  he  cannot  think  of  attending  himself,  much  less  of  asking  his 
Gracious  Master  to  witness  the  performance  of  a  play,  a  principal  part  in  which  is  given  to 
an  actor  who  has  made  a  clandestine  marriage  with  a  daughter  of  one  of  his  Majesty's 
nobility. 

*'  Your  well-wisher, 

"  Saunders  McDuff. 
"  Mr.  D.  Garrick, 

"  At  the  Theatre  Royal  in  Drury  Lane." 

My  poor  Theo  had  a  nice  dinner  waiting  for  me  after  the 
rehearsal.  I  pleaded  fatigue  as  the  reason  for  looking  so  pale  : 
I  did  not  dare  to  convey  to  her  this  dreadful  news. 


CHAPTER  LXXX. 

POCAHONTAS. 


The  English  public,  not  being  so  well  acquainted  with  the 
history  of  Pocahontas  as  we  of  Virginia,  who  still  love  the 
memory  of  that  simple  and  kindly  creature,  Mr.  Warrington, 
at  the  suggestion  of  his  friends,  made  a  little  ballad  about  this 
Indian  princess,  which  was  printed  in  the  magazines  a  few  days 
before  the  appearance  of  the  tragedy.  This  proceeding,  Samp- 
son and  I  considered  to  be  very  artful  and  ingenious.  "  It  is 
like  ground-bait,  sir,"  says  the  enthusiastic  parson,  "  and  you 
will  see  the  fish  rise  in  multitudes,  on  the  great  day  !  "  He 
and  Spencer  declared  that  the  poem  was  discussed  and  ad- 
mired at  several  coffee-houses  in  their  hearing,  and  that  it  had 
been  attributed  to  Mr.  Mason,  Mr.  Cowper  of  the  Temple,  and 
even  to  the  famous  Mr.  Gray.  I  believe  poor  Sam  had  him- 
self set  abroad  these  reports  ;  and  if  Shakspeare  had  been 
named  as  the  author  of  the  tragedy,  would  have  declared  "  Po- 
cahontas "  to  be  one  of  the  poet's  best  performances.  I  made 
acquaintance  with  brave  Captain  Smith,  as  a  boy  in  my  grand- 
father's library  at  home,  where  I  remember  how  I  would  sit  at 
the  good  old  man's  knees,  with  my  favorite  volume  on  my  own, 
spelling  out  the  exploits  of  our  Virginian  hero,  I  loved  to 
read  of  Smith's  travels,  sufferings,  captivities,  escapes,  not  only 

43 


674  ^-^^   VIRGINIANS. 

in  America,  but  Europe.  1  become  a  child  again  almost  as  I 
take  from  the  shelf  before  me  in  England  the  familiar  volume, 
and  all  sorts  of  recollections  of  my  early  home  come  crowding 
over  my  mind.  The  old  grandfather  would  make  pictures  for 
me  of  Smith  doing  battle  with  the  Turks  on  the  Danube,  or  led 
out  by  our  Indian  savages  to  death.  Ah,  what  a  terrific  fight 
was  that  in  which  he  was  engaged  with  the  three  Turkish 
champions,  and  how  I  used  to  delight  over  the  story  of  his  com- 
bat with  Bonny  Molgro,  the  last  and  most  dreadful  of  the  three  ! 
What  a  name  Bonny  Molgro  was,  and  with  what  a  prodigious 
turban,  cimeter,  and  whiskers  we  presented  him!  Having 
slain  and  taken  off  the  heads  of  first  two  enemies.  Smith  and 
Bonny  Molgro  met,  falling  to  (says  my  favorite  old  book)  "with 
their  battle-axes,  whose  piercing  bills  made  sometimes  the  one, 
sometimes  the  other,  to  have  scarce  sense  to  keep  their  sad- 
dles :  especially  the  Christian  received  such  a  wound  that  he 
lost  his  battle-axe,  whereat  the  supposed  conquering  Turke  had 
a  great  shout  from  the  rampires.  Yet,  by  the  readinesse  of  his 
horse,  and  his  great  judgment  and  dexteritie,  he  not  only 
avoided  the  Turke's  blows,  but,  having  drawn  his  falchion,  so 
pierced  the  Turke  under  the  cutlets,  through  back  and  body, 
that  though  hee  alighted  from  his  horse,  hee  stood  not  long, 
ere  hee  lost  his  head  as  the  rest  had  done.  In  reward  for  which 
deed,  Duke  Segismundus  gave  him  3  Turke's  head  in  a  shield 
for  amies  vnd  300  Duckats  yeerely  for  a  pension."  Disdain- 
ing time  and  place  (with  that  daring  which  is  the  privilege  of 
poets)  in  my  tragedy.  Smith  is  made  to  perform  similar  ex- 
ploits on  the  banks  of  our  Potomac  and  James's  river.  Our 
"  ground-bait  "  verses  ran  thus  : — 


POCAHONTAS. 


Wearied  arm  and  broken  sword 
Wage  in  vain  the  desperate  fight : 

Round  him  press  a  countless  horde, 
He  is  but  a  single  knight. 

Hark !   a  cry  of  triumph  shrill 
Through  the  wilderness  resounds, 
As,  with  twenty  bleeding  wounds, 

Sinks  the  warrior,  fighting  still- 


Now  they  heep  the  fatal  pyre, 
And  the  torch  of  death  they  light : 

Ah  !   'tis  hard  to  die  of  fire ! 
Who  will  shield  the  captive  knight? 

Round  the  stake  with  fiendish  cry 
Wheel  and  dance  the  savage  crowd, 
Cold  the  victim's  mien  and  proud, 

And  his  breast  is  bared  to  die. 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  675 

Who  will  shield  the  fearless  heart? 

Who  avert  the  murderous  blade  ? 
From  the  throng,  with  sudden  start. 

See,  there  springs  an  Indian  maid. 
Quick  she  stands  before  the  knight, 

"  Loose  the  chain,  \mbind  the  ring 

I  am  daughter  of  the  king, 
And  I  claim  the  Indian  right !  " 

Dauntlessly  aside  she  flings 

Lifted  axe  and  thirsty  knife  ; 
Fondly  to  his  heart  she  clings, 

And  her  bosom  guards  his  life! 
In  the  woods  of  Powhattan, 

Still  'tis  toM,  by  Indian  fires, 

How  a  daughter  of  tlieir  sires 
Saved  the  captive  Englishman. 

I  need  not  describe  at  length  the  plot  of  my  tragedy,  as 
my  children  can  take  it  down  from  the  shelves  any  day  and  pe^ 
ruse  it  for  themselves.  Nor  shall  I,  let  me  add,  be  in  a  hurry 
to  offer  to  read  it  again  to  my3'oung  folks,  since  Captain  Miles 
and  the  parson  both  chose  to  fall  asleep  last  Christmas,  when, 
at  mamma's  request,  I  read  aloud  a  couple  of  acts.  But  any 
person  having  a  moderate  acquaintance  with  plays  and  novels 
can  soon,  out  of  the  above  sketch,  fill  out  a  picture  to  his  liking. 
An  Indian  king ;  a  loving  princess,  and  her  attendant,  in  love 
with  the  British  captain's  servant ;  a  traitor  in  the  English  fort ; 
a  brave  Indian  warrior,  himself  entertaining  an  unhappy  pas- 
sion for  Pocahontas  ;  a  medicine-man  and  priest  of  the  In- 
dians (very  well  played  by  Palmer),  capable  of  every  treason, 
stratagem,  and  crime,  and  bent  upon  the  torture  and  death  of 
the  English  prisoner  ; — these,  with  the  accidents  of  the  wilder- 
ness, the  war-dances  and  cries  (which  Gumbo  had  learned  to 
mimic  very  accurately  from  the  red  people  at  home),  and  the 
arrival  of  the  English  fleet,  with  allusions  to  the  late  glorious 
victories  in  Canada,  and  the  determination  of  Britons  ever  to 
rule  and  conquer  in  America,  some  of  us  not  unnaturally 
thought  might  contribute  to  the  success  of  our  tragedy. 

But  I  have  mentioned  the  ill  omens  which  preceded  the 
day  ;  the  difficulties  which  a  peevish,  and  jealous,  and  timid 
management  threw  in  the  way  of  the  piece,  and  the  violent  prej- 
udice which  was  felt  against  it  in  certain  high  quarters.  What 
wonder  then,  I  ask,  that  "Pocahontas  "  should  have  turned  out 
not  to  be  a  victory  ?  I  laugh  -to  scorn  the  malignity  of  the 
critics  who  found  fault  with  the  performance.  Pretty  critics, 
forsooth,  who  said  that  "  Carpezan  "  was  a  masterpiece,  w^hilst 
a  far  superior  and  more  elaborate  work  received  only  their  sneers  ! 
I  insist  on  it  that  Hagan  acted  his  part  so  admirably  that  a 
certain  actor  and  manager  of  the  theatre  might  well  be  jealous  of 


676  THE   VIRGINIANS, 

him  j  and  that,  but  for  the  cabal  made  outside,  the  piece  would 
have  succeeded.  The  order  had  been  given  that  the  play  should 
not  succeed  ;  so  at  least  Sampson  declared  to  me.  "  The  house 
swarmed  with  Macs,  by  George,  and  they  should  have  the 
galleries  washed  with  brimstone,"  the  honest  fellow  swore,  and 
always  vowed  that  INIr.  Garrick  himself  would  not  have  had  the 
piece  succeeded  for  the  world;  and  was  never  in  such  a  rage  as 
during  that  grand  scene  in  the  second  act,  where  Smith  (poor 
Hagan)  being  bound  to  the  stake,  Pocahontas  comes  and  saves 
him,  and  when  the  whole  house  was  thrilling  with  ajoplause  and 
sympathy. 

Anybody  who  has  curiosity  sufficient,  may  refer  to  the  pub- 
lished tragedy  (in  the  octavo  form,  or  in  the  subsequent  splendid 
quarto  edition  of  my  Collected  Works,  and  Poems  Original  and 
Translated),  and  say  whether  the  scene  is  without  merit, 
whether  the  verses  are  not  elegant,  the  language  rich  and  noble  ? 
One  of  the  causes  of  the  failure  was  my  ■^q,\.w2\  fidelity  to  history. 
I  had  copied  myself  at  the  Museum,  and  tinted  neatly,  a  figure 
of  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  in  a  frill  and  beard  ;  and  (my  dear  Theo 
giving  some  of  her  mother's  best  lace  for  the  ruff)  we  dressed 
Hagan  accurately  after  this  drawing,  and  no  man  could  look 
better.  Miss  Pritchard  as  Pocahontas,  I  dressed  too  as  a  Red 
Indian,  having  seen  enough  of  that  costume  in  my  own  experi- 
ence at  home.  'Will  it  be  believed  the  house  tittered  when  she 
first  appeared  ?  They  got  used  to  her,  however,  but  just  at  the 
moment  when  she  rushes  into  the  prisoner's  arms,  and  a  num- 
ber of  people  were  actually  in  tears,  a  fellow  in  the  pit  bawls 
out,  "  Bedad !  here's  the-  Belle  Savage  kissing  the  Saracen's 
Head  ;  "  on  which  an  impertinent  roar  of  laughter  sprang  up  in 
the  pit,  breaking  out  with  fitful  explosions  during  the  remainder 
of  the  performance.  As  the  wag  in  INIr.  Sheridan's  amusing 
"  Critic  "  admirably  says  about  the  morning  guns,  the  play- 
wrights were  not  content  with  one  of  them,  but  must  fire  two  or 
three  ;  so  with  this  wretched  pot-house  joke  of  the  Belle  Savage 
(the  ignorant  people  not  knowing  that  Pocahontas  herself  was 
the  very  Belle  Sauvage  from  whom  the  tavern  took  its  name  !) 
My  friend  of  the  pit  repeated  it  ad  nauseam  during  the  perform- 
ance, and  as  each  new  character  appeared,  saluted  him  by  the 
name  of  some  tavern — for  instance,  the  English  governor  (with 
a  long  beard)  he  called  the  "  Goat  and  Boots  ;  "  his  lieutenant 
(Barker),  whose  face  certainly  was  broad,  the  "  Bull  and  Mouth," 
and  so  on  !  And  the  curtain  descended  amidst  a  shrill  storm  of 
whistles  and  hisses,  which  especially  assailed  poor  Hagan  every 
time  he   opened  his   lips.     Sampson   saw  Master  Will  in  the 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


677 


green  boxes,  with  some  pretty  acquaintances  of  his,  and  has  no 
doubt  that  the  treacherous  scoundrel  was  one  of  the  ringleaders 
in  the  conspiracy.  "  I  would  have  flung  him  over  into  the  pit," 
the  faithful  fellow  said  (and  Sampson  was  man  enough  to 
execute  his  threat),  "but  I  saw  a  couple  of  Mr.  Nadab's  fol- 
lowers prowling  about  the  lobby,  and  w^as  obliged  to  sheer  off." 
And  so  the  eggs  we  had  counted  on  selling  at  market  were 
broken,  and  our  poor  hopes  lay  shattered  before  us  ! 

I  looked  in  at  the  house  from  the  stage  before  the  curtain 
was  lifted,  and  saw  it  pretty  well  filled,  especially  remarking 
Mr.  Johnson  in  the  front  boxes,  in  a  laced  waistcoat,  having  his 
friend  Mr.  Reynolds  by  his  side  ;  the  latter  could  not  hear,  and 
the  former  could  not  see,  and  so  they  came  good-naturedly  a 
deux  to  form  an  opinion  of  my  poor  tragedy.  I  could  see  Lady 
Maria  (I  knew  the  hood  she  wore)  in  the  lower  gallery,  where 
she  once  more  had  the  opportunity  of  sitting  and  looking  at 
her  beloved  actor  performing  a  principal  character  in  a  piece. 
As  for  Theo,  she  fairly  owned  that,  unless  I  ordered  her,  she 
had  rather  not  be  present,  nor  had  I  any  such  command  to  give, 
for,  if  things  went  wrong,  I  knew  that  to  see  her  suffer  would 
be  intolerable  pain  to  myself,  and  so  acquiesced  in  her  desire 
to  keep  away. 

Being  of  a  pretty  equanimous  disposition,  and,  as  I  flatter 
myself,  able  to  bear  good  or  evil  fortune  without  disturbance  ; 
I  myself,  after  taking  a  light  dinner  at  the  "  Bedford,"  went  to 
the  theatre  a  short  while  before  the  commencement  of  the  play, 
and  proposed  to  remain  there,  until  the  defeat  or  victory  was 
decided.  I  own  now,  I  could  not  help  seeing  which  way  the 
fate  of  the  day  was  likely  to  turn.  There  was  something 
gloomy  and  disastrous  in  the  general  aspect  of  all  things  around. 
Miss  Pritchard  had  the  headache  :  the  barber  who  brought 
home  Hagan's  wig  had  powdered  it  like  a  wretch  ;  amongst  the 
gentlemen  and  ladies  in  the  grpenroom,  I  saw  none  but' doubt- 
ful faces  :  and  the  manager  (a  very  flippant,  not  to.  say  imperti- 
nent gentlemen,  in  my  opinion,  and  who  himself  on  that  night 
looked  as  dismal  as  a  mute  at  a  funeral)  had  the  insolence  to 
say  to  me,  "  For  heaven's  sake,  Mr.  Warrington,  go  and  get  a 
glass  of  punch  at  the  '  Bedford,'  and  don't  frighten  us  all  here 
by  your  dismal  countenance  !  "  "  Sir,"  says  I,  "I  have  a  right, 
for  five  shillings,  to  comment  upon  3'our  face,  but  I  never  gave 
you  any  authority  to  make  remarks  upon  mine."  "  Sir,"  says 
he  in  ^  pet,  "  I  most  heartily  wish  I  had  never  seen  your  face 
at  all !  "  "Yours,  sir  !  "  said  I,  "  has  often  amused  me  greatly; 
and  when  painted  for  Abel  Drugger  is  exceedingly  comic  " — 


678 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


and  indeed  I  have  always  done  Mr.  G.  the  justice  to  think  that 
in  low  comedy  he  was  unrivalled. 

I  made  him  a  bow,  and  walked  off  to  the  coffee-house,  and 
for  five  years  after  never  spoke  a  word  to  the  gentleman,  when 
he  apologized  to  me,  at  a  nobleman's  house  where  we  chanced 
to  meet.  I  said  I  had  utterly  forgotten  the  circumstance  to 
which  he  alluded,  and  that,  on  the  first  night  of  a  play,  no  doubt, 
author  and  manager  were  flurried  alike.  And  added,  "  After 
all,  there  is  no  shame  in  not  being  made  for  the  theatre.  Mr. 
Garrick — you  were."  A  compliment  with  which  he  appeared 
to  be  as  well  pleased  as  I  intended  he  should. 

Fidus  Achates  ran  over  to  me  at  the  end  of  the  first  act  to 
say  that  all  things  were  going  pretty  well  ;  though  he  confessed 
to  the  titter  in  the  house  upon  Miss  Pritchard's  first  appearance 
dressed  exactly  like  an  Indian  princess. 

"  I  cannot  help  it,  Sampson,"  said  I  (filling  him  a  bumper 
of  good  punch),  "  if  Indians  are  dressed  so." 

"Why,"  says  he,  "would  you  have  had  Caractacus  painted 
blue  like  an  ancient  Briton,  or  Bonduca  with  nothing  but  a  cow- 
skin  ?  " — And  indeed  it  may  be  that  the  fidelity  to  history  was 
the  cause  of  the  ridicule  cast  on  my  tragedy,  in  which  case  I, 
for  one,  am  not  ashamed  of  its  defeat. 

After  the  second  act,  my  aide-de-camp  came  from  the  field 
with  dismal  news  indeed.  I  don't  know  how  it  is  that,  nervous 
before  action, "*  in  disaster  I  became  pretty  cool  and  cheerful. 
"  Are  things  going  ill  ?  "  says  I.  I  call  for  my  reckoning,  put 
on  my  hat,  and  march  to  the  theatre  as  calmly  as  if  I  was  going 
to  dine  at  the  Temple  ;  fidus  Achates  walking  by  m}^  side,  press- 
ing my  elbow,  kicking  the  link-boys  out  of  the  way,  and  crying, 
"  By  George,  Mr.  \^'arrington,  you  are  a  man  of  spirit — a  Trojan, 
sir  !  "  So,  there  were  men  of  spirit  in  Troy  ;  but  alas  !  fate  was 
too  strong  for  them. 

At  any  rate,  no  man  can  say  that  I  did  not  bear  my  misfor- 
tune with  calmness  :  I  could  no  more  help  the  clamor  and 
noise  of  the  audience  than  a  captain  can  help  the  howling  and 
hissing  of  the  storm  in  which  his  ship  goes  down.  But  I  was 
determined  that  the  rushing  waves  and  broken  masts  should 
impavidum  ferient,  and  flatter  myself  that  I  bore  my  calamity 
without  flinching.  "  Not  Regulus,  my  dear  Madam,  could  step 
into  his  barrel  more  coolly,"  Sampson  said  to  my  wife.  'Tis 
unjust  to  say  of  men  of  the  parasitic  nature  that  they  are  un- 
faithful in  misfortune.     Whether  I  was  prosperous  or  poor,  the 

*  The  writer  seems  to  contradict  himself  here,  having  just  boasted  of  possessing  a  pretty 
equanimous  disposition.  He  was  probably  mistaken  in  his  own  estimate  of  himself,  as  other 
folks  have  been  besides. — Ed. 


THE   VIRGIXIAA'S.  679 

v^'ild  parson  was  equally  true  and  friendly,  and  shared  our  crust 
as  eagerly  as  ever  he  had  partaken  of  our  better  fortune, 

I  took  my  place  on  the  stage,  whence  I  could  see  the  actors 
of  my  poor  piece,  and  a  portion  of  the  audience  who  condemned 
me.  I  suppose  the  performers  gave  me  a  wide  berth  out  of  pity 
for  me.  I  must  say  that  I  think  I  was  as  little  moved  as  any 
spectator  ;  and  that  no  one  would  have  judged  from  my  mien 
that  I  was  the  unlucky  hero  of  the  night. 

But  my  dearest  Theo,  when  I  went  home,  looked  so  pale  and 
white,  that  I  saw  from  the  dear  creature's  countenance  that  the 
knowledge  of  my  disaster  had  preceded  my  return.  Spencer, 
Sampson,  Cousin  Hagan,  and  Lady  Maria  were  to  come  after 
the  play,  and  congratulate  the  author,  God  wot !  (Poor  Miss 
Pritchard  was  engaged  to  us  likewise,  but  sent  word  that  I  must 
understand  that  she  was  a  great  deal  too  unwell  to  sup  that 
night.)  My  friend  the  gardener  at  Bedford  House  had  given 
my  wife  his  best  flowers  to  decorate  her  little  table.  There  they 
were  ;  the  poor  little  painted  standards — and  the  battle  lost ! 
I  had  borne  the  defeat  well  enough,  but  as  I  looked  at  the  sweet 
pale  face  of  the  wife  across  the  table,  and  those  artless  trophies 
of  welcome  which  she  had  set  up  for  her  hero,  I  confess  my 
courage  gave  way,  and  my  heart  felt  a  pang  almost  as  keen  as 
any  that  ever  has  smitten  it. 

Our  meal,  it  may  be  imagined,  was  dismal  enough,  nor  was 
it  rendered  much  gayer  by  the  talk  we  strove  to  carry  on.  Old 
Mrs.  Hagan  was,  luckily,  very  ill  at  this  time ;  and  her  disease, 
and  the  incidents  connected  with  it,  a  great  blessing  to  us. 
Then  we  had  his  Majesty's  approaching  marriage,  about  which 
there  was  a  talk.  (How  well  I  remember  the  most  futile  inci- 
dents of  the  day  :  down  to  a  tune  which  a  carpenter  was  whist- 
ling by  my  side  at  the  playhouse,  just  before  the  dreary  curtain 
fell !)  Then  we  talked  about  the  death  of  good  Mr.  Richardson, 
the  author  of  "  Pamela  "  and  ''  Clarissa,"  whose  works  we  all 
admired  exceedingly.  And  as  we  talked  about  "  Clarissa,"  my 
wife  took  on  herself  to  wipe  her  eyes  once  or  twice,  and  say, 
faintly,  "  You  know,  my  love,  mamma  and  I  could  never  help 
crying  over  that  dear  book.  Oh,  my  dearest,  dearest  mother  " 
(she  adds),  ''how  I  wish  she  could  be  with  me  now!"  This 
was  an  occasion  for  more  open  tears,  for  of  course  a  young  lady 
may  naturally  weep  for  her  absent  mother.  And  then  we  mixed 
a  gloomy  bowl  with  Jamaica  limes,  and  drank  to  the  health  of 
his  Excellency  the  Governor :  and  then,  for  a  second  toast,  I 
filled  a  bumper,  and,  with  a  smiling  face,  drank  to  "  our  better 
fortune  !  " 


68o  THE   VIRCrNTANS. 

This  was  too  much.  The  two  women  flung  themselves  into 
each  other's  arms,  and  irrigated  each  other's  neck-handkerchiefs 
with  tears.  "  Oh,  Maria  !  Is  not — is  not  my  George  good  and 
kind  ? "  sobs  Theo.  "  Look  at  my  Hagan — how  great,  how 
godhke  he  was  in  his  part  •  "  gasps  Maria.  "  It  was  a  beastly 
cabal  which  threw  him  over — and  I  could  plunge  this  knife  into 
Mr.  Garrick's  black  heart — the  odious  little  wretch  !  "  and  she 
grasps  a  weapon  at  her  side.  But  throwing  it  presently  down, 
the  enthusiastic  creature  rushes  up  to  her  lord  and  master, 
flings  her  arms  round  him,  and  embraces  him  in  the  presence 
of  the  little  company. 

I  am  not  sure  whether  some  one  else  did  not  do  likewise. 
We  were  all  in  a  state  of  extreme  excitement  and  enthusiasm. 
In  the  midst  of  grief.  Love  the  consoler  appears  amongst  us, 
and  soothes  us  with  such  fond  blandishments  and  tender 
caresses,  that  one  scarce  wishes  the  calamity  away.  Two  or 
three  days  afterwards,  on  our  birthday,  a  letter  was  brought  me 
in  my  study,  which  contained  the  following  lines  : — 

FROM  POCAHONTAS. 

Returning  from  the  cruel  fight 

How  pale  and  faint  appears  my  knight! 

He  sees  me  anxious  at  his  side  ; 

"  Why  seek,  my  love,  your  wounds  to  hide? 

Or  deem  your  English  girl  afraid 

To  emulate  the  Indian  maid  ?  " 

Be  mine  my  husband's  grief  to  cheer 
In  peril  to  be  ever  near  ; 
"Whate'er  of  ill  or  woe  betide, 
To  bear  it  clinging  at  his  side  ; 
The  poisoned  stroke  of  fate  to  ward, 
His  bosom  with  my  own  to  guard  ; 
Ah  !  could  it  spare  a  pang  to  his, 
It  could  not  know  a  purer  bliss ! 
'Twould  gladden  as  it  felt  the  smart, 
And  thank  the  hand  that  flung  the  dart ! 

I  do  not  say  the  verses  are  very  good,  but  that  I  like  them 
as  well  as  if  they  were — and  that  the  face  of  the  writer  (whose 
sweet  young  voice  I  fancy  I  can  hear  as  I  hum  the  lines),  when 
I  went  into  her  drawing-room  after  getting  the  letter,  and  when 
I  saw  her  blushing  and  blessing  me — seemed  to  me  more 
beautiful  than  any  I  can  fancy  out  of  heaven. 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  68 1 

CHAPTER  LXXXI. 

RES      ANGUSTA      DOM  I. 

I  HAVE  already  described  my  present  feelings  as  an  elderly 
gentleman,  regarding  that  rash  jump  into  matrimony,  which 
I  persuaded  my  dear  partner  to  take  with  me  when  we  were 
both  scarce  out  of  our  teens.  As  a  man  and  a  father — with  a 
due  sense  of  the  necessity  of  mutton-chops,  and  the  importance 
of  paying  the  baker— with  a  pack  of  rash  children  round  about 
us  who  might  be  running  off  to  Scotland  to-morrow,  and  plead- 
ing papa's  and  mamma's  example  for  their  impertinence,— I 
know  that  I  ought  to  be  very  cautious  in  narrating  this  early 
part  of  the  married  life  of  George  Warrington,  Esquire,  and 
Theodosia  his  wife— to  call  out  mea  culpa,  and  put  on  a  demure 
air,  and  sitting  in  my  comfortable  easy-chair  here,  profess  to  be 
in  a  white  sheet  and  on  the  stool  of  repentance,  offering  myself 
up  as  a  warning  to  imprudent  and  hot-headed  youth. 

But,  truth  to  say,  that  married  life,  regarding  which  my  dear 
relatives  prophesied  so  gloomily,  has  disappointed  all  those 
prudent  and  respectable  people.  It  has  had  its  trials  ;  but  I 
can  remember  them  without  bitterness— its  passionate  griefs, 
of  which  time,  by  God's  kind  ordinance,  has  been  the  benign 
consoler — its  days  of  poverty,  which  we  bore,  who  endured  it, 
to  the  wonder  of  our  sympathizing  relatives  looking  on— its 
precious  rewards  and  blessings,  so  great  that  I  scarce  dare  to 
whisper  them  to  this  page  ;  to  speak  of  them,  save  with  awful 
respect  and  to  One  Ear,  to  which  are  offered  up  the  prayers 
and  thanks  of  all  men.  To  marry  without  a  competence  is 
wrong  and  dangerous,  no  doubt,  and  a  crime  against  our  social 
codes  ;  but  do  not  scores  of  thousands  of  our  fellow-beings 
commit  the  crime  everv  year  with  no  other  trust  but  in  heaven, 
health,  and  their  labor'?  Are  young  people  entering  into  the 
married  life  not  to  take  hope  into  account,  nor  dare  to  begin 
their  housekeeping  until  the  cottage  is  completely  furnished, 
the  cellar  and  larder  stocked,  the  cupboard  full  of  plate,  and 
the  strong  box  of  money  ?  The  increase  and  multiplication  of 
the  world  would  stop,  were  the  laws  which  regulate  the  genteel 
part  of  it  to  be  made  universal.  Our  gentlefolks  tremble  at  the 
brink  in  their  silk  stockings  and  pumps,  and  wait  for  whole 
years,  until  they  find  abridge  or  a  gilt  barge  to  carr)-  them  across; 


682  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

our  poor  do  not  fear  to  wet  their  bare  feet,  plant  them  in  the 
brook,  and  trust  to  fate  and  strength  to  bear  them  over.  Who 
would  like  to  consign  his  datighter  to  poverty  ?  Who  would 
counsel  his  son  to  undergo  the  countless  risks  of  poor  married 
life,  to  remove  the  beloved  girl  from  comfort  and  competence, 
and  subject  her  to  debt,  misery,  privation,  friendliness,  sick- 
ness, and  the  hundred  gloomy  consequences  of  the  7'es  afigusta 
do77ii  ?  I  look  at  my  own  wife  and  ask  her  pardon  for  having 
imposed  a  task  so  fraught  with  pain  and  danger  upon  one  so 
gentle.  I  think  of  the  trials  she  endured,  and  am  thankful  for 
them  and  for  that  unfailing  love  and  constancy  with  which  God 
blessed  her  and  strengthened  her  to  bear  them  all.  On  this 
question  of  marriage,  I  am  not  a  fair  judge  :  my  own  was  so 
imprudent  and  has  been  so  happy,  that  I  must  not  dare  to  give 
young  people  counsel.  I  have  endured  poverty,  but  scarcely 
ever  found  it  otherwise  than  tolerable  :  had  I  not  undergone  it, 
I  never  could  have  known  the  kindness  of  friends,  the  delight 
of  gratitude,  the  surprising  joys  and  consolations  which  some- 
times accompany  the  scanty  meal  and  narrow  fire,  and  cheer  the 
long  day's  labor.  This  at  least  is  certain,  in  respect  of  the  lot 
of  the  decent  poor,  that  a  great  deal  of  superfluous  pity  is  often 
thrown  away  upon  it.  Good-natured  fine  folks,  who  sometimes 
stepped  out  of  the  sunshine  of  their  riches  into  our  narrow 
obscurity,  were  blinded  as  it  were,  whilst  we  could  see  quite 
cheerfully  and  clearly  :  they  stumbled  over  obstacles  which  were 
none  to  us  :  they  were  surprised  at  the  resignation  with  which 
we  drank  small  beer,  and  that  we  could  heartily  say  grace  over 
such  very  cold  mutton. 

The  good  General,  my  father-in-law,  had  married  his  Molly, 
when  he  was  a  subaltern  of  a  foot  regiment,  and  had  a  purse 
scarce  better  filled  than  my  own.  They  had  had  their  ups  and 
downs  of  fortune.  I  think  (though  my  wife  will  never  confess  to 
this  point)  they  had  married,  as  people  could  do  in  their  young 
time,  without  previously  asking  Papa's  and  Mamma's  leave.* 
At  all  events,  they  were  so  well  pleased  with  their  own  good 
luck  in  matrimony,  that  they  did  not  grudge  their  children's, 
and  were  by  no  means  frightened  at  the  idea  of  any  little  hard- 
ships which  we  in  the  course  of  our  married  life  might  be  called 
upon  to  undergo.  And  I  suppose  when  I  made  my  own  pecuni- 
ary statements  to  Mr.  Lambert,  I  was  anxious  to  deceive  both 
of  us.  Believing  me  to  be  master  of  a  couple  of  thousand 
pounds,  he  went  to  Jamaica   quite  easy  in  his   mind  as   to  his 

*The  editor  has  looked  through  Burn's  Registers  of  Fleet  Marriages  without  finding  the 
names  of  Martin  Lambert  and  Mary  Benson. 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  (^Z^ 

darling  daughter's  comfort  and  maintenance,  at  least  for  some 
years  to  come.  After  paying  the  expenses  of  his  family's 
outfit  the  worthy  man  went  away  not  much  richer  than  his 
son-in-law :  and  a  few  trinkets,  and  some  lace  of  Aunt 
Lambert's,  with  twenty  new  guineas,  in  a  purse  which  her 
mother  and  sisters  made  for  her,  were  my  Theo's  marriage  por- 
tion. But  in  valuing  my  stock,  I  chose  to  count  as  a  good  debt 
a  sum  which  my  honored  mother  never  could  be  got  to  acknowl- 
edge up  to  the  day  when  the  resolute  old  lady  was  called  to 
pay  the  last  debt  of  all.  The  sums  I  had  disbursed  for  her, 
she  urged,  were  spent  for  the  improvement  and  maintenance  of 
the  estate  which  was  to  be  mine  at  her  decease.  What  money 
she  could  spare  was  to  be  for  my  poor  brother,  who  had  noth- 
ing, who  would  never  have  spent  his  own  means  had  he  not 
imagined  himself  to  be  sole  heir  of  the  Virginian  property,  as  he 
would  have  been — the  good  lady  took  care  to  emphasize  this 
point  in  many  of  her  letters — but  for  a  half-hour's  accident  of 
birth.  He  was  now  distinguishing  himself  in  the  service  of  his 
king  and  country.  To  purchase  his  promotion  was  his  mother's, 
she  should  suppose  his  brother's  duty  !  When  I  had  finished 
my  bar-studies  and  my  dramatic  amusements^  Madam  Esmond 
informed  me  that  I  was  welcome  to  return  home  and  take  that 
place  in  our  colony  to  which  my  birth  entitled  me.  This  state- 
ment, she  communicated  to  me  more  than  ©nee  through  Moun- 
tain, and  before  the  news  of  my  marriage  had  reached  her. 

There  is  no  need  to  recall  her  expressions  of  maternal 
indignation  when  she  was  informed  of  the  step  I  had  taken. 
On  the  pacification  of  Canada,  my  dear  Harry  asked  for  leave 
of  absence,  and  dutifully  paid  a  visit  to  Virginia.  He  wrote, 
describing  his  reception  at  home,  and  the  splendid  entertain- 
ments which  my  mother  made  in  honor  of  her  son.  Castle- 
wood,  which  she  had  not  inhabited  since  our  departure  for 
Europe,  was  thrown  open  again  to  our  friends  of  the  colony  ; 
and  the  friend  of  Wolfe,  and  the  soldier  of  Quebec,  was  received 
by  all  our  acquaintance  with  every  becoming  honor.  Some 
dismal  quarrels,  to  be  sure,  ensued,  because  my  brother  per- 
sisted in  maintaining  his  friendship  with  Colonel  Washington, 
of  Mount  Vernon,  whose  praises  Harry  never  was  tired  of  sing- 
ing. Indeed  I  allow  the  gentlenian  every  virtue  ;  and  in  the 
struggles  which  terminated  so  fatally  for  England  a  few  years 
since,  I  can  admire  as  well  as  his  warmest  friends,  General 
Washington's  glorious  constancy  and  success. 

If  these  battles  between  Harr}'  and  our  mother  were  fre- 
quent, as,  in  his  letters,  he  described  them  to  be,  I  wondered, 


684 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


for  my  part,  why  he  should  continue  at  home  ?  One  reason 
naturally  suggested  itself  to  my  mind,  which  I  scarcely  liked  to 
communicate  to  Mrs.  Warrington  ;  for  we  had  both  talked  over 
our  dear  little  Hetty's  romantic  attachment  for  my  brother,  and 
wondered  that  he  had  never  discovered  it.  I  need  not  say,  I 
suppose,  that  my  gentleman  had  found  some  young  lady  at 
home  more  to  his  taste  than  our  dear  Hester,  and  hence 
acounted  for  his  prolonged  stay  in  Virginia. 

Presently  there  came,  in  a  letter  from  him,  not  a  full  con- 
fession but  an  admission  of  this  interesting  fact.  A  person  was 
described,  not  named — a  Being  all  beauty  and  perfection,  like 
other  young  ladies  under  similar  circumstances.  ]\Iy  wife  asked 
to  see  the  letter  :  I  could  not  help  showing  it,  and  handed  it  to 
her,  with  a  very  sad  face.  To  my  surprise  she  read  it,  without 
exhibiting  any  corresponding  sorrow  of  her  own. 

"  I  have  thought  of  this  before,  my  love,"  I  said.  "  I  feel 
with  you  for  your  disappoiiitment  regarding  poor  Hetty." 

"  Ah  !  poor  Hetty,"  says  Theo,  looking  down  at  the  carpet. 

"  It  would  never  have  done,"  says  I. 

"  No — they  would  not  have  been  happy,"  sighs  Theo. 

"  How  strange  he  never  should  have  found  out  her  secret  ! " 
I  continued. 

She  looked  me  full  in  the  face  with  an  odd  expression. 

"  Pray,  what  does  that  look  mean  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Nothing,  my  dear — nothing  !  only  I  am  not  surprised  !  " 
says  Theo,  blushing. 

"What"  I  ask,  ''can  there  be  another?" 

"  I  am  sure  I  never  said  so,  George,"  says  the  lady,  hur- 
riedly. "  But  if  Hetty  has  overcome  her  childish  folly,  ought 
we  not  all  to  be  glad  t  Do  you  gentlemen  suppose  that  you 
only  are  to  fall  in  love  and  grow  tired,  indeed  1  " 

"  What !  "  I  say,  with  a  strange  commotion  of  my  mind. 
"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,  Theo,  that  you  ever  cared  for  any  one 
but  me  ?  ■' 

"  Oh,  George,"  she  whimpers,  "  when  I  was  at  school,  there 
was — there  was  one  of  the  boys  of  Doctor  Backhouse's  school, 
who  sat  in  the  loft  next  to  us ;  and  I  thought  he  had  lovely 
eyes,  and  I  was  so  shocked  when  I  recognized  him  behind  the 
counter  at  Mr.  Grigg  the  mercer's,  when  I  went  to  buy  a  cloak 
for  bab}^,  and  I  wanted  to  tell  you,  my  dear,  and  I  didn't  know 
how  !  " 

I  went  to  see  this  creature  with  the  lovely  eyes,  having 
made  my  wife  describe  the  fellow's  dress  to  me,  and  I  saw  a 
little  bandv-leo:2;ed  wretch  in  a  blue  camlet  coat,  with   his  red 


't>t>' 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


685 


hair  tied  with  a  dirty  ribbon,  about  whom  I  forbore  generously 
even  to  reproach  my  wife  ;  nor  will  she  ever  know  that  I  have 
looked  at  the  fellow,  until  she  reads  the  confession  in  this  page. 
If  our  wdves  saw  us  as  we  are,  I  thought,  would  they  love  us  as 
they  do  ?  Are  we  as  much  mistaken  in  them  as  they  in  us  ?  I 
look  into  one  candid  face  at  least,  and  think  it  never  has 
deceived  me. 

Lest  I  should  encourage  my  young  people  to  an  imitation 
of  my  own  imprudence,  I  wdll  not  tell  them  wdth  how  small  a 
capital  Mrs.  Theo  and  I  commenced  life.  The  unfortunate 
tragedy  brought  us  nothing ;  though  the  reviewers,  since  its 
publication  of  late,  have  spoken  not  unfavorably  as  to  its 
merits,  and  Mr.  Kemble  himself  has  done  me  the  honor  to 
commend  it.  Our  kind  friend  Lord  Wrotham  was  for  having 
the  piece  published  by  subscription,  and  sent  me  a  bank-note, 
with  a  request  that  I  would  let  him  have  a  hundred  copies  for 
his  friends  ;  but  I  was  always  averse  to  that  method  of  levying 
money,  and  preferring  my  poverty  sine,  dote,  locked  up  my 
manuscript,  with  my  poor  girl's  verses  inserted  at  the  first  page. 
I  know  not  why  the  piece  should  have  given  such  offence  at 
court,  except  for  the  fact  that  an  actor  who  had  run  off  with  an 
earl's  daughter  performed  a  principal  part  in  the  play  ;  but  I 
was  told  that  sentiments  which  I  had  put  into  the  mouths  of 
some  of  the  Indian  characters  (who  were  made  to  declaim 
against  ambition,  the  British  desire  of  rule,  and  so  forth),  were 
pronounced  dangerous  and  unconstitutional ;  so  that  the  little 
hope  of  royal  favor  wdiich  I  might  have  had,  was  quite  taken 
away  from  me. 

What  was  to  be  done  ?  A  few  months  after  the  failure  of 
the  tragedy,  as  I  counted  up  the  remains  of  my  fortune  (the 
calculation  was  not  long  or  difficult),  I  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  I  must  beat  a  retreat  out  of  my  pretty  apartments  in 
Bloomsbury,  and  so  gave  warning  to  our  good  landlady,  inform- 
ing her  that  my  wife's  health  required  that  w^e  should  have 
lodgings  in  the  country.  But  we  went  no  farther  than  Lambeth, 
our  faithful  Gumbo  and  Molly  following  us  :  and  here,  though 
as  poor  as  might  be,  we  were  w^aited  on  by  a  maid  and  a  lackey 
in  livery,  like  any  folks  of  condition.  You  may  be  sure  kind 
relatives  cried  out  against  our  extravagance  ;  indeed,  are  they 
not  the  people  who  find  out  our  faults  for  us,  and  proclaim 
them  to  the  rest  of  the  world  1 

Returning  home  from  London  one  day,  whither  I  had  been 
on  a  visit  to  some  booksellers,  I  recognized  the  family  arms  and 
livery  on  a  grand  gilt  chariot  which  stood  before  a  public-house 


6S6  THE   VIRGINIA iXS. 

near  to  our  lodgings.  A  few  loitering  inhabitants  were  gathered 
round  the  splendid  vehicle,  and  looking  with  awe  at  the  footmen, 
resplendent  in  the  sun,  and  quaffing  blazing  pots  of  beer.  I 
found  my  Lady  Castlewood  sitting  opposite  to  my  wife  in  our 
little  apartment  (whence  we  had  a  very  bright,  pleasant  prospect 
of  the  river,  covered  with  barges  and  wherries,  and  the  ancient 
towers  and  trees  of  the  Archbishop's  palace  and  garden),  and 
Mrs.  Theo,  who  has  a  very  droll  way  of  describing  persons  and 
scenes,  narrated  to  me  all  the  particulars  of  her  ladyship's 
conversation,  when  she  took  her  leave. 

"  I  have  been  here  this  ever-so-long,"  sa3'S  the  Countess, 
"gossipping  with  Cousin  Theo,  while  you  have  been  away  at 
the  coffee-house,  I  dare  say,  making  merry  with  your  friends, 
and  drinking  your  punch  and  coffee.  Guess  she  must  find  it 
rather  lonely  here,  with  nothing  to  do  but  work  them  little  caps 
and  hem  them  frocks.  Never  mind,  dear;  reckon  you'll  soon 
have  a  companion  who  will  amuse  you  when  Cousin  George  is 
away  at  his  coffee-house  !  What  a  nice  lodging  you  have  got 
here,  I  do  declare  !  Our  new  house  which  we  have  took  is 
twenty  times  as  big,  and  covered  with  gold  from  top  to  bottom  : 
but  I  like  this  quite  as  well.  Bless  you  !  being  rich  is  no  better 
than  being  poor.  When  we  lived  to  Albany,  and  I  did  most  all 
the  work  myself,  scoured  the  rooms,  biled  the  kettle,  helped  the 
wash,  and  all,  I  was  just  as  happy  as  I  am  now.  We  only  had 
one  old  negro  to  keep  the  store.  Why  don't  you  sell  Gumbo, 
Cousin  George  ?  He  ain't  no  use  here  idling  and  dawdling 
about,  and  making  love  to  the  servant-girl.  Fogh  !  guess  they 
ain't  particular,  these  English  people  !  "  So  she  talked,  rattling 
on  with  perfect  good  humor,  until  her  hour  for  departure  came ; 
when  she  produced  a  fine  repeating  watch,  and  said  it  was  time 
for  her  to  pay  a  call  upon  her  Majesty  at  Buckingham  House. 
"And  mind  you  come  to  us,  George,"  says  her  ladyship,  waving 
a  little  parting  hand  out  of  the  gilt  coach.  "  Theo  and  I  have 
settled  all  about  it." 

''  Here,  at  least,"  said  I,  when  the  laced  footmen  had 
clambered  up  behind  the  carriage,  and  our  magnificent  little 
patroness  had  left  us  ; — "  here  is  one  who  is  not  afraid  of  our 
poverty,  nor  ashamed  to  remember  her  own." 

"Ashamed!"  said  Theo,  resuming  her  lilliputian  needle- 
work. "  To  do  her  justice,  she  would  make  herself  at  home  in 
any  kitchen  or  palace  in  the  world.  She  has  given  me  and 
Molly  twenty  lessons  in  housekeeping.  She  says,  when  she  was 
at  home  to  Albany,  she  roasted,  baked,  swept  the  house,  and 
milked  the  cow."     (Madam  Theo  iDronounced  the  word  cow 


THE   VTRGINIANS.  687 

archly  in  our  American  way,  and  imitated  her  ladyship's  accent 
very  divertingly.) 

"  And  she  has  no  pride,"  I  added.  "  It  was  good-natured 
of  her  to  ask  us  to  dine  with  her  and  my  lord.  When  will 
Uncle  Warrington  ever  think  of  offering  us  a  crust  again,  or  a 
glass  of  his  famous  beer?  " 

"  Yes  it  was  not  ill-natured  to  invite  us,"  says  Theo,  slyly. 
"  But,  my  dear,  you  don't  know  all  the  conditions  !  "  And  then 
my  wife,  still  imitating  the  Countess's  manner,  laughingly  in- 
formed me  what  these  conditions  were.  "  She  took  out  her 
pocket-book,  and  told  me,"  says  Theo,  "  what  days  she  was 
engaged  abroad  and  at  home.  On  Monday  she  received  a  Duke 
and  a  Duchess,  with  several  other  members  of  my  lord's  house, 
and  their  ladies.  On  Tuesday  came  more  earls,  two  bishops, 
and  an  ambassador.  '  Of  course  you  won't  come  on  them 
days  ? '  says  the  Countess.  '  Now  you  are  so  poor,  you  know 
that  fine  company  ain't  no  good  for  you.  Lord  bless  you ! 
father  never  dines  on  our  company  days !  he  don't  like  it ;  he 
takes  a  bit  of  cold  meat  anyways.'  On  which,"  says  Theo, 
laughing,  "  I  told  her  that  Mr.  Warrington  did  not  care  for  any 
but  the  best  of  company,  and  proposed  that  she  should  ask  us 
on  some  day  when  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  dined  with 
her,  and  his  Grace  must  give  us  a  lift  home  in  his  coach  to 
Lambeth.  And  she  is  an  economical  little  person,  too,"  con- 
tinues Theo.  "  '  I  thought  of  bringing  with  me  some  of  my 
baby's  caps  and  things,  which  his  lordship  has  outgrown  'em, 
but  they  may  be  wanted  again,  you  know,  my  dear.'  And  so 
we  lose  that  addition  to  our  wardrobe,"  says  Theo,  smiling, 
"  and  Molly  and  I  must  do  our  best  without  her  ladyship's 
charity.  '  When  people  are  poor,  they  are  poor,'  the  Countess 
said,  with  her  usual  outspokenness,  '  and  must  get  on  the  best 
they  can.  What  we  shall  do  for  that  poor  Maria,  goodness  only 
knows  !  we  can't  ask  her  to  see  us  as  we  can  you,  though  you 
are  so  poor  :  but  an  earl's  daughter  to  marry  a  play-actor  !  La, 
my  dear,  it's  dreadful  :  his  Majesty  and  the  Princess  have 
both  spoken  of  it !  Every  other  noble  family  in  this  kingdom 
as  has  ever  heard  of  it  pities  us  ;  though  I  have  a  plan  for 
helping  those  poor  unhappy  people,  and  have  sent  down  Simons, 
my  groom  of  the  chambers,  to  tell  them  on  it,'  This  plan  was, 
that  Hagan,  who  had  kept  almost  all  his  terms  at  Dublin  Col- 
lege, should  return  thither  and  take  his  degree,  and  enter  into 
holy  orders,  '  when  we  will  provide  him  with  a  chaplaincy  at 
home,  you  know,'  Lady  Castlewood  added."  And  I  may  men 
tion  here,  that  this  benevolent  plan  was  executed   a  score  of 


688  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

months  later ;  when  I  was  enabled  myself  to  be  of  service  to 
Mr.  Hagan,  who  was  one  of  the  kindest  and  best  of  our  friends 
during  our  own  time  of  want  and  distress.  Castlewood  then 
executed  his  promise  loyally  enough,  got  orders  and  a  colonial 
appointment  for  Hagan,  who  distinguished  himself  both  as 
soldier  and  preacher,  as  we  shall  presently  hear ;  but  not  a 
guinea  did  his  lordship  spare  to  aid  either  his  sister  or  his  kins- 
man in  their  trouble.  I  never  asked  him,  thank  heaven,  to  assist 
me  in  my  own  ;  though,  to  do  him  justice,  no  man  could  express 
himself  more  amiably,  and  with  a  joy  which  I  believe  was  quite 
genuine,  wdien  my  days  of  poverty  were  ended. 

As  for  my  uncle  Warrington,  and  his  virtuous  wife  and 
daughters,  let  ^me  do  them  justice  likewise,  and  declare  that 
throughout  my  period  of  trial,  their  sorrow"  at  my  poverty  was 
consistent  and  unvaryinn  ?  I  still  had  a  few  acquaintances  who 
saw  them,  and  of  course  (as  friends  will)  brought  me  a  report  of 
their  opinions  and  conversation  ;  and  I  never  could  hear  that 
my  relatives  had  uttered  one  single  good  word  about  me  or  my 
wife.  They  spoke  even  of  my  tragedy  as  a  crime — I  was  accus- 
tomed to  hear  that  sufficiently  maligned — of  the  author  as  a 
miserable  reprobate,  for  ever  reeling  about  Grub  Street,  in  rags 
and  squalor.  They  held  me  out  no  hand  of  help.  J\Iy  poor 
wife  might  cry  in  her  pain,  but  they  had  no  twopence  to  bestow 
upon  her.  They  went  to  church  a  half  dozen  times  in  the  week. 
They  subscribed  to  many  public  charities.  Their  tribe  was 
known  eighteen  hundred  years  ago,  and  will  flourish  as  long  as 
men  endure.  They  will  still  thank  heaven  that  they  are  not  as 
other  folks  are  :  and  leave  the  wounded  and  miserable  to  other 
succor. 

I  don't  care  to  recall  the  dreadful  doubts  and  anxieties 
which  began  to  beset  me  ;  the  plan  after  plan  which  I  tried, 
and  in  which  I  failed,  for  procuring  work  and  adding  to  our 
dwindling  stock  of  money.  I  bethought  me  of  my  friend  Mr. 
Johnson,  and  when  I  think  of  the  eager  kindness  with  which  he 
received  me,  am  ashamed  of  some  pert  speeches  which  I  own 
to  have  made  regarding  his  manners  and  behavior.  I  told  my 
story  and  difficulties  to  him,  the  circumstance  of  my  marriage, 
and  the  prospects  before  me.  He  would  not  for  a  moment 
admit  they  were  gloomy,  or,  si  male  7iimc,  that  they  would  con- 
tinue to  be  so.  I  had  before  me  the  chances,  certainly  very 
slender,  of  a  place  in  England ;  the  inheritance  which  must  be 
mine  in  the  course  of  nature,  or  at  any  rate  would  fall  to  the 
heir  I  was  expecting.  I  had  a  small  stock  of  money  for  present 
actual  necessity — a  possibility,  "  though,  to  be  free   with  you, 


THE  VIRGINIANS.  689 

sir"  (says  he),  "  after  the  performance  of  your  tragedy,  I  doubt 
whether  nature  has  endowed  you  with  those  pecuHar  quaUties 
which  are  necessary  for  achieving  a  remarkable  literary  success" 
— and  finally  a  submission  to  the  maternal  rule,  and  a  return 
to  Virginia,  where  plenty  and  a  home  were  always  ready  for 
me.  "  Why,  sir  !  "  he  cried,  "  such  a  sum  as  you  mention  would 
have  been  a  fortune  to  me  when  1  began  the  world,  and  my 
friend  Mr.  Goldsmith  would  set  up  a  coach  and  six  on  it.  With 
youth,  hope,  to-day,  and  a  couple  of  hundred  pounds  in  cash — 
no  young  fellow  need  despair.  Think,  sir,  you  have  a  year  at 
least  before  you,  and  who  knows  what  may  chance  between  now 
and  then.  Why,  sir,  your  relatives  here  may  provide  for  you,  or 
you  may  succeed  to  your  Virginian  property,  or  you  may  come 
into  a  fortune  !  "  I  did  not  in  the  course  of  that  year,  but  he 
did.  My  Lord  Bute  gave  Mr.  Johnson  a  pension,  which  set 
all  Grub  Street  in  a  fury  against  the  recipient,  who,  to  be  sure, 
had  published  his  own  not  very  flattering  opinion  upon  pen- 
sions and  pensioners. 

Nevertheless,  he  did  not  altogether  discourage  my  literary 
projects,  promised  to  procure  me  work  from  the  booksellers, 
and  faithfully  performed  that  kind  promise.  "  But,"  says  he, 
"  sir,  you  must  not  appear  amongst  them  in  for?nd  pauperis. 
Have  you  never  a  friend's  coach  in  which  we  can  ride  to  see 
them  ?  You  must  put  on  your  best-laced  hat  and  waistcoat ; 
and  we  must  appear,  sir,  as  if  you  were  doing  the7?t  a  favor." 
This  stratagem  answered,  and  procured  me  respect  enough  at 
the  first  visit  or  two  :  but  when  the  booksellers  knew  that  I 
wanted  to  be  paid  for  my  work,  their  backs  refused  to  bend  any 
more,  and  they  treated  me  with  a  familiarity  which  I  could  ill 
stomach.  I  overheard  one  of  them,  who  had  been  a  footman, 
say,  "  Oh,  it's  Pocahontas,  is  it  ?  let  him  wait."  And  he  told 
his  boy  to  say  as  much  to  me.  "  Wait,  sir  !  "  says  I,  fuming 
with  rage  and  putting  my  head  into  his  parlor.  "  I  am  not 
accustomed  to  waiting,  but  I  have  heard  you  are."  And  I  strode 
out  of  the  shop  into  Pall  Mall  in  a  mighty  fluster. 

And  yet  Mr.  D.  was  in  the  right.  I  came  to  him,  if  not  to 
ask  a  favor,  at  any  rate  to  propose  a  bargain,  and  surely  it  was 
my  business  to  wait  his  time  and  convenience.  In  more  for- 
tunate days  I  asked  the  gentleman's  pardon,  and  the  kind 
author  of  the  '■  Muse  in  Livery  ''  was  instantly  appeased. 

I  was  more  prudent,  or  Mr.  Johnson  more  fortunate,  in  an 
application  elsewhere,  and  Mr.  Johnson  procured  me  a  little 
work  from  the  booksellers  in  translating  from  foreign  languages, 
of  which  I  happen  to  know  two  or    three.     By  a  hard  day's 

44 


690  THE  VIRGINIANS. 

labor  I  could  earn  a  few  shillings  ;  so  few  that  a  week's  work 
would  hardly  bring  me  a  guinea  ;  and  that  was  flung  to  me  with 
insolent  patronage  by  the  low  hucksters  who  employed  me.  I 
can  put  my  finger  upon  two  or  three  magazine-articles  written 
at  this  period,*  and  paid  for  with  a  few  wretched  shillings,  which 
papers  as  I  read  them  aw^aken  in  me  the  keenest  pangs  of  bitter 
remembrance.  I  recall  the  doubts  and  fears  which  agitated 
me,  see  the  dear  wife  nursing  her  infant  and  looking  up  into  my 
face  with  hypocritical  smiles  that  vainly  \.Ty  to  mask  her  alarm  : 
the  w^ounds  under  which  I  smarted,  re-open.  There  are  some 
acts  of  injustice  committed  against  me  which  I,  don't  know  how 
to  forgive  ;  and  which,  whenever  I  think  of  them,  awaken  in  me 
the  same  feelings  of  revolt  and  indignation.  The  gloom  and 
darkness  gather  over  me — till  they  are  relieved  by  a  reminis- 
cence of  that  love  and  tenderness  which  through  all  gloom  and 
darkness  have  been  my  light  and  consolation. 


CHAPTER    LXXXIL 

MILES'S    MOIDORE. 


Little  Miles  made  his  appearance  in  this  world  within  a 
few  days  of  the  gracious  Prince  who  commands  his  regiment. 
Illuminations  and  cannonading  saluted  the  royal  George's  birth, 
multitudes  were  admitted  to  see  him  as  he  lay  behind  a  gilt 
railing  at  the  Palace  with  noble  nurses  watching  over  him. 
Few  nurses  guarded  the  cradle  of  our  little  Prince :  no  cour- 
tiers, no  faithful  retainers  saluted  it,  except  our  trusty  Gumbo 
and  kind  Molly,  who  to  be  sure  loved  and  admired  the  little 
heir  of  my  poverty  as  loyally  as  our  hearts  could  desire.  Why 
was  our  boy  not  named  George  like  the  other  paragon  just 
mentioned,  and  like  his  father  ?  I  gave  him  the  name  of  a  little 
scapegrace   of  my  family,  a  name  which  many  generations  of 

*  Mr.  George  Warringtor,  of  the  Upper  Temple,  says  he  remembers  a  book,  containing 
his  grandfather's  book-plate,  in  which  were  pasted  various  extracts  from  reviews  and  news- 
papers in  an  old  type,  and  lettered  outside  Les  cJuii7ies  de  I'Esciavage.  These  were  no 
doubt  the  contributions  above  mentioned  ;  but  the  volume  has  not  been  found,  either  in  the 
town-house  or  in  the  library  at  Warrington  Manor.  The  editor,  by  the  way,  is  not  answer- 
able for  a  certain  inconsistency,  wliich  may  be  remarked  in  the  narrative.  The  writer  says, 
p.  3ig,  that  he  speaks  "without  bitterness"  of  past  times,  and  presently  falls  into  a  fury 
with  them.  The  same  manner  of  forgiving  our  enemies  is  not  uncommon  in  the  present 
century. 


THE   VIRGIiVIANS.  691 

VVarringtons  ,had  borne  likewise ;  but  my  poor  little  Miles's 
love  and  kindness  touched  me  at  a  time  when  kindness  and 
love  w^ere  rare  from  those  of  my  own  blood,  and  Theo  and  I 
agreed  that  our  child  should  be  called  after  that  single  little 
friend  of  my  paternal  race. 

We  wrote  to  acquaint  our  royal  parents  wdth  the  auspicious 
event,  and  bravely  inserted  the  child's  birth  in  the  Daily  Ad- 
vertiser^ and  the  place.  Church  Street,  Lambeth,  where  he  was 
born.  "  My  dear,"  says  Aunt  Bernstein,  waiting  to  me  in 
reply  to  my  announcement,  "  how  could  you  point  out  to  all 
the  world  that  you  live  in  such  a  trou  as  that  in  which  you  have 
buried  yourself  ?  I  kiss  the  little  mamma,  and  send  a  remem- 
brance for  the  child."  This  remembrance  w^as  a  fine  silk 
coverlid,  with  a  lace  edging  fit  for  a  prince.  It  was  not  very 
useful :  the  price  of  the  lace  w^ould  have  served  us  much  better, 
but  Theo  and  Molly  were  delighted  with  the  present,  and  my 
eldest  son's  cradle  had  a  cover  as  fine  as  any  nobleman's. 

Good  Dr.  Heberden  came  over  several  times  to  visit  my 
wife,  and  see  that  all  things  went  well.  He  knew  and  recom- 
mended to  us  a  surgeon  in  the  vicinage,  who  took  charge  of 
her :  luckily,  my  dear  patient  needed  little  care,  beyond  that 
which  our  landlady  and  her  own  trusty  attendant  could  readily 
afford  her.  Again  our  humble  precinct  was  adorned  with  the 
gilded  apparition  of  Lady  Castlewood's  chariot  w^heels  ;  she 
brought  a  pot  of  jelly,  w^hich  she  thought  Theo  might  like,  and 
which,  no  doubt,  had  been  served  at  one  of  her  ladyship's  ban- 
quets on  a  previous  day.  And  she  told  us  of  all  the  ceremonies 
at  Court,  and  of  the  splendor  and  festivities  attending  the  birth 
of  the  august  heir  to  the  crowm.  Our  good  Mr.  Johnson  hap- 
pened to  pay  me  a  visit  on  one  of  those  days  when  my  lady 
countess's  carriage  flamed  up  to  our  little  gate.  He  w^as  not  a 
little  struck  by  her  magnificence,  and  made  her  some  bows, 
which  w^ere  more  respectful  than  graceful.  She  called  me 
cousin  very  affably,  and  helped  to  transfer  the  present  of  jelly 
from  her  silver  dish  into  our  crockery  pan  with  much  benig- 
nity. The  Doctor  tasted  the  sweetmeat,  and  pronounced  it  to 
be  excellent.  "  The  great,  sir,"  said  he,  "  are  fortunate  in 
every  way.  They  can  engage  the  most  skilful  practitioners  of 
the  culinary  art,  as  they  can  assemble  the  most  arriable  wits 
round  their  table.  If,  as  you  think,  sir,  and,  from  the  appear- 
ance of  the  dish,  your  suggestion  at  least  is  plausible,  this 
sweetmeat  may  have  appeared  already  at  his  lordship's  table,  it 
has  been  there  in  good  company.  It  has  quivered  under  the 
eyes  of  celebrated  beauties,  it  has  been  tasted  by  ruby  lips,  it 


692 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


has  divided  the  attention  of  the  distinguished  company,  with 
fruits,  tarts,  and  creams,  which  I  make  no  doubt  were  like 
itself,  deHcious."  And  so  saying,  the  good  Doctor  absorbed  a 
considerable  portion  of  Lady  Castlewood's  benefaction  ;  though 
as  regards  the  epithet  delicious  I  am  bound  to  say,  that  my 
poor  wife,  after  tasting  the  jelly,  put  it  away  from  her  as  not  to 
her  liking ;  and  Molly,  flinging  up  her  head,  declared  it  was 
mouldy. 

]\Iy  boy  enjoyed  at  least  the  privilege  of  having  an  earl's 
daughter  for  his  godmother ;  for  this  office  was  performed  by 
his  cousin,  our  poor  Lady  Maria,  whose  kindness  apd  attention 
to  the  mother  and  the  infant  were  beyond  all  praise ;  and  who, 
having  lost  her  own  solitary  chance  for  maternal  happiness, 
yearned  over  our  child  in  a  manner  not  a  little  touching  to 
behold.  Captain  Miles  is  a  mighty  fine  gentleman,  and  his 
uniforms  of  the  Prince's  Hussars,  as  splendid  as  any  that  ever 
bedizened  a  soldier  of  fashion  ;  but  he  hath  too  good  a  heart, 
and  is, too  true  a  gentleman,  let  us  trust,  not  to  be  thankful  when 
he  remembers  that  his  own  infant  limbs  were  dressed  in  some 
of  the  little  garments  which  had  been  prepared  for  the  poor 
player's  child.  Sampson  christened  him  in  that  very  chapel  in 
Southwark,  where  our  marriage  ceremony  had  been  performed. 
Never  were  the  words  of  the  Prayer-book  more  beautifully  and 
impressively  read  than  by  the  celebrant  of  the  service  \  except 
at  its  end,  when  his  voice  failed  him,  and  he  and  the  rest  of  the 
little  congregation  were  fain  to  wipe  their  eyes.  "  Mr.  Garrick 
himself,  sir,"  said  Hagan,  "could  not  have  read  those  words  so 
nobly.  I  am  sure  little  innocent  never  entered  the  world 
accompanied  by  wishes  and  benedictions  more  tender  and 
sincere." 

And  now  I  have  not  told  how  it  chanced  that  the  Captain 
came  by  his  name  of  Miles.  A  couple  of  days  before  his 
christening,  when  as  yet  I  believe  it  was  intended  that  our  first- 
born should  bear  his  father's  name,  a  little  patter  of  horse's 
hoofs  comes  galloping  up  to  our  gate  ;  and  who  should  pull  at 
the  bell  but  young  IMiles,  our  cousin  ?  I  feared  he  had  dis- 
obeyed his  parents  when  he  galloped  away  on  that  undutiful 
journey. 

''  You  know,"  says  he,  "  Cousin  Harr)"  gave  me  my  little 
horse  :  and  I  can't  help  liking  you,  because  you  are  so  like 
Harry,  and  because  they  are  always  saying  things  of  you  at 
home,  and  it's  a  shame  :  and  I  have  brought  my  whistle  and 
coral  that  my  godmamma  Lady  Suckling  gave  me,  for  your 
little    boy  j  and  if  you're   so  poor.  Cousin  George,  here's  my 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  693 

gold  moiclore,  and  it's  worth  ever  so  much,  and  it's  no  use  to 
me,  because  I  mayn't  spend  it,  you  know." 

We  took  the  boy  up  to  Theo  in  her  room  (he  mounted  the 
stairs  in  his  little  tramping  boots,  of  which  he  was  very  proud)  ; 
and  Theo  kissed  him,  and  thanked  him  ;  and  his  moidore  has 
been  in  her  purse  from  that  clay. 

My  mother,  writing  through  lier  ambassador  as  usual,  in- 
formed me  of  her  royal  surprise  and  displeasure  on  learning 
that  my  son  had  been  christened  Miles — a  name  not  known,  at 
least  in  the  Esmond  famil3^  I  did  not  care  to  tell  the  reason 
at  the  time  ;  but  when,  in  after  years,  I  told  Madam  Esmond 
how  my  boy  came  by  his  name,  I  saw  a  tear  roll  down  her 
wrinkled  cheek,  and  I  heard  afterwards  that  she  had  asked 
Gumbo  many  questions  about  the  boy  who  gave  his  name  to 
our  Miles  ;  our  Miles  Gloriosus  of  Pall  Mall,  Valenciennes, 
Almack's,  Brighton. 


CHAPTER  LXXXIII. 

TROUBLES    AND    CONSOLATIONS. 

In  our  early  days  at  home,  when  Harry  and  I  used  to  be  so 
undutiful  to  our  tutor,  who  would  have  thought  that  Mr. 
Esmond  Warrington  of  Virginia  would  turn  Bear-leader  him- 
self 1  My  mother  (when  we  came  together  again)  never  could 
be  got  to  speak  directly  of  this  period  of  my  life  ;  but  would 
allude  to  it  as  "  that  terrible  time,  my  love,  which  I  can't  bear 
to  think  of,"  "  those  dreadful  years  when  there  was  difference 
between  us,"  and  so  forth,  and  though  my  pupil,  a  worthy  and 
grateful  man,  sent  me  out  to  Jamestown  several  barrels  of  that 
liquor  by  which  his  great  fortune  was  made.  Madam  Esmond 
spoke  of  him  as  "your  friend  in  England,"  "your  wealthy 
Lambeth  friend,"  t&c,  but  never  by  his  name  ;  nor  did  she  ever 
taste  a  drop  of  his  beer.  We  brew  our  own  too  at  Warrington 
Manor,  but  our  good  Mr.  Foker  never  fails  to  ship  to  Ipswich 
every  year  a  couple  of  butts  of  his  entire.  His  son  is  a  young 
sprig  of  fashion,  and  has  married  an  earl's  daughter ;  the 
father  is  a  very  worthy  and  kind  gentleman,  and  it  is  to  the 
luck  of  making  his  acquaintance  that  I  owe  the  receipt  of  some 
of  the  most  welcome  guineas  that  ever  I  received  in  my  life. 

It  was  not  so  much  the  sum,  as  the  occupation  and  hope 


694  ^-^^^   ]'IRGINIANS. 

given  me  by  the  office  of  Governor,  which  I  took  on  myself, 
which  were  then  so  precious  to  me.  Mr.  F.'s  Brewery  (the  site 
has  since  been  changed)  then  stood  near  to  Pedlar's  Acre  in 
Lambeth  :  and  the  surgeon  who  attended  my  wife  in  her  con- 
finement, likewise  took  care  of  the  wealthy  brewer's  family. 
He  was  a  Bavarian,  originally  named  Voelker.  Mr.  Lance,  the 
surgeon,  I  suppose,  made  him  acquainted  with  my  name  and 
histoiy.  The  worthy  Doctor  would  smoke  many  a  pipe  of 
Virginia  in  my  garden,  and  had  conceived  an  attachment  for 
me  and  my  family.  He  brought  his  patron  to  my  house  :  and 
when  Mr.  F.  found  that  I  had  a  smattering  of  his  language,  and 
could  sing  "  Prinz  Eugen,  the  noble  Ritter  "  (a  song  that  my 
grandfather  had  brought  home  from  the  Marlborough  wars), 
the  German  conceived  a  great  friendship  for  m^  :  his  lady  put 
her  chair  and  her  chariot  at  Mrs.  Warrington's  service  :  his 
little  daughter  took  a  prodigious  fancy  to  our  baby  (and  to  do 
him  justice,  the  Captain,  who  is  as  ugly  a  fellow  now  as  ever 
wore  a  queue,*  was  beautiful  as  an  infant)  :  and  his  son  and 
heir.  Master  Foker,  being  much  maltreated  at  Westminster 
School  because  of  his  father's  profession  of  brewer,  the  parents 
asked  if  I  would  take  charge  of  him  ,  and  paid  me  a  not  insuf- 
ficient sum  for  superintending  his  education. 

Mr.  F.  was  a  shrewd  man  of  business,  and  as  he  and  his 
family  really  interested  themselves  in  me  and  mine,  I  laid  all 
my  pecuniary  affairs  pretty  unreservedly  before  him  ;  and  my 
statement,  he  was  pleased  to  say,  augmented  the  respect  and 
regard  which  he  felt  for  me.  He  laughed  at  our  stories  of  the 
aid  which  my  noble  relatives  had  given  me — my  aunt's  coverlid, 
my  Lady  Castlewood's  mouldy  jelly.  Lady  Warrington's  con- 
temptuous treatment  of  us.  But  he  wept  many  tears  over  the 
story  of  little  Miles's  moidore  ;  and  as  for  Sampson  and  Hagan, 
"  I  wow,"  says  he,  "  dey  shall  have  so  much  beer  als  ever  dey 
can  drink."  He  sent  his  wife  to  call  upon  Lady  Maria,  and 
treated  her  with  the  utmost  respect  and  obsequiousness,  when- 
ever she  came  to  visit  him.  It  was  with  ]\Ir.  Foker  that  Lady 
Maria  stayed  when  Hagan  went  to  Dublin  to  complete  his  col- 
lege terms  :  and  the  good  brewer's  purse  also  ministered  to  our 
friend's  wants  and  supplied  his  outfit. 

When  Mr.  Foker  came  fully  to  know  my  own  affairs  and 
position,  he  was  pleased  to  speak  of  me  with  terms  of  enthu- 
siasm, and  as  if  my  conduct  showed  some  extraordinar}^  virtue. 
I  have  said  how  my  mother  saved  money  for  Harry,  and  how 

*  The  very  image  of  the  Squire  at  30,  everj'body  sa}'s  so.  M.  W.  {Xote  in  the  3IS.) 


THE  VIRGINIANS.  695 

the  two  were  in  my  debt.  But  when  Harry  spent  money,  he 
spent  it  fanc3'ing  it  to  be  his  ;  Madam  Esmond  never  could  be 
made  to  understand  she  was  deaUng  hardly  with  me — the. 
money  was  paid  and  gone,  and  there  was  an  end  of  it.  Now, 
at  the  end  of  '62,  I  remember  Harry  sent  over  a  considerable 
remittance  for  the  purchase  of  his  promotion,  begging  me  at  the 
same  time  to  remember  that  he  was  in  my  debt,  and  to  draw 
on  his  agents  if  I  had  any  need.  He  did  not  know  how  great 
the  need  was,  or  how  my  little  capital  had  been  swallowed. 

Well,  to  take  my  brother's  money  would  delay  his  promo- 
tion, and  I  naturally  did  not  draw  on  him,  though  I  own  I  was 
tempted  ;  nor,  knowing  my  dear  General  Lambert's  small 
means,  did  I  care  to  impoverish  him  by  asking  for  supplies. 
These  simple  acts  of  forbearance  my  worthy  brewer  must  choose 
to  consider  as  instances  of  exalted  virtue.  And  what  does  my 
gentleman  do  but  write  privately  to  my  brother  in  America, 
lauding  me  and  my  wife  as  the  most  admirable  of  human  beings, 
and  call  upon  Madame  de  Bernstein,  who  never  told  me  of  his 
visit  indeed,  but  who,  I  perceived  about  this  time,  treated  us 
with  singular  respect  and  gentleness,  that  surprised  me  in  one 
whom  I  could  not  but  consider  as  selfish  and  worldly.  In  after 
days  I  remember  asking  him  how  he  had  gained  admission  to 
the  Baroness  ?  He  laughed  :  "  De  Baroness  ! "  says  he.  "  I 
knew  de  Baron  when  he  was  a  walet  at  Munich,  and  I  v/as  a 
brewer-apprentice."  I  think  our  family  had  best  not  be  too 
curious  about  our  uncle  the  Baron. 

Thus,  the  part  of  my  life  which  ought  to  have  been  most 
melancholy  was  in  truth  made  pleasant  by  many  friends,  happy 
circumstances,  and  strokes  of  lucky  fortune.  The  bear  I  led 
was  a  docile  little  cub,  and  danced  to  my  piping  very  readily. 
Better  to  lead  him  about,  than  to  hang  round  booksellers' 
doors,  or  wait  the  pleasure  or  caprice  of  managers  !  My  wife 
and  I,  during  our  exile,  as  we  may  call  it,  spent  very  many 
pleasant  evenings  with  these  kind  friends  and  benefactors. 
Nor  were  we  v.'ithout  intellectual  enjoyments  ;  Mrs.  Foker  and 
Mrs.  Warrington  sang  finely  together  ;  and,  sometimes  when  I 
was  in  the  mood,  I  read  my  own  play  of  "  Pocahontas  "  to  this 
friendly  audience,  in  a  manner  better  than  Hagan's  own,  Mr. 
Foker  was  pleased  to  say. 

After  that  little  escapade  of  Miles  Warrington,  junior,  I 
saw  nothing  of  him,  and  heard  of  my  paternal  relatives  but 
rarely.  Sir  Miles  was  assiduous  at  Court  (as  I  believe  he 
would  have  been  at  Nero's),  and  I  laughed  one  day  when  Mr. 
Foker  told  me  that  he  had  heard  on  'Change  "  that  they  were 


696 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


going  to  make  my  uncle  a  Beer."  —  "  A  Beer  ? "  says  I  in 
wonder.  "  Can't  you  understand  de  vort,  ven  I  say  it  ? "  says 
the  testy  old  gentleman.  "  Veil,  veil,  a  Lort !  "  Sir  Miles  in- 
deed was  the  obedient  humble  servant  of  the  ^Minister,  whoever 
he  might  be.  I  am  surprised  he  did  not  speak  English  with  a 
Scotch  accent  during  the  first  favorite's  brief  reign.  I  saw  him 
and  his  wife  coming  from  Court,  when  Mrs.  Claypool  was 
presented  to  her  Majesty  on  her  marriage.  I  had  my  little  boy 
on  my  shoulder.  My  uncle  and  aunt  stared  resolutely  at  me 
from  their  gilt  coach  window.  The  footmen  looked  blank  over 
their  nosegays.  Had  I  worn  the  P'airy's  cap,  and  been  invis- 
ible, my  father's  brother  could  not  have  passed  me  with  less 
notice. 

We  did  not  avail  ourselves  much,  or  often,  of  that  queer 
invitation  of  Lady  Castlewood,  to  go  and  drink  tea  and  sup 
with  her  ladyship,  when  there  was  no  other  company.  Old  A^an 
den  Bosch,  however  shrewd  his  intellect  and  great  his  skill  in 
making  a  fortune,  was  not  amusing  in  conversation,  except  to 
his  daughter,  wiio  talked  household  and  City  matters,  bulling 
and  bearing,  raising  and  selling  farming-stock,  and  so  forth, 
quite  as  keenly  and  shrewdly  as  her  father.  Nor  was  my  Lord 
Castlewood  often  at  home,  or  much  missed  by  his  wife  when 
absent,  or  very  much  at  ease  in  the  old  father's  company.  The 
Countess  told  all  this  to  my  wife  in  her  simple  way.  ""  Guess," 
says  she,  "my  lord  and  father  don't  pull  well  together  nohow. 
Guess  my  lord  is  always  wanting  money,  and  father  keeps  the 
key  of  the  box  :  and  quite  right,  too.  If  he  could  have  the 
fingering  of  all  our  money,  my  lord  would  soon  make  aw^ay  with 
it,  and  then  what's  to  become  of  our  noble  family?  We  pay 
everything,  my  dear,  except  play  debts,  and  then  we  won't  have 
nohow.  We  pay  cooks,  horses,  w^ine-merchants,  tailors,  and 
ever3^body — and  lucky  for  them  too — reckon  my  lord  wouldn't 
pay  'em  !  And  we  always  take  care  that  he  has  a  guinea  in  his 
pocket  and  goes  out  like  a  real  nobleman.  What  that  man  do 
owe  to  us  :  what  he  did  before  we  come — gracious  goodness  only 
knows  !  Me  and  father  does  our  best  to  make  him  respectable  : 
but  it's  no  easy  job  my  dear.  La  ?  he'd  melt  the  plate,  only 
father  keeps  the  key  of  the  strong-room  ;  and  when  w^e  go  to 
Castlewood,  my  father  travels  with  me,  and  papa  is  armed  too, 
as  well  as  the  people."' 

"  Gracious  havens  !  "  cries  my  wife,  "  your  ladyship  does  not 
mean  to  say,  you  suspect  your  own  husband  of  a  desire  to "' 

"  To  what  ? — O  no,  nothing,  of  course  !  And  I  would  trust 
our  brother  Will  with  untold  money,  wouldn't  I  ?     As  much  as 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


697 


I'd  trust  the  cat  with  the  cream  pan  !  I  tell  you,  my  dear,  it's 
not  all  pleasure  being  a  woman  of  rank  and  fashion  :  and  if  I 
have  bought  a  countess's  coronet,  I  have  paid  a  good  price  for 
it — that  I  have  !  " 

And  so  had  my  Lord  Castlewood  paid  a  large  price  for 
having  his  estate  freed  from  incumbrances,  his  houses  and 
stables  furnished,  and  his  debts  discharged.  He  was  the  slave 
of  the  little  wife  and  her  father.  No  wonder  the  old  man's 
society  was  not  pleasant  to  the  poor  victim,  and  that  he  gladly 
slunk  away  from  his  own  fine  house,  to  feast  at  the  club  when 
he  had  money,  or  at  least  to  any  society  save  that  which  he 
found  at  home.  To  lead  a  bear,  as  I  did,  was  no  very  pleasant 
business  to  be  sure  :  to  wait  in  a  bookseller's  ante-room  until 
it  should  please  his  honor  to  finish  his  dinner  and  give  me 
audience,  was  sometimes  a  hard  task  for  a  man  of  my  name 
and  with  my  pride  ;  but  would  I  have  exchanged  my  poverty 
against  Castlewood's  ignominy,  or,  preferred  his  miserable 
dependence  to  my  own  ?  At  least  I  earned  my  wage,  such  as 
it  was  j  and  no  man  can  say  that  I  ever  flattered  my  patrons 
or  was  servile  to  them  ;  or  indeed,  in  my  dealings  with  them, 
was  otherwise  than  sulky,  overbearing,  and,  in  a  word,  intol- 
erable. 

Now  there  was  a  certain  person  with  whom  Fate  had  thrown 
me  into  a  life-partnership,  who  bore  her  poverty  with  such  a 
smiling  sweetness  and  easj  grace,  that  niggard  Fortune  relented 
before  her,  and,  like  some  savage  Ogre  in  the  fair)^  tales,  melted 
at  the  constant  goodness  and  cheerfulness  of  that  uncomplain- 
ing, artless,  innocent  creature.  However  poor  she  was,  all  who 
knew  her  saw  that  here  was  a  fine  lady ;  and  the  little  trades- 
men and  humble  folks  round  about  us  treated  her  with  as  much 
respect  as  the  richest  of  our  neighbors.  "  I  think,  my  dear," 
says  good-natured  Mrs.  Foker,  when  they  rode  out  in  the  latter's 
chariot,  "  you  look  like  the  mistress  of  the  carriage,  and  I  oniy 
as  your  maid."  Our  landladies  adored  her;  the  tradesfolk 
executed  her  little  orders  as  eagerly  as  if  a  duchess  gave  them, 
or  they  were  to  make  a  fortune  by  waiting  on  her.  I  have 
thought  often  of  the  lady  in  "  Comus,"  and  how,  through  all 
the  rout  and  rabble,  she  moves,  entirely  serene  and  pure. 

Several  times,  as  often  as  we  chose  indeed,  the  good- 
natured  parents  of  my  young  bear  lent  us  their  chariot  to  drive 
abroad  or  to  call  on  the  few  friends  we  had.  If  I  must  tell  the 
truth,  we  drove  once  to  the  "  Protestant  Hero "  and  had  a 
syllabub  in  the  garden  there  :  and  the  hostess  would  insist  upon 
calling  my  wife  her  ladyship  during  the  whole  afternoon.     We 


^^^  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

also  visited  Mr.  Johnson,^  and  took  tea  with  him  (the  ingenious 
Mr.  Goldsmith  was  of  the  company) :  the  Doctor  waited  upon 
my  wife  to  her  coach.  But  our  most  frequent  visits  were  to 
Aunt  Bernstein,  and  I  promise  you  I  was  not  at  all  jealous 
because  my  aunt  presently  professed  to  have  a  wonderful  li'ang 
for  Theo. 

This  liking  grew  so  that  she  would  have  her  most  days  in 
the  week,  or  to  stay  altogether  with  her,  and  thought  that 
Theo's  child  and  husband  were  only  plagues  to  be  sure,  and 
hated  us  in  the  most  amusing  way  for  keeping  her  favorite  from 
her.  Not  that  my  wife  was  unworthy  of  anybody's  favor  ;  but 
her  many  forced  absences,  and  the  constant  difficulty  of  inter- 
course with  her,  raised  my  aunt's  liking  for  a  while  to  a  sort  of 
passion.  She  poured  in  notes  like  love-letters  ;  and  her  people 
were  ever  about  our  kitchen.  If  my  wife  did  not  go  to  her,  she 
wrote  heart-rending  appeals,  and  scolded  me  severely  when  I 
saw  her ;  and,  the  child  being  ill  once,  (it  hath  pleased  Fate  to 
spare  our  Captain  to  be  a  prodigious  trouble  to  us,  and  a  whole- 
some trial  for  our  tempers,)  Madame  Bernstein  came  three 
days  running  to  Lambeth  ;  vowed  there  was  nothing  the  matter 
with  the  baby  ; — nothing  at  all ; — and  that  we  only  pretended 
his  illness,  in  order  to  vex  her. 

The  reigning  Countess  of  Castlewood  was  just  as  easy  and 
affable  with  her  old  aunt,  as  with  other  folks  great  and  small. 
"  What  air  you  all  about,  scraping  and  bowing  to  that  old 
woman,  I  can't  tell,  noways  !  "  her  ladyship  would  say.  "  She 
a  fine  lady  !  Nonsense  !  She  ain't  no  more  fine  than  any  other 
lady  :  and  I  guess  I'm  as  good  as  any  of  'em  with  their  high 
heels  and  their  grand  airs  !  She  a  beauty  once  !  Take  away 
her  wig,  and  her  rouge,  and  her  teeth ;  and  what  becomes  of 
your  beauty,  I'd  like  to  know  ?  Guess  you'd  put  it  all  in  a 
band-box,  and  there  would  be  nothing  left  but  a  shrivelled  old 
\*t)man  !  "  And  indeed  the  little  homilist  only  spoke  too  truly, 
All  beauty  must  at  last  come  to  this  complexion  ;  and  decay, 
either  under  ground  or  on  the  tree.  Here  was  old  age,  I  fear, 
without  reverence.  Here  were  gray  hairs,  that  were  hidden,  or 
painted.  The  world  was  still  here,  and  she  tottering  on  it,  and 
clinging  to  it  with  her  crutch.  For  fourscore  years  she  had 
moved  on  it,  and  eaten  of  the  tree,  forbidden  and  permitted. 
She  had  had  beauty,  pleasure,  flattery  :  but  what  secret  rages, 
disappointments,  defeats,  humiliations  !  what  thorns  under  the 
roses  !  what  stinging  bees  in  the  fruit !  "  You  are  not  a  beaut}^, 
my  dear,"  she  would  say  to  my  wife  :  '^  and  may  thank  your 
stars  that  you  are  not."     (If  she  contradicted  herself  in  her 


THE  VIRGINIANS.  699 

talk,  I  suppose  the  rest  of  us  occasionally  do  the  like.)  "  Don't 
tell  me  that  your  husband  is  pleased  with  your  face,  and  you 
want  no  one  else's  admiration !  We  all  do.  Every  woman 
would  rather  be  beautiful,  than  be  anything  else  in  the  world — 
ever  so  rich,  or  ever  so  good,  or  have  all  the  gifts  of  the  fairies  ! 
Look  at  that  picture,  though  I  know  'tis  but  a  bad  one,  and 
that  stupid  vaporing  Kneller  could  not  paint  my  eyes,  nor  my 
air,  nor  my  complexion.  What  a  shape  I  had  then — and  look 
at  me  now,  and  this  wrinkled  old  neck  !  Why  have  we  such  a 
short  time  of  our  beauty  ?  I  remember  Mademoiselle  de  I'En- 
clos  at  a  much  greater  age  than  mine,  quite  fresh  and  well  con- 
served. We  can't  hide  our  ages.  They  are  wrote  in  Mr. 
Collins's  books  for  us.  I  was  born  in  the  last  year  of  King 
James's  reign.  I  am  not  old  yet.  I  am  but  seventy-six.  But 
what  a  wreck,  my  dear  :  and  isn't  it  cruel  that  our  time  should 
be  so  short  ?  " 

Here  my  wife  has  to  state  the  incontrovertible  proposition, 
that  the  time  of  all  of  us  is  short  here  below. 

"  Ha  !  "  cries  the  Baroness.  "  Did  not  Adam  live  near  a 
thousand  years,  and  was  not  Eve  beautiful  all  the  time  ?  I 
used  to  perplex  Mr.  Tusher  with  that — poor  creature  ?  What 
have  we  done  since,  that  our  lives  are  so  much  lessened,  I  say .?  " 

"  Has  your  life  been  so  happy  that  you  would  prolong  it 
ever  so  much  more  ? "  asks  the  Baroness's  auditor.  "  Have 
you,  who  love  wit,  never  read  Dean  Swift's  famous  description 
of  the  deathless  people  in  '  Gulliver  ? '  My  papa  and  my  hus- 
band say  'tis  one  of  the  finest  and  most  awful  sermons  ever 
wrote.  It  were  better  not  to  live  at  all,  than  to  live  without 
love  ;  and  I'm  sure,"  says  my  wife,  putting  her  handkerchief  to 
her  eyes,  "  should  anything  happen  to  my  dearest  George,  I 
would  wish  to  go  to  heaven  that  moment." 

"  Who  loves  me  in  heaven  ?  I  am  quite  alone,  child — that 
is  why  I  had  rather  stay  here,"  says  the  Baroness,  in  a  frigh't- 
ened  and  rather  piteous  tone.  "  You  are  kind  to  me,  God  bless 
your  sweet  face  !  Though  I  scold,  and  have  a  frightful  temper, 
my  servants  will  do  anything  to  make  me  comfortable,  and  get 
up  at  any  hour  of  the  night,  and  never  say  a  cross  word  in 
answer.  I  like  my  cards  still.  Indeed,  life  would  be  a  blank 
without  'em.  Almost  eveiything  is  gone  except  that.  I  can't 
eat  my  dinner  now,  since  I  lost  those  last  two  teeth.  Every- 
thing goes  away  from  us  in  old  age.  But  I  still  have  my  cards 
— thank  heaven,  I  still  have  my  cards  !  "  And  here  she  would 
begin  to  doze  :  waking  up,  however,  if  my  wife  stirred  or  rose, 
and  imagining  that  Theo  was   about  to  leave  her.     "  Don't  go 


700 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


away,  I  can't  bear  to  be  alone.  I  don't  want  you  to  talk.  But 
I  like  to  see  your  face,  my  dear  !  It  is  much  pleasanter  than 
that  horrid  old  Brett's,  that  I  have  had  scowling  about  my  bed- 
room these  ever  so  long  years." 

"  Well  Baroness  !  still  at  your  cribbage  ?  "  (We  may  fancy 
a  noble  Countess  interrupting  a  game  at  cards  between  Theo 
and  Aunt  Bernstein.)  "  Me  and  my  Lord  Esmond  have  come 
to  see  you  !  Go  and  shake  hands  with  grandaunt,  Esmond  ! 
and  tell  her  ladyship  that  your  lordship's  a  good  boy !  " 

"  My  lordship's  a  good  boy,"  says  the  child.  (Madam  Theo 
used  to  act  these  scenes  for  me  in  a  very  lively  way.) 

"  And  if  he  is,  I  guess  he  don't  take  after  his  father,"  shrieks 
out  Lady  Castlewood.  She  chose  to  fancy  that  Aunt  Bernstein 
was  deaf,  and  always  bawled  at  the  old  lady. 

"  Your  ladyship  chose  my  nephew  for  better  or  for  worse," 
says  Aunt  Bernstein,  who  was  now  always  very  much  flurried  in 
the  presence  of  the  young  Countess. 

"  But  he  is  a  precious  deal  worse  than  ever  I  thought  he 
was.  I  am  speaking  of  your  Pa,  Ezzy.  If  it  wasn't  for  your 
mother,  my  son,  Lord  knows  what  would  become  of  you  !  We 
are  a-going  to  see  his  little  Royal  Highness.  Sorry  to  see  your 
ladyship  not  looking  quite  so  well  to-day.  We  can't  always 
remain  young :  and  la !  how  we  do  change  as  we  grow  old  ! 
Go  up  and  kiss  that  lady,  Ezzy.  She  has  got  a  little  boy,  too. 
Why,  bless  us  !  have  you  got  the  child  down  stairs  ?  "  Indeed, 
Master  Miles  was  down  below,  for  special  reasons  accompany- 
ing his  mother  on  her  visits  to  Aunt  Bernstein  sometimes  ;  and 
our  aunt  desired  the  mother's  company  so  much,  that  she  was 
actually  fain  to  put  up  with  the  child.  "  So  you  have  got  the  child 
here  ?  Oh,  you  slyboots  !  "  says  the  Countess.  ''  Guess  you 
come  after  the  old  lady's  money  !  La  bless  you  !  Don't  look 
so  frightened.  She  can't  hear  a  single  word  I  say.  Come, 
Ezzy.  Good-by,  aunt  ! "  And  my  lady  Countess  rustles  out 
of  the  room. 

Did  Aunt  Bernstein  hear  her  or  not  1  Where  was  the  wit  for 
which  the  old  lady  had  been  long  famous  ?  and  was  that  fire  put 
out,  as  well  as  the  brilliancy  of  her  eyes  ?  With  other  people  she 
was  still  ready  enough,  and  unsparing  of  her  sarcasms.  When 
the  Dowager  of  Castlewood  and  Lady  Fanny  visited  her  (these 
exalted  ladies  treated  my  wife  with  perfect  indifference  and 
charming  good  breeding)— the  Baroness,  in  their  society,  was 
stately,  easy,  and  even  commanding.  She  would  mischievously 
caress  Mrs.  Warrington  before  them  ;  in  her  absence,  vaunt  my 
wife's  good  breeding ;  say  that  her  nephew  had  made  a  foolish 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  701 

match  perhaps,  but  that  I  certainly  had  taken  a  charming  wife. 
"  In  a  word,  I  praise  you  so  to  them,  my  dear,"  says  she,  "that  I 
think  they  would  like  to  tear  your  eyes  out."  But,  before  the 
little  American,  'tis  certain  that  she  was  uneasy  and  trembled. 
She  was  so  afraid,  that  she  actually  did  not  dare  to  deny  her 
door  ;  and,  the  Countess's  back  turned,  did  not  even  abuse  her. 
However  much  they  might  dislike  her,  my  ladies  did  not  teat 
out  Theo's  eyes.  Once  they  drove  to  our  cottage  at  Lambeth, 
where  my  wife  happened  to  be  sitting  at  the  open  window, 
holding  her  child  on  her  knee,  and  in  full  view  of  the  visitors. 
A  gigantic  footman  strutted  through  our  little  garden,  and  de- 
livered their  ladyships'  visiting  tickets  at  our  door.  Their 
hatred  hurt  us  no  more  than  their  visit  pleased  us.  When  next 
we  had  the  loan  of  our  friend  the  Brewer's  carriage,  Mrs.  War- 
rington drove  to  Kensington,  and  Gumbo  handed  over  to  the 
giant  our  cards  in  return  for  those  which  his  noble  mistresses 
had  bestowed  on  us. 

The  Baroness  had  a  coach,  but  seldom  thought  of  giving  it 
to  us  :  and  would  let  Theo  and  her  maid  and  baby  start  from 
Clarges  Street  in  the  rain,  with  a  faint  excuse  that  she  was 
afraid  to  ask  her  coachman  to  take  his  horses  out.  But,  twice 
on  her  return  home,  my  wife  was  frightened  by  rude  fellows  on 
the  other  side  of  Westminster  Bridge  ;  and  I  fairly  told  my 
aunt  that  I  should  forbid  Mrs.  Warrington  to  go  to  her,  unless 
she  could  be  brought  home  in  safety  ;  so  grumbling  Jehu  had 
to  drive  his  horses  through  the  darkness.  He  grumbled  at  my 
shillings  :  he  did  not  know  how  few  I  had.  Our  poverty  wore 
a  pretty  decent  face.  My  relatives  never  thought  of  relieving  it, 
nor  I  of  complaining  before  them.  I  don't  know  how  Sampson 
got  a  windfall  of  guineas ;  but,  I  remember,  he  brought  me  six 
once  ;  and  they  were  more  welcome  than  any  money  T  ever  had 
in  my  life.  He  had  been  looking  into  Mr.  Miles's  crib,  as  the 
child  lay  asleep  ;  and,  when  the-parson  went  away,  I  found  the 
money  in  the  baby's  little  rosy  hand.  Yes,  Love  is  best  of  all. 
I  have  many  such  benefactions  registered  in  my  heart — precious 
welcome  fountains  springing  up  in  desert  places,  kind  friendly 
lights  cheering  our  despondency  and  gloom. 

This  worthy  divine  was  willing  enough  to  give  as  much  of 
his  company  as  she  chose  to  Madame  de  Bernstein,  whether  for 
cards  or  theology.  Having  known  her  ladyship  for  many  years 
now,  Sampson  could  see,  and  averred  to  us,  that  she  was  break- 
ing fast;  and  as  he  spoke  of  her  evidently  increasing  infirmities, 
and  of  the  probability  of  their  fatal  termination,  Mr.  S.  would 
discourse  to  us  in  a  very  feeling  manner  of  the  necessity  for 


702 


THE  VIRGINIANS. 


preparing  for  a  future  world  ;  of  the  vanities  of  this,  and  of  the 
hope  that  in  another  there  might  be  happiness  for  all  repentant 
sinners. 

"  I  have  been  a  sinner  for  one,"  says  the  Chaplain,  bowing 
his  head,  "  God  knoweth,  and  I  pray  Him  to  pardon  me.  I 
fear,  sir,  your  aunt,  the  Lady  Baroness,  is  not  in  such  a  state 
of  mind  as  will  fit  her  very  well  for  the  change  which  is  im- 
minent. I  am  but  a  poor  weak  wretch,  and  no  prisoner  in 
Newgate  could  confess  that  more  humbly  and  heartily.  Once 
or  twice  of  late,  I  have  sought  to  speak  on  this  matter  with  her 
ladyship,  but  she  has  received  me  very  roughly.  '  Parson,' 
says  she,  '  if  you  come  for  cards,  'tis  mighty  well,  but  I  will 
thank  you  to  spare  me  your  sermons.'  What  can  I  do,  sir.-*  I 
have  called  more  than  once  of  late,  and  Mr.  Case  hath  told  me 
his  lady  was  unable  to  see  me."  In  fact  Madame  Bernstein 
told  my  wife,  whom  she  never  refused,  as  I  said,  that  the  poor 
Chaplain's  ton  was  unendurable,  and  as  for  this  theology, 
"  Haven't  I  been  a  Bishop's  wife  ?  "  says  she,  "  and  do  I  want 
this  creature  to  teach  me  ?  " 

The  old  lady  was  as  impatient  of  doctors  as  of  divines  \ 
pretending  that  my  wife  was  ailing,  and  that  it  was  more  con- 
venient for  our  good  Doctor  Heberden  to  visit  her  in  Clarges 
Street  than  to  travel  all  the  way  to  our  Lambeth  lodgings,  we 
got  Dr.  H.  to  see  Theo  at  our  aunt's  house,  and  prayed  him  if 
possible  to  offer  his  advice  to  the  Baroness  :.  we  made  Mrs. 
Brett,  her  woman,  describe  her  ailments,  and  the  doctor  con- 
firmed our  opinion  that  they  were  most  serious,  and  might 
speedily  end.  She  would  rally  briskly  enough  of  some  even- 
ings, and  entertain  a  little  company  ;  but  of  late  she  scarcely 
went  abroad  at  all.  A  somnolence,  which  we  had  remarked  in 
her,  was  attributable  in  part  to  opiates  which  she  was  in  the 
habit  of  taking ;  and  she  used  these  narcotics  to  smother 
habitual  pain.  One  night,  as  we  two  sat  with  her  (Mr.  Miles 
was  weaned  by  this  time  and  his  mother  could  leave  him  to  the 
cliarge  to  our  faithful  Molly),  she  fell  asleep  over  her  cards. 
We  hushed  the  servants  who  came  to  lay  out  the  supper-table 
(she  would  always  have  this  luxurious,  nor  could  any  injunc- 
tion of  ours  or  the  Doctor's  teach  her  abstinence),  and  we  sat  a 
while  as  we  had  often  done  before,  waiting  in  silence  till  she 
should  arouse  from  her  doze. 

When  she  awoke,  she  looked  fixedly  at  me  for  a  while, 
fumbled  with  the  cards,  and  dropped  them  again  in  her  lap, 
and  said,  "  Henry,  have  I  been  long  asleep  ?  "  I  thought  at 
first  that  it  was  for  my  brother  she  mistook  me  ;  but  she  went 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  703 

on  quickly,  and  with  eyes  fixed  as  upon  some  very  far  distant 
object,  and  said,  "  My  dear,  'tis  of  no  use,  I  am  not  good  enough 
for  you.  I  love  cards,  and  play,  and  court ;  and  oh,  Harry, 
you  don't  know  all !  "  Here  her  voice  changed,  and  she  flung 
her  head  up.  "  His  father  married  Anne  Hyde,  and  sure  the 
Esmond  blood  is  as  good  as  any  that's  not  royal.  Mamma, 
you  must  please  to  treat  me  with  more  respect.  Vos  sermons 
me    fatiguent;    entendez-vous .'' — faites    place    a   mon    Altesse 

royale  :  mesdames,  me  connaissez-vous  ?  je  suis  la "     Here 

she  broke  out  into  frightful  hysterical  shrieks  and  laughter, 
and  as  we  ran  up  to  her,  alarmed,  "  Oui,  Henri,"  she  says,  "  il 
a  jure  de  m'epouser,  et  les  princes  tiennent  parole — n'est-ce 
pas  ?  O  oui !  ils  tiennent  parole  ;  si  non,  tu  le  tueras,  cousin  ; 
tu  le — ah  !  que  je  suis  folle  ! "  And  the  pitiful  shrieks  and 
laughter  recommenced.  Ere  her  frightened  jDcople  had  come 
up  to  her  summons,  the  poor  thing  had  passed  out  of  this  mood 
into  another ;  but  always  laboring  under  the  same  delusion — 
that  I  was  the  Henr}^  of  past  times,  who  had  loved  her  and  had 
been  forsaken  by  her,  whose  bones  were  lying  far  away  by  the 
banks  of  the  Potomac. 

My  wife  and  the  women  put  the  poor  lady  to  bed  as  I  ran 
myself  for  medical  aid.  She  rambled,  still  talking  wildly, 
through  the  night,  with  her  nurses  and  the  surgeon  sitting  by 
her.  Then  she  fell  into  a  sleep,  brought  on  by  more  opiate. 
When  she  awoke,  her  mind  did  not  actually  w'ander ;  but  her 
speech  was  changed,  and  one  arm  and  side  were  paralyzed. 

'Tis  needless  to  relate  the  progress  and  termination  of  her 
malady,  or  watch  that  expiring  flame  of  life  as  it  gasps  and 
flickers.  Her  senses  would  remain  with  her  for  a  while  (and 
then  she  w^as  never  satisfied  unless  Theo  was  by  her  bedside), 
or  again  her  mind  would  wander,  and  the  poor  decrepit  crea- 
ture, lying  upon  her  bed,  would  imagine  herself  young  again, 
and  speak  incoherently  of  the  scenes  and  incidents  of  her  early 
days.  Then  she  would  address  me  as  Henr}^  again,  and  call 
upon  me  to  revenge  some  insult  or  slight,  of  which  (whatever 
my  suspicions  might  be)  the  only  record  lay  in  her  insari^ 
memory.  "  They  have  always  been  so,"  she  would  murmur  : 
"they  never  loved  man  or  woman  but  they  forsook  them.  Je 
me  vengerai,  O  oui,  je  me  vengerai !  I  know  them  all :  I  know 
them  all  :  and  I  will  go  to  my  Lord  Stair  with  the  list.  Don't 
tell  me  !  His  religion  can't  be  the  right  one.  I  will  go  back  to 
my  mother's,  though  she  does  not  love  me.  She  never  did. 
Whv  don't  you,  mother  ?  Is  it  because  I  am  too  wicked  ?  Ah  ! 
piti^,  pitie.     O  mon  pere  ?     1  will  make  my  confession  " — and 


704 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


here  the  unhappy  paralyzed  lady  made  as  if  she  would  move  in 
her  bed. 

Let  us  draw  the  curtain  round  it.  I  think  with  awe  still  of 
those  rapid  words,  uttered  in  the  shadow  of  the  canopy,  as  my 
pallid  wife  sits  by,  her  Prayer-book  on  her  knee  ;  as  the  attend- 
ants move  to  and  fro  noiselessly, ;  as  the  clock  ticks  without, 
and  strikes  the  fleeting  hours  ;  as  the  sun  falls  upon  the  Kneller 
picture  of  Beatrix  in  her  beauty,  with  the  blushing  cheeks,  the 
smiling  lips,  and  the  waving  auburn  tresses,  and  the  eyes  which 
seem  to  look  towards  the  dim  figure  moaning  in  the  bed.  I 
could  not  for  a  while  understand  why  our  aunt's  attendants  were 
so  anxious  that  we  should  quit  it.  But  towards  evening,  a 
servant  stole  in,  and  whispered  her  woman  ;  and  then  Brett, 
looking  rather  disturbed,  begged  us  to  go  down  stairs,  as  the — 
as  the  Doctor  was  come  to  visit  the  Baroness.  I  did  not  tell 
my  wife,  at  the  time,  who  "  the  Doctor "  was  ;  but  as  the 
gentleman  slid  by  us,  and  passed  up  stairs,  I  saw  at  once  that 
he  was  a  Catholic  ecclesiastic.  When  Theo  next  saw  our  poor 
lady,  she  was  speechless ;  she  never  recognized  any  one  about 
her,  and  so  passed  unconsciously  out  of  life.  During  her  illness 
her  relatives  had  called  assiduously  enough,  though  she  would 
see  none  of  them  save  us.  But  when  she  was  gone,  and  we 
descended  to  the  lower  rooms  after  all  was  over,  we  found 
Castlewood  with  his  white  face,  and  my  lady  from  Kensington, 
and  Mr.  Will,  already  assembled  in  the  parlor.  They  looked 
greedily  at  us  as  we  appeared.     They  were  hungry  for  the  prey. 


When  our  aunt's  will  was  opened,  we  found  it  was  dated 
five  years  back,  and  everything  she  had  was  left  to  her  dear 
nephew,  Henry  Esmond  Warrington  of  Castlewood  in  Virginia, 
"  in  affectionate  love  and  remembrance  of  the  name  which  he 
bore."  The  property  was  not  great.  Her  revenue  had  been 
derived  from  pensions  from  the  Crown  as  it  appeared  (for  what 
services  I  cannot  say),  but  the  pension  of  course  died  with  her, 
and  there  were  only  a  few  hundred  pounds,  besides  jewels, 
trinkets,  and  the  furniture  of  the  house  in  Clarges  Street,  of 
which  all  London  came  to  the  sale.  Mr.  \\'alpole  bid  for  her 
portrait,  but  I  made  free  with  Harry's  money  so  far  as  to  buy 
the  picture  in :  and  it  now  hangs  over  the  mantel-piece  of  the 
chamber  in  which  I  write.  What  with  jewels,  laces,  trinkets, 
and  old  china  which  she  had  gathered — Harry  became  pos- 
sessed of  more  than  four  thousand  pounds  by  his  aunt's  legacy. 


k 


THE   VIRGINIANS  705 

I  made  so  free  as  to  lay  my  hand  upon 'a  hundred,  which  came, 
just  as  my  stock  was  reduced  to  twenty  pounds  ;  and  I  pro- 
cured bills  for  the  remainder,  which  I  forwarded  to  Captain 
Henry  Esmond  in  Virginia.  Nor  should  I  have  scrupled  to 
take  more  (for  my  brother  w^as  indebted  to  me  in  a  much 
greater  sum),  but  he  wrote  me  there  was  another  wonderful 
opportunity  for  buying  an  estate  and  negroes  in  our  neigh- 
borhood at  home  ;  and  Theo  and  I  were  only  too  glad  to  forego 
our  little  claim,  so  as  to  establish  our  brother's  fortune.  As  to 
mine,  poor  Harry  at  this  time  did  not  know  the  state  of  it.  My 
mother  had  never  informed  him  that  she  had  ceased  remitting 
to  me.  She  helped  him  with  a  considerable  sum,  the  result  of 
her  savings,  for  the  purchase  of  his  new  estate ;  and  Theo  and 
I  were  most  heartily  thankful  at  his  prosperity. 

And  how  strange  ours  was  !  By  what  curious  good  for- 
tune, as  our  purse  was  emptied,  was  it  filled  again!  I  had 
actually  come  to  the  end  of  our  stock,  when  poor  Sampson 
brought  me  his  six  pieces — and  with  these  I  was  enabled  to 
carry  on,  until  my  half-year's  salary,  as  young  Mr.  Foker's 
Governor,  was  due  :  then  Harry's  hundred,  on  which  I  laid 
mai7i  basse,  helped  us  over  three  months  (w^e  were  behind-hand 
with  our  rent,  or  the  money  would  have  lasted  six  good  weeks 
longer)  :  and  when  this  was  pretty  near  expended,  what  should 
arrive  but  a  bill  of  exchange  for  a  couple  of  hundred  pounds 
from  Jamaica,  with  ten  thousand  blessings  from  the  dear  friends 
there,  and  fond  scolding  from  the  General  that  w^e  had  not 
sooner  told  him  of  our  necessity — of  which  he  had  only  heard 
through  our  friend  Mr.  Foker,  who  spoke  in  such  terms  of 
Theo  and  myself  as  to  make  our  parents  more  than  ever  proud 
of  their  children.  Was  my  quarrel  with  my  mother  irreparable  ? 
Let  me  go  to  Jamaica.  There  was  plenty  there  for  all,  and 
employment  which  his  Excellency  as  Governor  would  imme- 
diately procure  for  me.  "  Come  to  us  !  "  writes  Hetty.  "  Come 
to  us  !  "  writes  Aunt  Lambert.  "  Have  my  children  been  suf- 
fering poverty,  and  we  rolling  in  our  Excellency's  coach,  with 
guards  to  turn  out  whenever  Ave  pass?  Has  Charley  been 
home  to  you  for  ever  so  many  holidays,  from  the  Chartreux, 
and  had  ever  so  many  of  my  poor  George's  half-crowns  in  his 
pocket,  I  dare  say?"  (this  was  indeed  the  truth,  for  where  was 
he  to  go  for  holidays  but  to  his  sister  ?  and  was  there  any  use 
in  telling  the  child  how  scarce  half-crowns  w-ere  with  us  ?) 
"And  you  always  treating  him  with  such  goodness,  as  his 
letters  tell  me,  which  are  brimful  of  love  for  George  and  little 
Miles  !     Oh,  how  we  long  to  see  Miles  !  "  wrote  Hetty  and  her 

45 


7o6  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

mother;  "and  as  for  his  godfather''  {\\x\X.^?,  Het),  "who  has 
been  good  to  my  dearest  and  her  child,  I  promise  him  a  kiss 
whenever  I  see  him  !  " 

Our  young  benefactor  was  never  to  hear  of  our  family's  love 
and  gratitude  to  him.  That  glimpse  of  his  bright  face  over  the 
railings  before  our  house  at  Lambeth,  as  he  rode  away  on  his 
little  horse,  was  the  last  we  ever  were  to  have  of  him.  At 
Christmas  a  basket  comes  to  us,  containing  a  great  turkey,  and 
three  brace  of  partridges,  with  a  card,  and  '^  shot  by  M.  WT 
wrote  on  one  of  them.  And  on  receipt  of  this  present,  we  wrote 
to  thank  the  child,  and  gave  him  our  sister's  message. 

To  this  letter,  there  came  a  reply  from  Lady  Warrington, 
who  said  she  was  bound  to  inform  me,  that  in  visiting  me  her 
child  had  been  guilty  of  disobedience.,  and  that  she  learned  his 
visit  to  me  now  for  the  first  time.  Knowing  my  views  regarding 
duty  to  my  parents  (which  I  had  exemplified  in  my  marriage), 
she  could  not  wish  her  son  to  adopt  them.  And  fervently  hop- 
ing that  I  might  be  brought  to  see  the  errors  of  7ny present  course, 
she  took  leave  of  this  most  ufiplcasa?it  subject,  subscribing  her- 
self, &c.,  &c.  And  we  got  this  pretty  missive  as  sauce  for  poor 
Miles's  turkey,  which  was  our  family  feast  for  New  Year's  day. 
My  Lady  Warrington's  letter  choked  our  meal,  though  Sampson 
and  Charley  rejoiced  over  it. 

Ah  me !  Ere  the  month  was  over,  our  little  friend  was  gone 
from  amongst  us.  Going  out  shooting,  ind  dragging  his  gun 
through  a  hedge  after  him,  the  trigger  caught  in  a  bush,  and  the 
poor  little  man  was  brought  home  to  his  father's  house,  only  to 
live  a  few  days  and  expire  in  pain  and  torture.  Under  the  yew- 
trees  yonder,  I  can  see  the  vault  which  covers  him,  and  where 
my  bones  one  day  no  doubt  will  be  laid.  And  over  our  pew  at 
church,  my  children  have  often  wistfully  spelt  the  touching 
epitaph  in  which  Miles's  heart-broken  father  has  inscribed  his 
grief  and  love  for  his  only  son. 


CHAPTER  LXXXIV 

IN    WHICH    HARRY    SUBMITS    TO    THE    COMMON    LOT. 

Hard  times  were  now  over  with  me,  and  I  had  to  battle  with 
poverty  no  more.  My  little  kinsman's  death  made  a  vast  differ- 
ence in  my  worldly  prospects.     I  became  next  heir  to  a  good 


/  HE   VI R  GINIA  NS. 


707 


estate.  My  uncle  and  his  wife  were  not  likely  to  have  more 
children.  "  The  woman  is  capable  of  committing  any  crime  to 
disappoint  you,"  Sampson  vowed  ;  but,  in  truth,  my  Lady 
Warrington  was  guilty  of  no  such  treachery.  Cruelly  smitten 
by  the  stroke  which  fell  upon  them,  Lady  Warrington  was  taught 
by  her  religious  advisers  to  consider  it  as  a  chastisement  of 
heaven,  and  submit  to  the  Divine  Will.  "  Whilst  your  son  lived, 
your  heart  was  turned  away  from  the  better  world"  (her  clergy- 
man told  her),  "  and  your  ladyship  thought  too  much  of  this. 
For  your  son's  advantage  you  desired  rank  and  title.  You 
asked  and  might  have  obtained  an  earthly  coronet.  Of  what 
avail  is  it  now,  to  one  who  has  but  a  few  years  to  pass  upon 
earth — of  what  importance  compared  to  the  heavenly  crown, 
for  which  you  are  an  assured  candidate  t  "  The  accident  caused 
no  little  sensation.  In  the  chapels  of  that  enthusiastic  sect, 
towards  which,  after  her  son's  death,  she  now  more  than  ever 
inclined,  many  sermons  were  preached  bearing  reference  to  the 
event.  Far  be  it  from  me  to  question  the  course  which  the 
bereaved  mother  pursued,  or  to  regard  with  other  than  respect 
and  sympathy  any  unhappy  soul  seeking  that  refuge  whither 
sin  and  grief  and  disappointment  fly  for  consolation.  Lady 
Warrington  even  tried  a  reconciliation  with  myself.  A  year 
after  her  loss,  being  in  London,  she  signified  that  she  would 
see  me,  and  I  waited  on  her ;  and  she  gave  me,  in  her  usual 
didactic  way,  a  homily  upon  my  position  and  her  own.  She 
marvelled  at  the  decree  of  heaven,  which  had  permitted,  and 
how  dreadfully  punished  !  her  poor  child's  disobedience  to  her — 
a  disobedience  by  which  I  was  to  profit.  (It  appeared  my  poor 
little  man  had  disobeyed  orders,  and  gone  out  .with  his  gun, 
unknown  to  his  mother.)  She  hoped  that,  should  I  ever  suc- 
ceed to  the  property,  though  the  Warringtons  were,  thank 
heaven,  a  long-lived  family,  except  in  my  own  father's  case, 
w^hose  life  had  been  curtailed  by  the  excesses  of  a  very  ill-regu- 
lated youth, — but  should  I  ever  succeed  to  the  family  estate 
and  honors,  she  hoped,  she  prayed,  that  my  present  course  of 
life  might  be  altered ;  that  I  should  part  from  my  unworthy 
associates ;  that  I  should  discontinue  all  connection  with  the 
horrid  theatre  and  its  licentious  frequenters ;  that  I  should  turn 
to  that  quarter  where  only  peace  was  to  be  had  ;  and  to  those 
sacred  duties  which  she  feared — she  very  much  feared — that  \ 
had  neglected.  She  filled  her  exhortation  with  Scripture  lan- 
guage, which  I  do  not  care  to  imitate.  When  I  took  my  leave 
she  gave  me  a  packet  of  sermons  for  Mrs.  Warrington,  and  a 
little  book  of  hymns  by  Miss  Dora,  who  has  been  eminent  in 


7o8 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


that  society  of  which  she  and  her  mother  became  avowed  pro- 
fessors subsequent!}^,  and  who,  after  the  dowager's  death,  at 
Bath,  three  years  since,  married  young  Mr.  Juffles,  a  celebrated 
preacher.  Tlie  poor  lady  forgave  me  then,  but  she  could  not 
bear  the  sight  of  our  boy.  We  lost  our  second  child,  and  then 
my  aunt  and  her  daughter  came  eagerly  enough  to  the  poor 
suffering  mother,  and  even  invited  us  hither.  But  my  uncle 
was  now  almost  every  day  in  our  house.  He  would  sit  for 
hours  looking  at  our  boy.  He  brought  him  endless  toys  and 
sweetmeats.  He  begged  that  the  child  might  call  him  Godpapa. 
When  we  felt  our  own  grief  (which  at  times  still,  and  after  the 
lapse  of  five-and  twenty  years,  strikes  me  as  keenly  as  on  the 
day  when  we  first  lost  our  little  one) — when  I  felt  my  own  grief, 
I  knew  how  to  commiserate  his.  But  my  wife  could  pity  him 
before  she  knew  what  it  was  to  lose  a  child  of  her  own.  The 
mother's  anxious  heart  had  already  divined  the  pang  which  was 
felt  by  the  sorrow-stricken  father  ;  mine,  more  selfish,  has  only 
learned  pity  from  experience,  and  I  was  reconciled  to  my  uncle 
by  my  little  baby's  coffin. 

The  poor  man  sent -his  coach  to  follow  the  humble  funeral, 
and  afterwards  took  out  little  Miles,  who  prattled  to  him 
unceasingly,  and  forgot  any  grief  he  might  have  felt  in  the 
delights  of  his  new  black  clothes,  and  the  pleasures  of  the 
airing.  How  the  innocent  talk  of  the  child  stabbed  the 
mother's  heart !  Would  we  ever  wish  that  it  should  heal  of 
that  wound  ?  I  know  her  face  so  well  that,  to  this  day,  I  can 
tell  when,  sometimes,  she  is  thinking  of  the  loss  of  that  little 
one.  It  is  not  a  grief  for  a  parting  so  long  ago  ;  it  is  a 
communion  with  a  soul  we  love  in  heaven. 

We  came  back  to  our  bright  lodgings  in  Bloomsbury  soon 
afterwards,  and  my  young  bear,  whom  I  could  no  longer  lead, 
and  who  had  taken  a  prodigious  friendship  for  Charley,  went  to 
the  Chartreux  School,  where  his  friend  took  care  that  he  had 
no  more  beating  than  was  good  for  him,  and  where  (in  conse- 
quence of  the  excellence  of  his  private  tutor,  no  doubt)  he  took 
and  kept  a  good  place.  And  he  liked  the  school  so  much, 
that  he  says,  if  ever  he  has  a  son,  he  shall  be  sent  to  that 
seminar}'. 

Now,  I  could  no  longer  lead  my  bear,  for  this  reason,  that 
I  had  other  business  to  follow.  Being  fully  reconciled  to  us,  I 
do  believe,  for  Mr.  Miles's  sake,  my  uncle  (who  was  such  an 
obsequious  supporter  of  Government,  that  I  wonder  the 
Minister  ever  gave  him  anything,  being  perfectly  sure  of  his 
vote)  used  his  influence  in  behalf  of  his  nephew  and  heir ;  and 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  709 

I  had  the  honor  to  be  gazetted  as  one  of  his  Majesty's  Com- 
missioners for  licensing  hackney-coaches,  a  post  I  filled,  I 
trust,  with  credit,  until  a  quarrel  with  the  Minister  (to  be 
mentioned  in  its  proper  place)  deprived  me  of  that  one.  I 
took  my  degree  also  at  the  Temple,  and  appeared  in  West- 
minster Hall  in  my  gown  and  wig.  And  this  year,  my  good 
friend,  Mr.  Foker,  having  business  at  Paris,  I  had  the  pleasure 
of  accompanying  him  thither,  where  I  was  received  a  bras 
ouverts  by  my  dear  American  preser\'er,  Monsieur  de  Florae, 
who  introduced  me  to  his  noble  family,  and  to  even  more  of 
the  polite  society  of  the  capital  than  I  had  leisure  to  frequent ; 
for  I  had  too  much  spirit  to  desert  my  kind  patron  Foker, 
whose  acquaintance  lay  chiefly  amongst  the  bourgeoisie, 
especially  with  Monsieur  Santerre,  a  great  brewer  of  Paris,  a 
scoundrel  who  hath  since  distinguished  himself  in  blood  and 
not  beer.  Mr.  F.  had  need  of  my  services  as  interpreter,  and 
I  was  too  glad  that  he  should  command  them,  and  to  be  able 
to  pay  back  some  of  the  kindness  which  he  had  rendered  to  me. 
Our  ladies,  meanwhile,  were  residing  at  Mr.  Foker's  new  villa 
at  Wimbledon,  and  were  pleased  to  say  that  they  were  amused 
with  the  "  Parisian  letters  "  which  I  sent  to  them,  through  my 
distinguished  friend  Mr.  Hume,  then  of  the  Embassy,  and 
which  subsequently  have  been  published  in  a  neat  volume. 

Whilst  I  was  tranquilly  discharging  my  small  official  duties 
in  London,  those  troubles  were  commencing  which  were  to  end 
in  the  great  separation  between  our  colonies  and  the  mother 
country.  When  Mr.  Grenville  proposed  his  stamp  duties,  I 
said  to  my  wife  that  the  bill  would  create  a  mighty  discontent 
at  home,  for  we  were  ever  anxious  to  get  as  much  as  we  could 
from  England  and  pay  back  as  little  ;  but  assuredly  I  never 
anticipated  the  prodigious  anger  which  the  scheme  created.  It 
was  with  us  as  with  families  or  individuals.  A  pretext  is  given 
for  a  quarrel  :  the  real  cause  lies  in  long  bickerings  and  pre- 
vious animosities.  Many  foolish  exactions  and  petty  tyran- 
nies, the  habitual  insolence  of  Englishmen  towards  all  for- 
eigners, all  colonists,  all  folk  who  dare  to  think  their  rivers  as 
good  as  our  Abana  and  Pharpar  ;  the  natural  spirit  of  men 
outraged  by  our  imperious  domineering  spirit,  set  Britain  and 
her  colonies  to  quarrel  ;  and  the  astonishing  blunders  of  the 
system  adopted  in  England  brought  the  quarrel  to  an  issue, 
which  I,  for  one,  am  not  going  to  deplore.  Had  I  been  in 
Virginia  instead  of  London,  'tis  very  possible  I  should  have 
taken  the  provincial  side,  if  out  of  mere  opposition  to  that 
resolute  mistress  of    Castlewood,  who  might  have   driven  me 


7IO  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

into  revolt,  as  England  did  the  colonies.  Was  the  Stamp  Act 
tiie  cause  of  the  revolution  ? — a  tax  no  greater  than  that 
cheerfully  paid  in  England.  Ten  years  earlier,  when  the 
French  were  within  our  territory,  and  we  were  imploring  succor 
from  home,  would  the  colonies  have  rebelled  at  the  payment  of 
this  tax  ?  Do  not  most  people  consider  the  tax-gatherer  the 
natural  enemy  ?  Against  the  British  in  America  there  were 
arrayed  thousands  and  thousands  of  the  high-spirited  and 
bra.e,  but  there  were  thousands  more  who  found  their  profit  in 
the  quarrel,  or  had  their  private  reasons  for  engaging  in  it.  I 
protest  I  don't  know  now  whether  mine  were  selfish  or  patriotic, 
or  which  side  was  in  the  right,  or  whether  both  were  not  ?  I 
am  sure  we  in  England  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  fight  the 
battle  out ;  and,  having  lost  the  game,  I  do  vow  and  believe 
that,  after  the  first  natural  soreness,  the  loser  felt  no  rancor. 

What  made  brother  Hal  write  home  from  Virginia,  which  he 
seemed  exceedingly  loth  to  quit,  such  flaming  patriotic  letters  ? 
My  kind  best  brother  was  alway  led  by  somebody  ;  by  me 
when  we  were  together,  (he  had  such  an  idea  of  my  wit  and 
wisdom,  that  if  I  said  the  day  was  fine,  he  would  ponder  over 
the  observation  as  though  it  was  one  of  the  sayings  of  the 
Seven  Sages,)  by  some  other  wiseacre  when  I  was  away.  Who 
inspired  these  flaming  letters,  this  boisterous  patriotism,  which 
he  sent  to  us  in  London .''  "  He  is  rebelling  against  Madam 
Esmond,"  said  I  "  He  is  led  by  some  colonial  person — by  that 
lady,  perhaps,"  hinted  my  wife.  Who  "  t!  a  lady  "  was  Hal  never 
had  told  us  ;  and  indeed,  besought  me  never  to  allude  to  the 
delicate  subject  in  my  letters  to  him  ;  "  for  Madam  wishes  to 
see  'em  all,  and  I  wishes  to  say  nothing  about  you  know  what 
until  the  proper  moment,"  he  wrote.  No  affection  could  be 
greater  than  that  which  his  letters  showed.  When  he  heard 
(from  the  informant  whom  I  have  mentioned)  that  in  the  midst 
of  my  own  extreme  straits  I  had  retained  no  more  than  a 
hundred  pounds  out  of  his  aunt's  legacy,  he  was  for  mortgaging 
the  estate  which  he  had  just  bought  ;  and  had  more  than  one 
quarrel  with  his  mother  in  my  behalf,  and  spoke  his  mind  with 
a  great  deal  more  frankness  than  I  should  ever  have  ventured 
to  show.  Until  her  angry  recriminations,  (when  she  charged 
him  with  ingratitude,  after  having  toiled  and  saved  so  much 
and  so  long  for  him,)  the  poor  fellow  did  not  know  that  our 
mother  had  cut  off  my  supplies  to  advance  his  interests  ;  and 
by  the  time  this  news  came  to  him  his  bargains  were  made,  and 
I  was  fortunately  quite  out  of  want. 

Every  scrap  of  paper  which  we  ever  wrote,  our  thrifty  parent 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  711 

at  Castle  wood  taped  and  docketed  and  put  away.  We  boys 
were  more  careless  about  our  letters  to  one  another  :  I  espe- 
cially, who  perhaps  chose  rather  to  look  down  upon  my 
younger  brother's  literary  performances  ;  but  my  wife  is  not  so 
supercilious,  and  hath  kept  no  small  number  of  Harry's  letters, 
as  well  as  those  of  the  angelic  being  whom  we  were  presently 
to  call  sister. 

♦  "  To  think  whom  he  has  chosen,  and  whom  he  might  have 
had  !  Oh,  'tis  cruel !  "  cries  my  wife,  when  we  got  that  notable 
letter  in  which  Harry  first  made  us  acquainted  with  the  name 
of  his  charmer. 

"  She  was  a  very  pretty  little  maid  when  I  left  home,  she 
may  be  a  perfect  beauty  now,"  I  remarked,  as  I  read  over  the 
longest  letter  Harry  ever  wrote  on  private  affairs. 

"  But  is  she  to  compare  to  my  Hetty  ?  "  says  Mrs.  War- 
rington. 

"  We  agreed  that  Hett}^  and  Harr}-  were  not  to  be'  hajDpy 
together,  my  love,"  say  I. 

Theo  gives  her  husband  a  kiss.  "  My  dear,  I  wish  they 
had  tried,"  she  says  with  a  sigh.  "  I  was  afraid  lest — lest 
Hetty  should  have  led  him,  you  see  ;  and  I  think  she  hath  the 
better  head.  But,  from'  reading  this,  it  appears  that  the  new 
lady  has  taken  command  of  poor  Harr}',"  and  she  hands  me 
the  letter. 

"  My  dearest  George  hath  been  prepared  by  previous  letters  to  understand  how  a  certain 
lady  has  made  a  conquest  of  my  heart,  which  I  have  jiiven  away  in  exchange  for  something 
infinitely  more  valuable,  namely,  her  own.  She  is  at  my  side  as  I  write  this  letter,  and  if 
there  is  no  bad  spelling  such  as  you  often  used  to  laugh  at,  'tis  because  I  have  my  pretty 
dictionary  at  hand,  which  makes  no  fault  in  the  longest  word,  nor  in  anything  else  I  know 
of  :  being  of  opinion  that  she  \s  perfect io7i. 

"  As  Madam  Esmond  saw  all  your  letters,  I  writ  you  not  to  give  any  hint  of  a  certain 
delicate  matter — but  now  'tis  no  secret,  and  is  known  to  all  the  country.  Mr.  George  is  not 
the  only  one  of  our  family  who  had  made  a  secret  marriage,  and  been  scolded  by  his  mother. 
As  a  dutiful  younger  brother  I  have  followed  his  example  ;  and  now  I  may  tell  you  how 
this  mighty  event  came  about. 

"  I  had  not  been  at  home  long  before  I  saw  7ny  fate  7vas  accomplisht.  I  will  not  tell 
you  how  beautiful  Miss  Fanny  Mountain  had  grown  since  I  had  been  away  in  Europe.  She 
snith,  '  You  never  -will  thi7tk  so,'  and  I  am  glad,  as  she  is  the  only  thing  in  life  I  would 
grudge  to  my  dearest  brother. 

"  That  neither  Madam  Esmond  nor  my  other  mother  (as  Mountain  is  now)  should  have 
seen  our  mutual  attachment,  is  a  wonder — only  to  be  accounted  for  by  supposing  that  love 
makes  other  folks  blind.  Mine  for  my  Fanny  was  increased  by  seeing  what  the  treatment 
was  she  had  from  Madam  Esmond,  who  indeed  was  very  rough  and  haughty  with  her,  which 
my  love  bore  with  a  sweetness  perfectly  angelic  (this  I  will  say,  though  she  will  order  me 
not  to  write  any  such  nonsense)-  She  was  scarce  better  treated  than  a  servant  of  the  house 
— indeed  our  negroes  can  talk  much  more  free  before  Madam  Esmond  than  ever  my  Fanny 
could. 

And  yet  my  Fanny  says  she  doth  not  regret  Madam's  unkindness,  as  without  it  I  possibly 
never  should  have  been  what  I  am  to  her.  Oh,  dear  brother  !  when  I  remember  how  great 
your  goodness  hath  been,  how,  in  my  own  want,  you  paid  my  debts  and  rescued  me  out  of 
prison  ;  how  you  have  been  living  in  poverty  which  never  need  have  occurred  but  for  my 
fault  ;  how  you  might  have  paid  yourself  back  my  just  debt  to  you  and  would  not,  preferring 
my  advantage  to  your  own  comfort,  indeed  I  am  lost  at  the  thought  of  such  goodness  ;  and 
ought   I   not  to  be  thankful  to  heaven  that  hath  given  me  such  a  wife  and  such  a  brother  i 


712  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

"  When  I  writ  to  you  requesting  you  to  send  me  my  aunt's  legacy  money,  for  which 
indeed  1  had  the  most  profitable  and  urgent  occasion,  1  had  no  idea  that  you  were  yourself 
suffering  povertj'.  That  you,  the  head  of  our  family,  should  condescend  to  be  governor  to 
abrevver's  son  ! — that  you  should  have  to  write  for  booksellers  (except  in  so  far  as  your  own 
genius  m'ght  prompt  you),  never  once  entered  my  mind,  until  Mr.  Foker's  letter  came  to  us, 
and  this  would  never  have  been  shown — for  Madam  kept  it  secret  — had  it  not  been  for  the 
difference  which  sprang  up  between  us- 

"  Poor  Tom  Diggle's  estate  and  negroes  being  for  sale,  owing  to  Tom's  losses  and  extra- 
vagance at  play,  and  his  father's  debts  before  him — Madam  Esmond  saw  here  was  a  great 
opportunity  of  making  a  provision  for  me,  and  that  with  six  thousand  pounds  for  the  "farm 
and  stock,  I  should  be  put  in  possession  of  as  pretty  a  property  as  falls  to  most  younger  sons 
in  this  country.  It  lies  handy  enough  to  Richmond,  between  Kent  and  Hanover  Court 
House — the  mansion  nothing  for  elegance  compared  to  ours  at  Castlewood,  but  the  land  ex- 
cellent and  the  people  extraordinary  healthy. 

"  Here  was  a  second  opportunity.  Madam  Esmond  said,  such  as  never  might  again  befall. 
By  the  sale  of  my  commissions  and  her  own  savings  1  might  pay  more  than  half  of  the  price 
of  the  property,  and  get  the  rest  of  the  money  on  mortgage  ;  though  here,  where  money  is 
scarce  to  procure,  it  would  have  been  difficult  and  dear.  At  this  juncture,  with  our  new  re- 
lative, Mr.  Van  den  Bosch,  bidding  against  us  (his  agent  is  wild  that  we  should  have  bought 
the  property  over  him),  my  aunt's  legacy  most  opportunely  fell  in.  And  now  I  am  owner  of 
a  good  house  and  negroes  in  my  native  country,  shall  be  called,  no  doubt,  to  our  House  of 
■  Burgesses,  and  hope  to  see  my  dearest  brother  and  family  under  my  own  roof-tree.  To  sit 
at  my  own  fireside,  to  ride  my  o\\'n  horses  to  my  own  hounds,  is  better  than  going  a-soldiering, 
now  war  is  over,  and  there  are  no  French  to  fight.  Indeed,  Madam  Esmond  made  a  condi- 
tion that  I  shou'-d  leave  the  army,  and  live  at  home,  when  she  brought  me  her  1,750/.  of 
savings.  She  had  lost  one  son,  she  said,who  chose  to  write  play-books,  and  live  in  England 
— let  the  other  stay  with  her  at  home. 

"  But  after  the  purchase  of  the  estate  was  made,  and  ray  papers  for  selling  out  w'ere  sent 
home,  my  mother  would  have  had  me  marry  a  person  of  her  choosing,  but  by  no  means  of 
mine.  You  remember  Miss  Betsy  Pitts  at  Williamsburg  ?  She  is  in  no  wise  improved  by 
having  had  her  face  dreadfully  scarred  with  small-pock,  and  though  Madam  Esmond  saith 
the  young  lady  hath  every  virtue,  I  own  her  virtues  did  not  suit  me.  Her  eyes  do  not  look 
straight;  she  hath  one  leg  shorter  than  another  ;  and  oh,  brother !  didst  thou  never  remark 
Fanny's  ankles  when  we  were  boys?     Xeater  I  never  sa-jj  at  the  Opera. 

"  Now,  when  'twas  agreed  that  I  should  leave  the  army,  a  certain  dear  girl  (canst  thou 
guess  her  name  ?)  one  day,  when  we  were  private,  burst  into  tears  of  such  happiness,  that  I 
could  not  hut  feel  immensely  touched  by  her  sympathy. 

"  '  Ah  !  '  says  she,  '  do  you  think,  sir,  that  the  idea  of  the  son  of  my  revered  benefactress 
going  to  battle  doth  not  inspire  me  with  terror  ?  Ah,  Mr,  Henry  !  do  you  imagine  I  have 
no  heart?  When  Mr.  George  was  with  Braddock,  do  you  fancy  we  did  not  pray  for  him  ? 
And  when  you  were  with  Mr.  Wolfe — oh !  ' 

"  Here  the  dear  creature  hid  her  eyes  in  her  handkerchief,  and  had  hard  work  to  prevent 
her  mamma,  who  came  in,  from  seeing  that  she  was  crjdng.  But  my  dear  Mountain  declares 
that,  though  she  might  have  fancied,  might  have  prayed  in  secret  for  such  a  thing  (she  owns 
to  that  now),  she  never  imagined  it  for  one  moment.  Nor,  indeed,  did  my  good  mother, 
who  supposed  that  Sam  Lintot,  the  apothecary's  lad  at  Richmond,  was  Fanny's  flame — an 
absurd  fellow  that  I  near  kicked  into  James  River. 

"  But  when  the  commission  was  sold,  and  the  estate  bought,  what  does  Fanny  do  but  fall 
into  a  deep  melancholy  ?  I  found  her  crying,  one  day,  in  her  mother's  room,  where  the  two 
ladies  had  been  at  work  trimming  hats  for  my  negroes. 

"  *  What !  crying.  Miss  ? '  says  I.     '  Has  my  mother  been  scolding  you?' 

"  '  No,'  says  the  dear  creature.     '  Madam  Esmond  has  been  kind  to-day.' 

"  And  her  tears  drop  down  on  a  cockade  which  she  is  sewing  on  to  a  hat  for  Sadj-^,  who 
is  to  be  head  groom. 

"  'Then  why,  Miss,  are  those  dear  eyes  so  red? '  say  I. 

*'  '  Because  1  have  the  toothache,'  she  says,  '  or  because — because  I  am  a  fool.'  Here 
she  fairly  bursts  out.  '  Oh,  Mr.  Harry  !  oh,  Mr.  Warrington  !  You  are  going  to  leave  us, 
and  'tis  as  well.  You  will  take  your  place  in  your  country,  as  becomes  you.  You  will  leave 
us  poor  women  in  our  solitude  and  dependence.  You  will  come  to  visit  us  from  time  to  time. 
And  when  you  are  happy  and  honored,  and  among  your  gay  companions,  you  will  remember 
your     *     *     *    * ' 

'•  Here  she  could  say  no  more,  and  hid  her  face  with  one  hand  as  I,  I  confess,  seized  the 
other. 

"  '  Dearest,  sweetest  Miss  Mountain  !  '  says  I.  '  Oh,  could  I  think  that  the  parting  from 
me  has  brought  tears  to  those  lovely  eyes  !  Indeed,  I  fear,  I  should  be  almost  happy !  Let 
them  look  upon  your     *    *    *     * ' 

"  *  Oh,  sir !  '  cries  my  charmer.  '  Oh,  Mr.  Warrington !  consider  who  I  am,  sir,  and  who 
you  are.  Remember  the  difference  between  us!  Release  my  hand,  sir !  What  would 
Madam  Esmond  say  if — if     *    *     *    * 

'*  If  what,  I  don't  know,  for  here  our  mother  vras  in  the  room. 


FLAT    REBELLION. 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


713 


'"What  would  Madam  Esmond  say?'  she  cries  out.  '  She  would  say  that  you  are  an 
ungrateful,  artless,  false,  little     *     *     *    * 

"  '  Madam!  '  says  I. 

"  '  Yes,  an  ungrateful,  artful,  false,  little  wretch  !  '  cries  out  my  mother.  '  For  shame  ! 
Miss!  What  would  Mr.  Lintot  say  if  he  saw  you  making  eyes  at  the  Captain  ?  And  for 
you,  Harry,  I  will  have  you  bring  none  of  your  garrison  manners  hither.  This  is  a  Christian 
family,  sir,'  and  you  will  please  to  know  that  my  house  is  not  intended  for  captains  and  their 
misses  1  ' 

"  '  Misses,  mother!  'says  T.  *  Gracious  powers,  do  you  ever  venture  for  to  call  Miss 
Mountain  by  such  a  name  ?     Miss  Mountain,  the  purest  of  her  sex  !  ' 

"  '  The  purest  of  her  sex !     Can  I  trust  my  own  ears  ? '  asks  Madam,  turning  very  pale. 

"  •'  I  mean  that  if  a  man  would  question  her  honor,  I  would  fling  him  out  of  the  window,' 
sayi  I. 

•■  '  You  mean,  that  you — your  mother's  son — are  actually  paying  honorable  attentions  to 
this  young  person  ? ' 

'■  '  He  would  never  dare  to  offer  any  other !  '  cries  my  Fanny ;  '  nor  any  woman  but  you. 
Madam,  to  think  so!  ' 

"  '  Oh  !  I  didn't  know,  Miss!  '  says  mother,  dropping  her  a  fine  curtsey,  '  I  didn't  know 
the  honor  you  were  doing  our  family !  You  propose  to  marry  with  us,  do  you  ?  Do  I  under- 
stand Captain  Warrington  aright,  that  he  intends  to  offer  me  Miss  Mountain  as  a  daughter- 
in-law  ? ' 

"  '  'Tis  to  be  seen,  Madam,  that  I  have  no  protector,  or  you  would  not  insult  me  so  ! 
cries  my  poor  victim. 

"  '  I  should  think  the  apothecary  protection  sufficient !  '  says  our  mother. 

"  '  I  don't,  mother !  '  I  bawl  out,  for  I  am  very  angry  ;  '  and  if  Lintot  offers  her  any 
liberty,  I'll  brain  him  with  his  own  pestle!  ' 

'■  '  Oh  !  if  Lintot  has  withdrawn,  sir,  I  suppose  I  must  be  silent.  But  I  did  not  know  of 
■  the  circumstance.  He  came  hither,  as  I  supposed,  to  pay  court  to  miss  :  and  we  all  thought 
tlie  match  equal,  and  I  encouraged  it.' 

"  '  He  came  because  I  had  the  toothache !  '  cries  my  darling  (and  indeed  she  had  a 
dreadful  bad  tooth.  And  he  took  it  out  for  her,  and  there  is  no  end  to  the  suspicious  and 
calumnies  of  women). 

"  '  What  more  natural  than  that  he  should  marry  my  housekeeper's  daughter — 'twas  a 
very  suitable  match!  '  continues  Madam,  taking  snuff.  '  But  I  confess,'  she  adds,  going 
on,  '  I  was  not  aware  that  you  intended  to  jilt  the  apothecary  for  my  son  !  ' 

"  '  Peace,  for  heaven's  sake,  peace,  Mr.  Warrington  !  '  cries  my  angel. 

"  '  Pray,  sir,  before  you  fully  m.ake  up  your  mind,  had  you  not  better  look  round  the 
rest  of  my  family?'  says  Madam.  '  Dinah  is  a  fine  tall  girl,  and  not  very  black  ;  Cleopatra 
is  promised  to  Ajax  the  blacksmith,  to  be  sure  ;  but  then  we  could  break  the  marriage,  you 
know.  If  with  an  apothecary,  why  not  with  a  blacksmith  ?  Martha's  husband  has  run 
away,  and ' 

"  Here,  dear  brother,  I  own  I  broke  out  a-swearing.  I  can't  help  it ;  but  at  times, 
when  a  man  is  angry,  it  do  relieve  him  immensely.  I'm  blest  but  I  should  have  gone  wild, 
if  it  hadn't  been  for  them  oaths. 

"  '  Curses,  blasphemy,  ingratitude,  disobedience,'  says  mother,  leaning  now  on  her  tor- 
toisehell  stick,  and  then  waving  it — something  like  a  queen  in  a  play.  '  These  are  my 
rewards  !  '  says  she.  '  O,  heaven,  what  have  I  done,  that  I  should  merit  this  awful  punish- 
ment ?  and  does  it  please  you  to  visit  the  sins  of  my  fathers  upon  me  ?  Where  do  my 
children  inherit  their  pride  ?  When  I  was  young,  had  I  any?  When  my  papa  bade  me 
marry,  did  I  refuse  ?  Did  I  ever  think  of  disobeying  ?  No,  sir.  My  fault  hath  been,  and 
I  own  it,  that  my  love  was  centred  upon  you,  perhaps  to  the  neglect  of  your  elder  brother.' 
(Indeed,  brother,  there  v/as  some  truth  in  what  Madam  said.)  '  I  turned  from  Esau,  and  I 
clung  to  Jacob.  And  now  I  have  my  reward,  I  have  my  reward  !  I  fixed  my  vain  thoughts 
on  this  world,  and  its  distinctions.  To  see  my  son  advanced  in  worldly  rank  was  my  ambi- 
tion. I  toiled,  and  spared,  that  I  might  bring  him  worldly  wealth.  I  took  unjustly  from 
my  eldest  son's  portion,  that  my  younger  might  profit-  And  oh  !  that  I  should  live  to  see 
him  seducing  the  daughter  of  my  own  housekeeper  under  my  own  roof,  and  replying  to  my 
just  anger  with  oaths  and  blasphemies  !  " 

"  '  I  try  to  seduce  no  one,  INIadam,'  I  cried  out.  '  If  I  utter  oaths  and  blasphemies,  I 
beg  your  pardon  ;  but  you  are  enough  to  provoke  a  Saint  to  speak  'em.  I  won't  have  this 
young  lady's  character  assailed — no,  not  by  my  own  mother  nor  any  mortal  alive.  No,  dear 
Miss  Mountain  !  If  IMadam  Esmond  chooses  to  say  that  my  designs  on  you  are  dishonor- 
able,— let  this  undeceive  her!  And,  as  I  spoke,  I  went  down  on  my  knees,  seizing  my 
adorable  Fanny's  hand.  '  And  if  you  will  accept  this  heart  and  hand,  Miss,'  says  I,  'they 
are  yours  for  ever.' 

"  '  Yoti,  at  least,  I  knew,  sir,'  says  Fanny  with  a  noble  curtsey,  'never  said  a  word 
that  was  disrespectful  to  me,  or  entertained  any  doubt  of  my  honor. '  And  I  trust  it  is  only 
Madam  Esmond,  in  the  world,  who  can  have  such  an  opinion  of  me.  After  what  your  lady- 
ship hath  said  of  me,  of  course  I  can  stay  no  longer  in  your  house.' 


714.  THE  VIRGINIANS. 

"  '  Of  course,  Madam,  I  never  intended  you  should  ;  and  the  sooner  you  leave  it  the 
better,' cries  our  mother.  - 

"  '  If  you  are  driven  from  my  mother's  house,  mine,  Miss,  is  at  your  service,'  says  I, 
making  her  a  low  bow.  '  It  is  nearly  ready  now.  If  you  will  take  it  and  stay  in  it  for  ever, 
it  is  yours !  And  as  Madam  Esmond  insulted  your  honor,  at  least  let  me  do  all  in  my 
power  to  make  a  reparation  !  '  I  don't  know  v\hat  more  I  exactly  said,  for  you  may  fancy  I 
was  not  a  little  flustered  and  excited  by  the  scene.  But  here  Mountain  came  in,  and  my 
dearest  Fanny,  flniging  herself  into  her  mother's  arms,  wept  upon  her  shoulder  ;  whilst 
Madam  Esmond,  sitting  down  in  her  chair,  looked  at  us  as  pale  as  a  stone.  Whilst  I  was 
telling  my  story  to  Mountain  (who,  poor  thing,  had  not  the  least  idea,  not  she,  that  Miss 
Fanny  and  I  had  the  slightest  inclination  for  one  another),  I  could  hear  our  mother  once  or 
twice  still  saying;  '  I  am  punished  for  my  crime  ! ' 

"  Now,  w^hat  our  mother  meant  by  her  crime  I  did  not  know  at  first,  or  indeed  take  much 
heed  of  what  she  said ;  for  you  know  her  way,  and  how^  when  she  is  angry,  she  always 
talks  sermons.  But  Mountain  told  me  afterwards,  when  we  had  some  talk  together,  as  we 
did  at  the  tavern,  whither  the  ladies  presently  removed  with  their  bag  and  baggage— for  not 
only  would  they  not  stay  at  Madam's  house  after  the  language  she  used,  but  my  mother 
determined  to  go  away  likewise.  She  called  her  servants  together,  and  announced  her 
intention  of  going  home  instantly  to  Castle  wood  ;  and  I  own  to  you 'twas  with  a  horrible 
pain  I  saw  the  family-coach  roll  by,  with  six  horses,  and  ever  so  many  of  the  servants  on 
mules  and  on  horseback,  as  I  and 'Fanny  looked  through  the  blinds  of  the  tavern. 

"After  the  words  Madam  used  to  my  spotless  Fanny,  'twas  impossible  that  the  poor 
child  or  her  mother  should  remain  in  our  house :  and  indeed  M.  said  that  she  would  go 
back  to  her  relations  in  England  :  and,  a  ship  bound  homeward,  lying  in  James  River,  she 
went  and  bargained  with  the  captain  about  a  passage,  so  bent  was  she  upon  quitting  the 
country,  and  so  little  did  sJte  think  of  making  a  match  between  me  and  my  angel.  But  the 
cabin  was  mercifully  engaged  by  a  North  Carolina  gentleman  and  his  family,  and  before  the 
next  ship  sailed  (which  bears  his  letter  to  fny  dearest  George)  they  have  agreed  to  stop  with  ■ 
me.  Almost  all  the  ladies  in  this  neighborhood  have  waited  on  them.  When  the  marriage 
takes  place,  I  hope  Madam  Esmond  will  be  reconciled.  My  Fanny's  father  was  a  British 
officer  ;  and,  sure,  ours  was  no  more.  Some  day,  please  heaven,  we  shall  visit  Europe,  and 
the  places  where  my  ivild  oats  were  sown,  and  where  I  committed  so  many  extravagances 
from  which  my  dear  brother  rescued  me. 

"  The  ladies  send  you  their  affection  and  duty,  and  to  my  sister.  We  hear  his  Excel- 
lency General  Lambert  is  much  beloved  in  Jamaica  :  and  I  shall  write  to  our  dear  friends 
there  aiinoiaiciiig  my  happiness.  My  dearest  brother  will  participate  in  it,  and  I  am  ever 
his  grateful  and  affectionate  H.  E.  W. 

"  P.S. — Till  Mountain  told  me,  I  had  no  more  notion  than  the  ded  ihdit  Madam  E.  had 
actially  stopt  your  allowances  ;  besides  making  you  pay  for  ever  so  much — near  upon  1,000/. 
Mountain  says — for  goods,  &c.  provided  for  the  Virginian  proparty.  Then  there  was  all 
the  charges  of  me  otd  ofprison,  which  /.  O.  U.  with  all  juy  heart.  Draw  upon  me,  please, 
dearest  brother — to  any  amount — addressing  me  to  care  of  Messrs.  Horn  &  Sandon, 
Williamsburg, /r/z/iV;  who  remitt  by  present  occasion  a  bill  for  225/.,  payable  by  their 
London  agents  on  demand.  Please  do7i^i  acknoivledge  this  in  answering:  as  there's  no 
good  in  bothering  women  with  accoiints :  and  with  the  extra  5/.  by  a  capp  or  what  she 
likes  for  my  dear  sister,  and  a  toy  for  my  nephew  from  [/ncle  I/al." 

The  conclusion  to  which  we  came  on  the  perusal  of  this 
document  was,  that  the  ladies  had  superintended  the  style 
and  spelling  of  my  poor  Hal's  letter,  but  that  the  postscript 
was  added  without  their  knowledge.  And  I  am  afraid  we 
argued  that  the  Virginian  Squire  was  under  female  domina- 
tion— as  Hercules,  Samson,  and  fortes  jmilfi  had  been  before 
him. 


THE  VIRGINIANS. 


715 


CHAPTER  LXXXV 

INVEXI    PORTUM. 

When  my  mother  heard  of  my  acceptance  of  a  place  at 
home,  I  think  she  was  scarcely  well  pleased.  She  may  have 
withdrawn  her  supplies  in  order  to  star^^e  me  into  a  surrender, 
and  force  me  to  return  with  my  family  to  Virginia,  and  to  de- 
pendence under  her.  We  never,  up  to  her  dying  day,  had  any 
explanation  on  the  pecuniary  dispute  between  us.  She  cut  off 
my  allowances  :  I  uttered  not  a  word ;  but  managed  to  live 
without  her  aid.  I  never  heard  that  she  repented  of  her  injus- 
tice, or  acknowledged  it,  except  from  Harry's  private  communi- 
cation to  me.  In  after  days,  when  we  met,  b)^  a  great  gentleness 
in  her  behavior,  and  an  uncommon  respect  and  affection  shown 
to  my  wife.  Madam  Esmond  may  have  intended  I  should  un- 
derstand her  tacit  admission  that  she  had  been  wrong  ;  but 
she  made  no  apology,  nor  did  I  ask  one.  Harry  being  pro- 
vided for  (whose  welfare  I  could  not  grudge),  all  my  mother's 
savings  and  economical  schemes  went  to  my  advantage,  who 
was  her  heir.  Time  was  when  a  few  guineas  would  have  been 
more  useful  to  me  than  hundreds  which  might  come  to  me 
when  I  had  no  need ;  but  when  Madam  Esmond  and  I  met, 
the  period  of  necessity  was  long  passed  away  ;  I  had  no  need 
to  scheme  ignoble  savings,  or  to  grudge  the  doctor  his  fee  ;  I 
had  plenty,  and  she  could  but  bring  me  more.  No  doubt  she 
suffered  in  her  own  mind  to  think  that  my  children  had  been 
hungr}^,  and  she  had  offered  them  no  food  ;  and  that  strangers 
had  relieved  the  necessity  from  which  her  proud  heart  had 
caused  her  to  turn  aside.  Proud  ?  Was  she  prouder  than  1 1 
A  soft  word  of  explanation  between  us  might  have  brought 
about  a  reconciliation  years  before  it  came  :  but  I  would  never 
speak  nor  did  she.  When  I  commit  a  wrong,  and  know  it 
subsequently,  I  love  to  ask  pardon  ;  but  'tis  as  a  satisfaction 
to  my  own  pride,  and  to  myself  I  am  apologizing  for  having  been 
wanting  to  myself.  And  hence,  I  think  (out  of  regard  to  that 
personage  of  ego),  I  scarce  ever  could  degrade  myself  to  do  a 
meanness.  How  do  men  feel  whose  whole  lives  (and  many 
men's  lives  are)  are  lies,  schemes,  and  subterfuges  ?  What 
sort  of  company  do  they  keep  when  they  are  alone  ?     Daily  in 


7i6 


THE  VIRGINIANS. 


p- 


life  I  watch  men  whose  every  smile  is  an  artifice,  and  every 
wink  is  an  hypocrisy.  Doth  such  a  fellow  wear  a  mask  in  his 
own  privacy,  and  to  his  own  conscience  ?  If  I  choose  to  pass 
over  an  injury,  I  fear  'tis  not  from  a  Christian  and  forgiving 
spirit  :  'tis  because  I  can  afford  to  remit  the  debt,  and  disdain 
to  ask  a  settlement  of  it.  One  or  two  sweet  souls  I  have 
known  in  my  life  (and  perhaps  tried)  to  whom  forgiveness  is 
no  trouble, — a  plant  that  grows  naturalh",  as  it  were,  in  the 
soil.  I  know  how  to  remit,  I  say,  not  forgive.  I  wonder  are 
we  proud  men  proud  of  being  proud  ? 

So  I  showed  not  the  least  sign  of  submission  towards  my 
parent  in  Virginia  yonder,  and  we  continued  for  years  ta  live 
in  estrangement,  with  occasionally  a  brief  word  or  two,  (such 
as  the  announcement  of  the  birth  of  a  child,  or  what  not,) 
passing  between  my  wife  and  her.  After  our  first  troubles  in 
America  about  the  StamjD  Act,  troubles  fell  on  me  in  London 
likewise.  Though  I  have  been  on  the  Tory  side  in  our  quarrel 
(as  indeed  upon  the  losing  side  in  most  controversies),  havin 
no  doubt  that  the  Imperial  Government  had  a  full  right  to  levy 
taxes  in  the  colonies,  yet  at  the  time  of  the  dispute  I  must  pub- 
lish a  pert  letter  to  a  member  of  the  House  of  Burgesses  in 
Virginia,  in  which  the  question  of  the  habitual  insolence  of  the 
mother  country  to  the  colonies  was  so  freely  handled,  and  sen- 
timents were  uttered  so  disagreeable  to  persons  in  power,  that 
I  was  deprived  of  my  place  as  hackney-coach  licenser,  to  the 
terror  and  horror  of  my  uncle,  who  never  could  be  brought  to 
love  people  in  disgrace.  He  had  grown  to  have  an  extreme 
affection  for  my  wife  as  well  as  my  little  boy ;  but  towards  my- 
self, personally,  entertained  a  kind  of  pitying  contempt  which 
always  infinitely  amused  me.  He  had  a  natural  scorn  and  dis- 
like for  poverty,  and  a  corresponding  love  for  success  and  good 
fortune.  Any  opinion  departing  at  all  from  the  regular  track 
shocked  and  frightened  him,  and  all  truth-telling  made  him 
turn  pale.  He  must  have  had  originally  some  warmth  of  heart 
and  genuine  love  of  kindred  :  for,  spite  of  the  dreadful  shocks 
I  gave  him,  he  continued  to  see  Theo  and  the  child  (and  me 
too,  giving  me  a  mournful  recognition  when  we  met) ;  and 
though  broken-hearted  by  my  free-spokenness,  he  did  not  re- 
fuse to  speak  to  me  as  he  had  done  at  the  time  of  our  first  dif- 
ferences, but  looked  upon  me  as  a  melancholy  lost  creature, 
who  was  past  all  worldly  help  or  hope.  Never  mind,  I  must 
cast  about  for  some  new  scheme  of  life  ;  and  the  repayment  of 
Harry's  debt  to  me  at  this  juncture  enabled  me  to  live  at  least 
for  some  months  even,  or  years  to  come.     O  strange  fatuity  of 


THE  VIRGINIANS.  717 

youth  !   I  often  say.     How  was  it  that  we  dared  to  be  so  poor 
and  so  httle  cast  dowai? 

At  this  time  his  Majesty's  royal  uncle  of  Cumberland  fell  down 
and  perished  in  a  fit ;  and,  strange  to  say,  his  death  occasioned 
a  remarkable  change  in  my  fortune.  My  poor  Sir  Miles  War- 
rington never  missed  any  court  ceremony  to  which  he  could  in- 
troduce himself.  He  was  at  all  the  drawing-rooms,  christen- 
ings, balls,  funerals  of  the  court.  If  ever  a  prince  or  jDrincess 
was  ailing,  his  coach  was  at  their  door :  Leicester  Fields, 
Carlton  House,  Gunnersbury,  were  all  the  same  to  him,  and 
nothing  must  satisfy  him  now  but  going  to  the  stout  duke's 
funeral.  He  caught  a  great  cold  and  an  inflammation  of  the 
throat  from  standing  bare-headed  at  this  funeral  in  the  rain  ; 
and  one  morning,  before  almost  I  had  heard  of  his  illness, 
a  lawyer  waits  upon  me  at  my  lodgings  in  Bloomsbury,  and 
salutes  me  by  the  name  of  Sir  George  Warrington. 

Poverty  and  fear  of  the  future  were  over  now.  We  laid  the 
poor  gentleman  by  the  side  of  his  little  son,  in  the  family 
church-yard  where  so  many  of  his  race  repose.  Little  Miles 
and  I  were  the  chief  mourners.  An  obsequious  tenantry  bowed 
and  curtseyed  before  us,  and  did  their  utmost  to  conciliate  my 
honor  and  my  w^orship.  The  dowager  and  her  daughter  with- 
drew to  Bath  presently ;  and  I  and  my  family  took  possession 
of  the  house,  of  wdiich  I  have  been  master  for  thirty  years.  Be 
not  too  eager,  O  my  son  !  Have  but  a  little  patience,  and  I 
too  shall  sleep  under  yonder  yew-trees,  and  the  people  will  be 
tossing  up  their  caps  for  Sir  Miles. 

The  records  of  a  prosperous  country  life  are  easily  and  briefly 
told.  The  steward's  books  show  what  rents  were  paid  and 
forgiven,  \vhat  crops  were  raised,  and  in  what  rotation.  What 
visitors  came  to  us,  and  how  long  they  stayed  :  what  pen- 
sioners my  wife  had,  and  how  they  were  doctored  and  relieved, 
and  how  they  died  :  what  year  I  was  sheriff,  and  how  often  the 
hounds  met  near  us  :  all  these  are  narrated  in  our  house-jour- 
nals, which  any  of  my  heirs  may  read  who  choose  to  take  the 
trouble.  We  could  not  afford  the  fine  mansion  in  Hill  Street, 
which  my  predecessor  had  occupied ;  but  we  took  a  smaller 
house,  in  which,  however,  we  spent  more  money.  We  made 
not  half  the  show  (with  liveries,  equipages,  and  plate,)  for 
which  my  uncle  had  been  famous  ;  but  our  beer  was  stronger, 
and  my  wife's  charities  v/ere  perhaps  more  costly  than  those  of 
the  Dowager  Lady  Warrington.  No  doubt  she  thought  there 
was  no  harm  in  spoiling  the  Philistines  \  for  she  made  us  pay 
unconscionably  for  the  goods  she  left  behind  her  in  our  country- 


yiS  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

house,  and  I  submitted  to  most  of  her  extortions  with  unutter- 
able good-humor.  What  a  value  she  imagined  the  potted 
plants  in  her  greenhouses  bore !  What  a  price  she  set  upon 
that  horrible  old  spinet  she  left  in  her  drawing-room  !  And  the 
framed  pieces  of  worsted-work,  performed  by  the  accomplished 
Dora  and  the  lovely  Flora,  had  they  been  masterpieces  of 
Titian  or  Vandyck,  to  be  sure  my  lady  dowager  could  hardly 
have  valued  them  at  a  higher  price.  But  though  we  paid  so 
generously,  though  we  were,  I  may  say  without  boasty  far 
kinder  to  our  poor  than  ever  she  had  been,  for  a  while  we  had 
the  very  worst  reputation  in  the  county,  wdiere  all  sorts  of 
stories  had  been  told  to  my  discredit.  I  thought  I  might  per- 
haps succeed  to  my  uncle's  seat  in  Parliament,  as  well  as  to  his 
landed  property  ;  but  I  found,  I  knew  not  how,  that  I  was 
voted  to  be  a  person  of  very  dangerous  opinions.  I  would  not 
bribe.  I  would  not  coerce  my  own  tenanls  to  vote  for  me  in 
the  election  of  ^(i'i.  A  gentleman  came  down  from  Whitehall 
with  a  pocket-book  full  of  bank-notes ;  and  I  found  that  I  had 
no  chance  against  my  competitor. 

Bo7i  D'leu  f  Now  that  we  were  at  ease  in  respect  of  worldly 
means, — now  that  obedient  tenants  bowed  and  curtseyed  as 
we  went  to  church  ;  that  we  drove  to  visit  our  friends,  or  to 
the  neighboring  towns,  in  the  great  family  coach  with  the  four 
fat  horses ;  did  we  not  often  regret  poverty,  and  the  dear  little 
cottage  at  Lambeth,  where  Want  was  ever  prowling  at  the 
door  ?  Did  I  not  long  to  be  bear-leading  again,  and  vow  that 
translating  for  booksellers  was  not  such  \  ery  hard  drudgery  ? 
When  we  went  to  London,  we  made  sentimental  pilgrimages  to 
all  our  old  haunts.  I  dare  say  my  wife  embraced  all  her  land- 
ladies. You  may  be  sure  we  asked  all  the  friends  of  those  old 
times  to  share  the  comforts  of  our  nev/  home  with  us.  The 
Reverend  Mr.  Hagan  and  his  lady  visited  us  more   than   once. 

His  appearance  in  the  pulpit   at  B ,  (where   he   preached 

very  finely,  as  we  thought,)  caused  an  awful  scandal  there. 
Sampson  came  too,  another  unlucky  Levite,  and  was  welcome 
as  long  as  he  would  stay  among  us.  Mr.  Johnson  talked  of 
coming,  but  he  put  us  off  once  or  twice.  I  suppose  our  house 
was  dull.  I  know  that  I  myself  would  be  silent  for  days,  and 
fear  that  my  moodiness  must  often  have  tried  the  sweetest- 
tempered  woman  in  the  world  w^ho  lived  with  me.  I  did  not 
care  for  field-sports.  The  killing  one  partridge  w^as  so  like 
killing  another,  that  I  w^ondered  how  men  could  pass  days 
after  days  in  the  pursuit  of  that  kind  of  slaughter.  Their  fox- 
hunting stories  would   begin  at  four  o'clock,  when  the   table- 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  719 

cloth  was  removed,  and  last  till  supper-time.  I  sat  silent,  and 
listened :  day  after  day  I  fell  asleep  :  no  wonder  I  was  not 
popular  with  my  company. 

What  admission  is  this  I  am  making  ?  Here  was  the  storm 
over,  the  rocks  avoided,  the  ship  in  port  and  the  sailor  not 
over-contented  ?  Was  Susan  I  had  been  sighing  for  during 
the  voyage,  not  the  beauty  I  expected  to  find  her  ?  In  the 
first  place,  Susan  and  all  the  family  can  look  in  her  William's 
log-book,  and  so,  Madam,  I  am  not  going  to  put  my  secrets 
down  there.  No,  Susan,  I  never  had  secrets  from  thee.  I 
never  cared  for  another  woman.  I  have  seen  more  beautiful, 
but  none  that  suited  me  as  well  as  your  ladyship.  I  have  met 
Mrs.  Carter  and  Miss  Mulso,  and  Mrs.  Thrale  and  Madam 
Kaufmann,  and  the  angelical  Gunnings,  and  her  Grace  of 
Devonshire,  and  a  host  of  beauties  who  were  not  angelic,  by 
any  means  ;  and  I  was  not  dazzled  by  them.  Nay,  young 
folks,  I  may  have  led  your  mother  a  weary  life,  and  been  a 
very  Bluebeard  over  her,  but  then  I  had  no  other  heads  in  the 
closet.  Only,  the  first  pleasure  of  taking  possession  of  our 
kingdom  over,  I  own  I  began  to  be  quickly  tired  of  the  crown. 
When  the  Captain  wears  it,  his  Majesty  will  be  a  very  different 
Prince.  He  can  ride  a-hunting  five  days  in  the  week,  and  find 
the  sport  amusing.  I  believe  he  would  hear  the  same  sermon 
at  church  fifty  times,  and  not  yawn  more  than  I  do  at  the  first 
delivery.  But  sweet  Joan,  beloved  Baucis  !  being  thy  faithful 
husband  and  true  lover  always,  thy  Darby  is  rather  ashamed  of 
having  been  testy  so  often  ;  and,  being  arrived  at  the  consum- 
mation of  happiness,  Philemon  asks  pardon  for  falling  asleep 
so  frequently  after  dinner.  There  came  a  period  of  my  life, 
when  having  reached  the  summit  of  felicity  I  was  quite  tired 
of  the  prospect  I  had  there  :  I  yawned  in  Eden,  and  said,  "  Is 
this  all  1  What,  no  lions  to  bite  ?  no  rain  to  fall  ?>  no  thorns  to 
prick  you  in  the  rose-bush  when  you  sit  clown  ? — only  Eve,  for 
ever  sweet  and  tender,  and  figs  for  breakfast,  dinner,  supper, 
from  week's  end  to  week's  end  !  "  Shall  I  make  my  confes- 
sions }      Hearken  !      Well,  then,  if  I  must  make  a  clean  breast 

of  it 

*  *  #  *  * 

Here  three  pages  are  torn  out  of  Sir  George  Warrington's 
MS.  book,  for  which  the  editor  is  sincerely  sorry. 

I  know  the  theory  and  practice  of  the  Roman  Church ;  but, 
being  bred  of  another  persuasion  (and  skeptical  and  heterodox 
regarding  that),  I  can't  help  doubting  the  other  too,  and  won- 


720 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


dering  whether  Catholics,  in  their  confessions,  confess  all  ?  Do 
we  Protestants  ever  do  so  ;  and  has  education  rendered  those 
other  fellow-men  so  different  from  us  ?  At  least,  amongst  us, 
we  are  not  accustomed  to  suppose  Catholic  priests  or  laymen 
more  frank  and  open  than  ourselves.  Which  brings  me  back 
to  my  question, — does  any  man  confess  all  ?  Does  yonder  dear 
creature  know  all  my  life,  who  has  been  the  partner  of  it  for 
thirty  years ;  who,  whenever  I  have  told  her  a  sorrow,  has  been 
ready  with  the  best  of  her  gentle  power  to  soothe  it ;  who  has 
watched  when  I  did  not  speak,  and  when  I  was  silent  has  been 
silent  herself,  or  with  the  charming  hypocrisy  of  woman  has 
worn  smiles  and  an  easy  appearance  so  as  to  make  me  imagine 
she  felt  no  care,  or  would  not  even  ask  to  disturb  her  lord's 
secret  when  he  seemed  to  indicate  a  desire  to  keep  it  private  ? 
Oh,  the  dear  hypocrite  !  Have  I  not  watched  her  hiding  the 
boys'  peccadilloes  from  papa's  anger  ?  Have  I  not  known  her 
cheat  out  of  her  housekeeping  to  pay  off  their  little  extrava- 
gances ;  and  talk  to  me  with  an  artless  face,  as  if  she  did  not 
know  that  our  revered  Captain  had  had  dealings  with  the  gen- 
tlemen of  Duke's  Place,  and  our  learned  collegian,  at  the  end 
of  his  terms,  had  very  pressing  reasons  for  sporting  his  oak  (as 
the  phrase  is)  against  some  of  the  University  tradesmen  ?  Why, 
from  the  ver}^  earliest  days,  thou  wise  woman,  thou  were  for- 
ever concealing  something  from  me, — this  one  stealing  jam 
from  the  cupboard ;  that  one  getting  into  disgrace  at  school ; 
that  naughty  rebel  (put  on  the  caps  young  folks,  according  to 
the  fit)  flinging  an  inkstand  at  mamma  in  a  rage,  whilst  I  was 
told  the  gown  and  the  carpet  were  spoiled  by  accident.  We  all 
hide  from  one  another.  We  have  all  secrets.  We  are  all  alone. 
We  sin  by  ourselves,  and,  let  us  trust,  repent  too.  Yonder 
dear  woman  would  give  her  foot  to  spare  mine  a  twinge  of  the 
gout ;  but,  when  I  have  the  fit,  the  pain  is  in  my  slipper.  At 
the  end  of  the  novel  or  the  play,  the  hero  or  heroine  marry  or 
die,  and  so  there  is  an  end  of  them  as  far  as  the  poet  is  con- 
cerned, who  huzzays  for  his  young  couple  till  the  post-chaise 
turns  the  corner  ;  or  fetches  the  hearse  and  plumes,  and  shovels 
them  underground.  But  when  Mr.  Random  and  Mr.  Thomas 
Jones  are  married,  is  all  over  ?  Are  there  no  quarrels  at  home  ? 
Are  there  no  Lady  Ballaston's  abroad  ?  are  there  no  constables 
to  be  outrun  ?  no  temptations  to  conquer  us,  or  be  conquered 
by  us  ?  The  Sirens  sang  after  Ulysses  long  after  his  marriage, 
and  the  suitors  whispered  in  Penelope's  ear,  and  he  and  she 
had  many  a  weary  day  of  doubt  and  care,  and  so  have  we  all. 
As  regards  money,  I  was  put  out  of  trouble  by  the  inheritance 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  72 1 

I  made  ;  but  does  not  Atra  Ciira  sit  behind  baronets  as 
well  as  equites  ?  ]\Iy  friends  in  London  used  to  congratulate  me 
on  my  happiness.  Who  would  not  like  to  be  master  of  a  good 
house  and  a  good  estate  ?  But  can  Gumbo  shut  the  hall-door 
upon  blue  devils,  or  lay  them  always  in  a  red  sea  of  claret  ? 
Does  a  man  sleep  the  better  who  has  four  and  twenty  hours  to 
doze  in,?  Do  his  intellects  brighten  after  a  sermon  from  the 
dull  old  vicar  ;  a  ten  rninutes  cackle  and  flattery  from  the 
village  apothecary  ;  or  the  conversation  of  Sir  John  and  Sir 
Thomas  with  their  ladies,  who  come  ten  moonlight  muddy  miles 
to  eat  a  haunch,  and  play  a  rubber  ?  'Tis  all  very  -well  to  have 
tradesmen  bowing  to  your  carriage-door,  room  made  for  you  at 
quarter-sessions,  and  my  lady  wife  taken  down  the  second  or 
the  third  to  dinner  :  but  these  pleasures  fade — nay,  have  their 
inconveniences.  In  our  part  of  the  country,  for  seven  years  after 
we  came  to  Warrington  Manor,  our  two  what  they  called  best 
neighbors  were  my  Lord  Tutbury  and  Sir  John  Mudbrook.  We 
are  of  an  older  date  than  the  Mudbrooks,  consequently,  when 
we  dined  together,  my  Lady  Tutbury  always  fell  to  my  lot,  who 
w^as  deaf  and  fell  asleep  after  dinner  ;  or  if  T  had  Lady  Mud- 
brook,  she  chattered  with  a  folly  so  incessant  and  intense,  that 
even  my  wife  could  hardly  keep  her  complacency  (consummate 
hypocrite  as  her  ladyship  is),  knowing  the  rage  with  which  I  was 
fuming  at  the  other's  clatter.  I  come  to  London.  I  show  my 
tongue  to  Dr.  Heberden.  I  pour  out  my  catalogue  of  com- 
plaints.    "  Psha,   my  dear   Sir  George  ! "   says  the  unfeeling 

physician.     "  Headaches,  languor,  bad  sleep,  bad  temper " 

("  Not  bad  temper  :  Sir  George  has  the  sweetest  temper  in  the 
world,  only  he  is  sometimes  a  little  melancholy,"  says  my  wife). 
"  Bad  sleep,  bad  temper,"  continues,  the  implacable  doctor. 
"  My  dear  lady,  his  inheritance  has  been  his  ruin,  and  a  little 
poverty  and  a  great  deal  of  occupation  would  do  him  all  the 
good  in  life." 

No,  my  brother  Harry  ought  to  have  been  the  squire,  with 
remainder  to  my  son  Miles,  of  course.  Harry's  letters  were 
full  of  gayety  and  good  spirits.  His  estate  prospered ;  his 
negroes  multiplied  ;  his  crops  were  large  ;  he  w^as  a  member  of 
our  House  of  Burgesses  ;  he  adored  his  wife  ;  could  he  but 
have  a  child  his  happiness  would  be  complete.  Had  Hal  been 
master  of  Warrington  Manor-house,  in  my  place,  he  w^ould  have 
been  beloved  through  the  whole  country ;  he  w^ould  have  been 
steward  at  all  the  races,  the  gayest  of  all  the  jolly  huntsmen, 
the  bie?i  vena  at  all  the  mansions  round  about,  where  people 
scarce  cared  to  perform  the  ceremony  of  welcome  at  sight  of 

46 


722 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


my  glum  face.  As  for  my  wife,  all  the  world  liked  her,  and 
agreed  in  pitying  her.  I  don't  know  how  the  report  got  abroad, 
but  'twas  generally  agreed  that  I  treated  her  with  awful  cruelty, 
and  that  for  jealousy  I  was  a  perfect  Bluebeard.  iVh  me  !  And 
so  it  is  true  that  I  have  had  many  dark  hours  ;  that  I  pass  days 
in  long  silence  ;  that  the  conversation  of  fools  and  whipper- 
snappers  makes  me  rebellious  and  peevish,  and  that,, when  I 
feel  contempt,  I  sometimes  don't  know  how  to  conceal  it,  or  I 
should  say  did  not.  I  hope  as  I  grow  older  I  grow  more  char- 
itable. Because  I  do  not  love  bawhng  and  galloping  after  a 
fox,  like  the  Captain  yonder,  I  am  not  his  superior ;  but,  in  this 
respect,  humbly  own  that  he  is  mine.  He  has  perceptions 
which  are  denied  me  ;  enjoyments  which  I  cannot  understand. 
Because  I  am  blind  the  world  is  not  dark.  I  try  now  and  listen 
with  respect  when  Squire  Codgers  talks  of  the  day's  run.  I  do 
my  best  to  laugh  w^hen  Captain  Rattleton  tells  his  garrison 
stories.  I  step  up  to  the  harpsichord  with  old  Miss  Humby 
(our  neighbor  from  Beccles)  and  try  and  listen  as  she  warbles 
her  ancient  ditties.  I  play  whilst  laboriously.  Am  I  not  trying 
to  do  the  duties  of  life  ?  and  I  have  a  right  to  be  garrulous 
and  egotistical,  because  I  have  been  reading  Montaigne  all  the 
morning. 

I  was  not  surprised,  knowing  by  what  influences  my  brother 
was  led,  to  find  his  name  in  the  list  of  Virginia  burgesses  who 
declared  that  the  sole  right  of  imposing  taxes  on  the  inhabi- 
tants of  this  colony  is  now,  and  ever  hath  been,  legally  and 
constitutionally  vested  in  the  House  of  Burgesses,  and  called 
upon  the  other  colonies  to  pray  for  the  Royal  interposition  in 
favor  of  the  violated  rights  of  America.  And  it  was  now,  after 
we  had  been  some  three  years  settled  in  our  English  home,  that 
a  correspondence  between  us  and  Madam  Esmond  began  to 
take  place.  It  was  my  wdfe  who  (upon  some  pretext  such  as 
women  always  know  how  to  find)  re-established  the  relations 
between  us.  Mr.  Miles  mast  need  have  the  small-pox,  from 
which  he  miraculously  recovered  without  losing  any  portion  of 
his  beauty  ;  and  on  this  recovery  the  mother  wTites  her  prettiest 
little  wheedling  letter  to  the  grandmother  of  the  fortunate  babe. 
She  coaxes  her  with  all  sorts  of  modest  phrases  and  humble 
offerings  of  respect  and  good-will..  She  narrates  anecdotes  of 
the  precocious  genius  of  the  lad  (what  hath  subsequently  hap- 
pened, I  wonder,  to  stop  the  growth  of  that  gallant  young  offi- 
cer's brains  ?),  and  she  must  have  sent  over  to  his  grandmother 
a  lock  of  the  darling  boy's  hair,  for  the  old  lady,  in  her  reply, 
acknowledged  the  receipt  of  some  such  present.     I  wonder,  as 


THE  VIRGINIANS.  723 

it  came  from  England,  they  allowed  it  to  pass  our  custom-house 
at  Williamsburg.  In  return  for  these  peace-offerings  and  smug- 
gled tokens  of  submission,  comes  a  tolerably  gracious  letter 
from  my  Lady  of  Castlewood.  She  inveighs  against  the  dan- 
gerous spirit  pervading  the  colony  :  she  laments  to  think  that 
her  unhappy  son  is  consorting  with  people  who,  she  fears,  will 
be  no  better  than  rebels  and  traitors.  She  does  not  wonder, 
considering  who  his  friends  and  advisers  are.  How  can  a  wife 
taken  from  an  ahnost  menial  situation  be  expected  to  sympathize 
with  persons  of  rank  and  dignity  who  have  the  honor  of  the 
Crown  at  heart  ?  If  evil  times  were  coming  for  the  monarchy, 
(for  the  folks  in  America  appeared  to  be  disinclined  to  pay 
taxes,  and  required  that  everything  should  be  done  for  them 
without  cost,)  she  remembered  how  to  monarchs  in  misfortune, 
the  Esmonds — her  father  the  marquis  especially — had  ever 
been  faithful.  She  knew  not  what  opinions  (though  she  might 
judge  from  my  nQ\N-fangled  Lord  Chatham)  were  in  fashion  in 
England.  She  prayed,  at  least,  she  might  hear  that  one  of  her 
sons  was  not  on  the  side  of  rebellion.  When  we  came,  in  after 
days,  to  look  over  old  family  papers  in  A'irginia,  we  found 
"  Letters  from  my  daughter  Lady  Warrington,"  neatly  tied  up 
with  a  ribbon.  My  Lady  Theo  insisted  I  should  not  open 
them :  and  the  truth,  I  believe,  is,  that  they  were  so  full  of 
praises  of  her  husband  that  she  thought  my  yanity  would  suffer 
from  reading  them. 

When  Madam  began  to  write,  she  gave  us  brief  notices  of 
Harry  and  his  wife.  "The  two  women,"  she  wTote,  "still 
govern  everything  with  my  poor  boy  at  Fannystown  (as  he 
chooses  to  call  his  house).  They  must  save  money  there,  for  I 
hear  but  a  shabby  account  of  their  manner  of  entertaining.  The 
Mount  Ver?ion  gentleman,  continues  to  be  his  great  friend,  and 
he  votes  in  the  House  of  Burgesses  very  much  as  his  guide 
advises  him.  Why  he  should  be  so  sparing  of  his  money  I 
cannot  understand:  I  heard,  of  five  negroes  who  went  with  his 
equipages  to  my  Lord  Bottetourt's,  only  two  had  shoes  to  their 
feet.  I  had  reasons  to  save,  having  sons  for  whom  I  wished  to 
provide,  but  he  hath  no  children,  wherein  he  certainly  is  spared 
from  much  grief,  though,  no  doubt,  heaven  in  its  wisdom  means 
our  good  by  the  trials  which,  through  our  children,  it  causes  us 
to  endure.  His  mother-in-law,"  she  added  in  one  of  her  letters, 
"has  been  ailing.  Ever  since  his  marriage,  my  poor  Henry 
has  been  the  creature  of  these  two  artful,  women,  and  they  rule 
him  entirely.  Nothing,  my  dear  daughter,  is  more  contrary  to 
common  sense  and  to  Holy  Scripture  than  this.     Are  we  not 


724  ^-^-^^   VIRGJNIANS. 

told,  JViT'i's,  he  obedic7it  to  your  husbands  ?  Had  Mr.  Warring- 
ton lived,  I  should  have  endeavored  to  follow  up  that  sacred 
precept,  holding  that  nothing  so  becomes  a  woman  as  hiunility 
and  obedioice.^^ 

Presently  we  had  a  letter  sealed  with  black,  and  announcing 
the  death  of  our  dear  good  Mountain,  for  whom  I  had  a  hearty 
regret  and  affection,  remembering  her  sincere  love  for  us  as 
children.  Harry  deplored  the  event  in  his  honest  way,  and 
with  tears  which  actually  blotted  his  paper.  And  Madam 
Esmond,  alluding  to  the  circumstance,  said  :  "  My  late  house- 
keeper, Mrs.  Mountain,  as  soon  as  she  found  her  illness  was 
fatal,  sent  to  me  requesting  a  last  interview  on  her  death-bed, 
intending,  doubtless,  to  pray  my  forgiveness  for  her  treachery 
towards  me.  I  sent  her  word  that  I  could  forgive  her  as  a 
Christian^  and  heartily  hope  (though  I  confess  I  doubt  it)  that 
she  had  a  due  sense  of  her  crime  towards  me.  But  our  meet- 
ing, I  considered,  was  of  no  use,  and  could  only  occasion 
unpleasantness  between  us.  If  she  repented,  though  at  the 
elevaith  horn-,  it  was  not  too  late,  and  I  sincerely  trusted  that 
she  was  now  doing  so.  And,  would  you  believe  her  lamentable 
and  hardened  condition  ?  she  sent  me  word  through  Dinah,  my 
woman,  whom  I  despatched  to  her  with  medicines  for  her  souVs 
and  her  body s  healthy  that  she  had  nothing  to  repent  of  as 
far  as  regarded  her  conduct  to  me,  and  she  wanted  to  be  left 
alone  !  Poor  Dinah  distributed  the  medicine  to  my  negroes, 
and  our  people  took  it  eage?'ly — whilst  Mrs.  Mountain,  left  to 
herself,  succumbed  to  the  fe\'er.  Oh,  the  perversity  of  human 
kind  !  This  poor  creature  was  too  proud  to  take  my  remedies, 
and  is  now  beyond  the  reach  of  cure  and  physicians.  You  tell 
me  your  little  Miles  is  subject  to  fits  of  cholic.  My  remedy, 
and  I  will  beg  you  to  let  me  know  if  effectual,  is  "  &c.,  &c. — 
and  here  followed  the  prescription,  which  thou  didst  not  take, 
O  my  son,  my  heir,  and  my  pride  !  because  thy  fond  mother  had 
her  mother's  favorite  powder,  on  which  in  his  infantine  troubles 
our  first-born  was  dutifully  nurtured.  Did  words  not  exactly 
consonant  with  truth  pass  between  the  ladies  in  their  corre- 
spondence ?  I  fear  my  Lady  Theo  was  not  altogether  candid : 
else  how  to  account  for  a  phrase  in  one  of  Madam  Esmond's 
letters,  who  said  :  "  I  am  glad  to  hear  the  powders  have  done 
the  dear  child  good  ?  They  are,  if  not  on  a  first,  on  a  second 
or  third  application,  almost  ififallible^  and  have  been  the  blessed 
means  of  relieving  many  persons  round  me,  both  infants  and 
adults,  white  and  colored.  I  send  my  grandson  an  Indian  bow 
and  arrows.     Shall  these  old  eyes  never  behold  him  at  Castle- 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


725 


wood,  I  wonder,  and  is  Sir  George  so  busy  with  his  books  and 
his  politics  that  he  can't  afford  a  few  months  to  his  mother  in 
Virginia  ?  I  am  much  alone  now.  My  son's  chamber  is  just 
as  he  left  it :  the  same  books  are  in  the  presses  :  his  little  hanger 
and  fowling-piece  over  the  bed,  and  my  father's  picture  over 
the  mantel-piece.  I  never  allow  anything  to  be  altered  in  his 
room  or  his  brother's.  I  fancy  the  children  playing  near  me 
sometimes,  and  that  I  can  see  my  dear  father's  head  as  he 
dozes  in  his  chair.  Mine  is  growing  almost  as  white  as  my 
father's.  Am  I  never  to  behold  my  children  ere  I  go  hence  ? 
The  Lord's  will  be  done." 


CHAPTER  LXXXVI. 

AT    HOME. 


Such  an  appeal  as  this  of  our  mother  would  have  softened 
hearts  much  less  obdurate  than  ours  ;  and  we  talked  of  a  speedy 
visit  to  Virginia,  and  of  hiring  all  the  "  Young  Rachel's  "  cabin 
accommodation.  But  our  child  must  fall  ill,  for  whom  the  voy- 
age would  be  dangerous,  and  from  whom  the  mother  of  course 
could  not  part ;  and  the  "  Young  Rachel "  made  her  voyage 
without  us  that  year.  Another  year  there  was  another  difficulty, 
in  my  worship's  first  attack  of  the  gout  (which  occupied  me  a 
good  deal,  and  afterwards  certainly  cleared  my  wits  and  enli- 
vened my  spirits)  ;  and  now  came  another  much  sadder  cause  for 
delay  in  the  sad  news  we  received  from  Jamaica.  Some  two 
years  after  our  establishment  at  the  Manor,  our  dear  General 
returned  from  his  government,  a  little  richer  in  the  world's 
goods  than  when  he  went  away,  but  having  undergone  a  loss 
for  which  no  wealth  could  console  him,  and  after  which,  indeed, 
he  did  not  care  to  remain  in  the  West  Indies.  My  Theo's  poor 
mother — the  most  tender  and  aft^ectionate  friend  (save  one)  I 
have  ever  had — died  abroad  of  the  fever.  Her  last  regret  was 
that  she  should  not  be  allowed  to  line  to  see  our  children  and 
ourselves  in  prosperity. 

"  She  sees  us,  though  we  do  not  see  her ;  and  she  thanks 
you,  George,  for  having  been  good  to  her  children,"  her  husband 
said. 

He,  we  thought,  would  not  be  long  ere  he  joined  her.     His 


726 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


love  for  her  had  been  the  happiness  and  business  of  his  whole 
life.  To  be  away  from  her  seemed  living  no  more.  It  was 
pitiable  to  watch  the  good  man  as  he  sat  with  us.  My  wife,  m 
her  air  and  in  many  tones  and  gestures,  constantly  recalled  her 
mother  to  the  bereaved  widower's  heart.  What  cheer  we  could 
give  him  in  his  calamity  we  offered ;  but,  especially,  little  Hetty 
was  now,  under  heaven,  his  chief  support  and  consolation.  She 
had  refused  more  than  one  advantageous  match  in  the  Island, 
the  General  told  us ;  and  on  her  return  to  England,  my  Lord 
Wrotham's  heir  laid  himself  at  her  feet.  But  she  loved  best 
to  stay  with  her  father,  Hetty  said.  As  long  as  he  was  not 
tired  of  her  she  cared  for  no  husband. 

"  Nay,"  said  we,  when  this  last  great  match  was  proposed, 
"  let  the  General  stay  six  months  with  us  at  the  INIanor  here, 
and  you  can  have  him  at  Oakhurst  for  the  other  six." 

But  Hetty  declared  her  father  never  could  bear  Oakhurst 
again  now  that  her  mother  was  gone  ;  and  she  would  marry  no 
man  for  his  coronet  and  money — not  she  !  The  General,  when 
we  talked  this  matter  over,  said  gravely  that  the  child  had  no 
desire  for  marrying,  owing  possibly  to  some  disappointment  in 
early  life,  of  which  she  never  spoke  ;  and  we,  respecting  her 
feelings,  were  for  our  parts  equally  silent.  My  brother  Lambert 
had  by  this  time  a  college  living  near  to  Winchester,  and  a  wife 
of  course  to  adorn  his  parsonage.  We  professed  but  a  mod- 
erate degree  of  liking  for  this  lady,  though  we  made  her  welcome 
when  she  came  to. us.  Her  \^^2,  regarding  our  poor  Hetty's 
determined  celibacy  was  different  to  that  which  I  had.  This 
Mrs.  Jack  was  a  chatterbox  of  a  woman,  in  the  habit  of  speak- 
ing her  mind  very  freely,  and  of  priding  herself  excessively  on 
her  skill  in  giving  pain  to  her  friends. 

"  My  dear  Sir  George,"  she  was  pleased  to  say,  "/  have 
often  and  often  told  our  dear  Theo  that  /  wouldn't  have  a 
pretty  sister  in  my  house  to  make  tea  for  Jack  when  I  was  up 
stairs,  and  always  to  be  at  hand  when  I  was  wanted  in  the 
kitchen  or  nurser}',  and  always  to  be  dressed  neat  and  in  her 
best  when  I  was  very  likely  making  pies  or  puddings  or  looking 
to  the  children.  I  have  every  confidence  in  Jack,  of  course. 
I  should  like  to  see  him  look  at  another  woman,  indeed  !  And 
so  I  have  in  Jemima :  but  they  don't  come  together  in  7}iy  house 
when  Fm  up  stairs — that  I  promise  you !  And  so  I  told  my 
sister  Warrington." 

"Am  I  to  understand,"  says  the  General,  "that  you  have 
done  my  Lady  Warrington  the  favor  to  warn  her  against  her 
sister,  my  daughter  Miss  Hester?" 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  727 

"  Yes,  Pa,  of  course  I  have.  A  duty  is  a  duty,  and  a  wo- 
man is  a  woman,  and  a  man's  a  man,  as  I  know  very  well. 
Don't  tell  me  !  He  is  a  man.  Every  man  is  a  man,  with  all  his 
sanctified  airs  !  " 

"  You  yourself  have  a  married  sister,  with  whom  you  were 
staying  when  my  son  Jack  first  had  the  happiness  of  making 
your  acquaintance  ?  "  remarks  the  General. 

"  Yes,  of  course  I  have  a  married  sister ;  ever}-one  knows 
that :  and  I  have  been  as  good  as  a  mother  to  her  children,  that 
I  have  !  " 

"  And  am  I  to  gather  from  your  conversation  that  your  at- 
tractions proved  a  powerful  temptation  for  your  sister's  hus- 
band ? " 

"  La  General !  I  don't  know  how  you  can  go  for  to  say  I  ever 
said  any  such  a  thing !  "  cries  Mrs.  Jack,  red  and  voluble. 

"  Don't  you  perceive,  my  dear  Madam,  that  it  is  you  who 
have  insinuated  as  much,  not  only  regarding  yourself,  but  re- 
garding my  own  Uvo  daughters  ?  " 

"  Never,  never,  never,  as  I'm  a  Christian  woman  !  And  it's 
most  cruel  of  you  to  say  so,  sir.  And  I  do  say  a  sister  is  best 
out  of  the  house,  that  I  do  !  And  as  Theo's  time  is  coming,  I 
warn  her,  that's  all." 

"  Have  you  discovered,  my  good  Madam,  whether  my  poor 
Hetty  has  stolen  any  of  the  spoons  ?  When  I  came  to  break- 
fast this  morning,  my  daughter  was  alone,  and  there  must  have 
been  a  score  of  pieces  of  silver  on  the  table." 

"  La,  sir  !  who  ever  said  a  word  about  spoons  ?  Did  /  ever 
accuse  the  poor  dear  ?  If  I  did,  may  I  drop  down  dead  at 
this  moment  on  the  hearth-rug  !  And  I  ain't  used  to  be  spoke 
•  to  in  this  way.  And  me  and  Jack  have  both  remarked  it ;  and 
I've  done  my  duty,  that  I  have."  And  here  Mrs.  Jack  flounces 
out  of  the  room,  in  tears. 

"  And  has  the  woman  had  the  impudence  to  tell  you  this,  my 
child  ? "  asks  the  General,  when  Theo  (who  is  a  little  delicate) 
comes  to  the  tea-table. 

"  She  has  told  me  every  day  since  she  has  been  here,  bhe 
comes  into  '  my  dressing-room  to  tell  me.  She  comes  to  my 
nursery,  and  says,  '  Ah,  /wouldn't  have  a  sister  prowling  about 
my  nursery,  that  I  wouldn't.'  Ah,  how  pleasant  it  is  to  have 
amiable  and  well-bred  relatives,  say  I." 

"  Thy  poor  mother  has  been  spared  this  woman,    groans  the 

General. 

"  Our  mother  would  have  made  her  better.  Papa,    says  i  heo, 

kissing  him. 


72  8  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

"Yes,  dear."  And  I  see  that  both  of  them  are  at  theii 
prayers. 

But  this  must  be  owned,  that  to  love  one's  relatives  is  not 
always  an  easy  task  ;  to  live  with  one's  neighbors  is  sometimes 
not  amusing.  From  Jack  Lambert's  demeanor  next  day,  I 
could  see  that  his  wife  had  given  him  her  version  of  the  conver- 
sation. Jack  was  sulky,  but  not  dignified.  He  was  angr}',  but 
his  anger  did  not  prevent  his  appetite.  He  preached  a  sermon 
for  us  which  was  entirely  stupid.  And  little  Miles,  once  more 
in  sables,  sat  at  his  grandfather's  side,  his  little  hand  placed  in 
that  of  the  kind  old  man. 

Would  he  stay  and  keep  house  for  us  during  our  Virginian 
trip  ?  The  housekeeper  should  be  put  under  the  full  domina- 
tion of  Hett}^  The»  butler's  keys  should  be  handed  over  to 
him  ;  for  Gumbo,  not  I  thought  with  an  over  good  grace,  was  to 
come  with  us  to  Virginia :  having,  it  must  be  premised,  united 
himself  with  Mrs.  Molly  in  the  bonds  of  matrimony,  and 
peopled  a  cottage  in  my  park  with  sundry  tawny  Gumbos.  Un- 
der the  care  of  our  good  General  and  his  daughter  we  left  our 
house  then  ;  we  travelled  to  London,  and  thence  to  Bristol,  and 
our  obsequious  agent  there  had  the  opportunity  of  declaring 
that  he  should  offer  up  prayers  for  our  prosperity,  and  of  vowing 
that  children  so  beautiful  as  ours  (we  had  an  infant  by  this  time 
to  accompany  Miles)  were  never  seen  on  any  ship  before.  We 
made  a  voyage  without  accident.  How  strange  the  feeling  was 
as  we  landed  from  our  boat  at  Richmond  !  A  coach  and  a  host 
of  negroes  were  there  in  waiting  to  receive  us  j  and  hard  by  a 
gentleman  on  horseback,  with  negroes  in  our  livery,  too,  who 
sprang  from  his  horse  and  rushed  up  to  embrace  us.  Not  a 
little  charmed  were  both  of  us  to  see  our  dearest  Hal.  He  rode, 
with  us  to  our  mother's  door.  Yonder  she  stood  on  the  steps 
to  welcome  us :  and  Theo  knelt  down  to  ask  her  blessing. 

Harry  rode  in  the  coach  with  us  as  far  as  our  mother's 
house  ;  but  would  not,  as  he  said,  spoil  sport  by  entering  with 
us.  "  She  sees  me,"  he  owned,  "  and  we  are  pretty  good 
friends  ;  but  Fanny  and  she  are  best  apart ;  and  there  is  no  love 
lost  between  'em,  I  can  promise  you.  Come  over  to  me  at  the 
Tavern,  George,  when  thou  art  free.  And  to-morrow  I  shall 
have  the  honor  to  present  her  sister  to  Theo.  'Twas  only  from 
happening  to  be  in  town  yesterday  that  I  heard  the  ship  was 
signalled,  and  waited  to  see  you.  I  have  sent  a  negro  boy  home 
to  my  wife,  and  she'll  be  here  to  pay  her  respects  to  my  Lady 
Warrington."  And  Harry,  after  this  brief  greeting,  jumped  out 
of  the  carriage,  and  left  us  to  meet  our  mother  alone. 


THE  VIRGINIANS.  729 

Since  I  parted  from  her  I  had  seen  a  great  deal  of  fine  com- 
pany, and  Theo  and  I  paid  our  respects  to  the  King  and  Queen 
at  St.  James's ;  but  we  had  seen  no  more  stately  person  than 
this  who  welcomed  us,  and  raising  my  wife  from  her  knee, 
embraced  her  and  led  her  into  the  house.  'Twas  a  plain,  wood- 
built  place,  with  a  gallery  round,  as  our  Virginian  houses  are ; 
but  if  it  had  been  a  palace,  with  a  little  empress  inside,  our 
reception  could  not  have  been  more  courteous.  There  was  old 
Nathan,  still  the  major-domo,  a  score  of  kind  black  faces  of 
blacks  grinning  welcome.  Some  whose  names  I  remembered  as 
children  were  grown  out  of  remembrance,  to  be  sure,  to  be 
buxom  lads  and  lasses  ;  and  some  I  had  left  with  black  pates 
were  grizzling  now  with  snowy  polls  :  and  some  who  were  born 
since  my  time  were  peering  at  doorways  with  their  great  eyes 
and  little  naked  feet.  It  was,  "  I'm  little  Sip,  Master  George  !  " 
and  "  I'm  Dinah,  Sir  George  !  "  and  "  I'm  Master  Miles's  boy  !  " 
says  a  little  chap  in  a  new  livery  and  boots  of  nature's  blacking. 
Ere  the  day  was  over,  the  whole  household  had  found  a  pretext 
for  passing  before  us,  and  grinning  and  bowing  and  making  us 
welcome.  I  don't  know  how  many  repasts  were  ser^'ed  to  us. 
In  the  evening  my  Lady  Warrington  had  to  receive  all  the 
gentry  of  the  little  town,  which  she  did  with  perfect  grace  and 
good  humor,  and  I  had  to  shake  hands  with  a  few  old  acquaint- 
ances— old  enemies,  I  was  going  to  say ;  but  I  had  come  into 
a  fortune,  and  was  no  longer  a  naughty  prodigal.  Why,  a  drove 
of  fatted  calves  was  killed  in  my  honor  !  "  My  poor  Hal  was  of 
the  entertainment,  but  gloomy  and  crestfallen.  His  mother 
spoke  to  him,  but  it  was  as  a  queen  to  a  rebellious  prince,  her 
sx)n,  who  was  not  yet  forgiven.  We  two  slipped  away  from  the 
company,  and  went  up  to  the  rooms  assigned  to  me  :  but  there, 
as  we  began  a  free  conversation,  our  mother,  taper  in  hand, 
appeared  with  her  pale  face.  Did  I  want  anything  ?  W^as  every- 
thing quite  as  I  wished  it  ?  She  had  peeped  in  at  the  dearest 
children,  who  were  sleeping  like  cherubs.  How  she  did  caress 
them,  and  delight  over  them  !  How  she  was  charmed  with 
Mile's  dominating  airs,  and  the  little  Theo's  smiles  and 
dimples  !  "  Supper  is  just  coming  on  the  table,  Sir  George.  If 
you  like  our  cookery  better  than  the  tavern,  Henry,  I  beg  you 
to  stay."  What  a  different  welcome  there  was  in  the  words  and 
tone  addressed  to  each  of  us  !  Hal  hung  down  his  head,  and 
followed  to  the  lower  room.  A  clergyman  begged  a  blessing  on 
the  meal.  He  touched  with  not  a  little  art  and  eloquence  upon 
our  arrival  at  home,  upon  our  safe  passage  across  the  stormy 
waters,  upon  the  love  and  forgiveness  which  awaited  us  in  the 


730  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

mansions  of  the  Heavenly  Parent  when  the  storms  of  life  were 
over. 

Here  was  a  new  clergyman,  quite  unlike  some  whom  I 
remembered  about  us  in  earlier  days,  and  I  jDraised  him,  but 
Madam  Esmond  shook  her  head.  She  was  afraid  his  principles 
were  very  dangerous  :  she  was  afraid  others  had  adopted  those 
dangerous  principles.  Had  I  not  seen  the  paper  signed  by  the 
burgesses  and  merchants  at  Williamsburg  the  year  before — the 
Lees,  Randolphs,  Bassets,  Washingtons,  and  the  like,  and  oh, 
my  dear,  that  I  should  have  to  say  it,  our  name,  that  is,  your 
brother's  (by  what  influence  I  do  not  like  to  say),  and  this 
unhappy  Mr.  Belman"s  wdio  begged  a  blessing  last  night  ? 

If  there  had  been  quarrels  in  our  little  colonial  society  when 
I  left  home,  what  were  these  to  the  feuds  I  found  raging  on  my 
return  ?  We  had  sent  the  Stamp  Act  to  America,  and  been 
forced  to  repeal  it.  Then  we  must  try  a  new  set  of  duties  on 
glass,  paper,  and  what  not,  and  repeal  that  Act  too,  with  the 
exception  of  a  duty  on  tea.  From  Boston  to  Charleston  the 
tea  was  confiscated.  Even  my  mother,  loyal  as  she  was,  gave 
up  her  favorite  drink ;  and  my  poor  wdfe  would  have  had  to 
forego  hers,  but  we  had  brought  a  quantity  for  our  private 
drinking  on  board  ship,  which  had  paid  four  times  as  much  duty 
at  home.  Not  that  I  for  my  part  would  have  hesitated  about 
paying  duty.  The  home  Government  must  have  some  means  of 
revenue,  or  its  pretensions  to  authority  were  idle.  They  say  the 
colonies  were  tried  and  tyrannized  over ;  I  say  the  home  Gov- 
ernment was  tried  and  tyrannized  over.  ('Tis  but  an  affair  of 
argument  and  history  now  ;  we  tried  the  question,  and  were 
beat ;  and  the  matter  is  settled  as  completely  as  the  conquest 
of  Britain  by  the  Normans.)  And  all  along,  from  conviction, 
I  trust,  I  own  to  have  taken  the  British  side  of  the  quarrel. 
In  that  brief  and  unfortunate  experience  of  war  wdiich  I  had 
had  in  my  early  life,  the  universal  cry  of  the  army  and  well- 
affected  persons  was,  that  Mr.  Braddock's  expedition  had 
failed,  and  defeat  and  disaster  had  fallen  upon  us  in  conse- 
quence of  the  remissness,  the  selfishness,  and  the  rapacity  of 
many  of  the  very  people  for  whose  defence  against  the  French 
arms  had  been  taken  up.  The  colonists  were  for  having  all 
done  for  them,  and  for  doing  nothing.  They  made  extortionate 
bargains  with  the  champions  who  came  to  defend  them  ;  they 
failed  in  contracts  ;  they  furnished  niggardly  supplies ;  they  multi- 
plied delays  until  the  hour  for  beneficial  action  was  past,  and 
until  the  catastrophe  came  which  never  need  have  occurred  but 
for  their  ill-will.     What  shouts   of  joy  were   there,  and  what 


THE  VIRGINIANS.  73 1 

ovations  for  the  great  British  Minister  who  had  devised  and 
effected  the  conquest  of  Canada !  Monsieur  de  Vaudreuil  said 
justly  that  that  conquest  was  the  signal  for  the  defection  of  the 
North  American  colonies  from  their  allegiance  to  Great  Britain  ; 
and  my  Lord  Chatham,  having  done  his  best  to  achieve  the  first 
part  of  the  scheme,  contributed  more  than  any  man  in  England 
towards  the  completion  of  it.  The  colonies  were  insurgent,  and 
he  applauded  their  rebellion.  What  scores  of  thousands  of 
waverers  must  he  have  encouraged  into  resistance  !  It  was  a 
general  who  says  to  an  army  in  revolt,  "  God  save  the  king  ! 
^ly  men,  you  have  a  right  to  mutiny  !  "  No  wonder  they  set 
up  his  statue  in  this  town,  and  his  picture  in  t'other ;  whilst 
here  and  there  they  hanged  Ministers  and  Governors  in  effigy. 
To  our  Virginian  town  of  Williamsburg  some  wiseacres  must 
subscribe  to  bring  over  a  portrait  of  my  lord,  in  the  habit  of  a 
Roman  orator  speaking  in  the  Forum,  to  be  sure,  and  pointing 
to  the  palace  of  Whitehall,  and  the  special  window  out  of  which 
Charles  I.  was  beheaded !  Here  was  a  neat  allegory,  and  a 
pretty  compliment  to  a  British  statesman  !  I  hear,  however, 
that  my  lord's  head  was  painted  from  a  bust,  and  so  was  taken 
off  without  his  knowledge. 

Now  my  country  is  England,  not  America  or  Virginia :  and 
I  take,  or  rather  took,  the  English  side  of  the  dispute.  My 
sympathies  had  always  been  with  home,  where  I  was  now  a 
squire  and  a  citizen  :  but  had  my  lot  been  to  plant  tobacco,  and 
live  on  the  banks  of  James  River  or  Potomac,  no  doubt  my 
opinions  had  been  altered.  Wlien,  for  instance,  I  visited  my 
brother  at  his  new  house  and  plantation,  I  found  him  and  his 
wife  as  staunch  Americans  as  we  were  British.  We  had  some 
words  upon  the  matter  in  dispute, — who  had  not  in  those 
troublesome  times  ? — but  our  argument  was  carried  on  without 
rancor  ;  even  my  new  sister  could  not  bring  us  to  that,  though 
she  did  her  best  when  we  were  together,  and  in  the  curtain 
lectures  which  I  have  no  doubt  she  inflicted  on  her  spouse,  like 
a  notable  housewife  as  she  was.  But  we  trusted  in  each  other 
so  entirely  that  even  Harry's  duty  towards  his  wife  would  not 
make  him  quarrel  with  his  brother.  He  loved  me  from  old 
time,  when  my  word  was  law  with  him  ;  he  still  protested  that 
he  and  every  Virginian  gentleman  of  his  side  was  loyal  to  the 
Crown.  War  was  not  declared  as  yet,  and  gentlemen  of  dif- 
ferent opinions  were  courteous  enough  to  one  another.  Nay, 
at  our  public  dinners  and  festivals,  the  health  of  the  King  v/as 
still  ostentatiously  drunk  ;  and  the  assembly  of  every  colony, 
though  preparing  for  Congress,  though  resisting  all  attempts  at 


732  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

taxation  on  the  part  of  the  home  authorities,  was  loud  in  its 
expressions  of  regard  for  the  King  our  Father,  and  pathetic  in 
its  appeals  to  that  paternal  sovereign  to  put  away  evil  coun- 
sellors from  him,  and  listen  to  the  voice  of  moderation  and 
reason.  Up  to  the  last,  our  Virginian  gentry  were  a  grave, 
orderly  aristocratic  folk,  with  the  strongest  sense  of  their  own 
dignity  and  station.  In  later  days,  and  nearer  home,  we  have 
heard  of  fraternization  and  equality.  Amongst  the  great  folks 
of  our  Old  World  I  had  never  seen  a  gentleman  standing  more 
on  his  dignity  and  maintaining  it  better  than  Mr.  Washington  : 
no — not  the  King  against  whom  he  took  arms.  In  the  eyes  of 
all  the  gentry  of  the  French  Court,  who  ga3dy  joined  in  the 
crusade  against  us,  and  so  took  their  revenge  for  Canada,  the 
great  American  chief  always  appeared  as  anax  a?idron,  and 
they  allowed  that  his  better  could  not  be  seen  in  Versailles 
itself.  Though  they  were  quarrelling  with  the  Governor,  the 
gentlemen  of  the  House  of  Burgesses  still  maintained  amicable 
relations  with  him,  and  exchanged  dignified  courtesies.  When 
my  Lord  Bottetourt  arrived,  and  held  his  court  at  Williams- 
burg in  no  small  splendor  and  state,  all  the  gentry  waited  upon 
him,  Madame  Esmond  included.  And  at  his  death,  Lord 
Dunmore,  who  succeeded  him,  and  brought  a  fine  family  with 
him,  was  treated  with  the  utmost  respect  by  our  gentry  privately, 
though  publicly  the  House  of  Assembly  and  the  Governor  were 
at  war. 

Their  quarrels  are  a  matter  of  history,  and  concerned  me 
personally  only  so  far  as  this,  that  our  burgesses  being  convened 
for  the  I  St  of  March  in  the  year  after  my -arrival  in  Virginia,  it 
was  agreed  that  we  should  all  pay  a  visit  to  our  capital,  and  our 
duty  to  the  Governor.  Since  Harry's  unfortunate  marriage 
Madam  Esmond  had  not  performed  this  duty,  though  always 
pre\-iously  accustomed  to  pay  it  ;  but  now  that  her  eldest  son 
was  arrived  in  the  colony,  my  mother  opined  that  we  must  cer- 
tainly wait  upon  his  Excellency  the  Governor,  nor  were  we  sorry, 
perhaps,  to  get  away  from  our  little  Richmond  to  enjoy  the 
gayeties  of  the  provincial  capital.  Madam  engaged,  and  at  a 
great  price,  the  best  house  to  be  had  at  Richmond  for  herself 
and  her  family.  Now  I  was  rich,  her  generosity  was  curious. 
I  had  more  than  once  to  interpose  (her  old  servants  likewise 
w^ondering  at  her  new  way  of  life),  and  beg  her  not  to  be  so 
lavish.  But  she  gently  said,  in  former  days  she  had  occasion 
to  save,  which  now  existed  no  .nore.  Harr}^  had  enough,  sure, 
with  such  a  wife  as  he  had  taken  out  of  the  housekeeper's  room. 
If  she  chose  to  be  a  little  extravagant  now,  why  should  she 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


1ZZ 


hesitate  ?  She  had  not  her  dearest  daughter  and  grandchildren 
with  her  every  day  (she  fell  in  love  with  all  three  of  them,  and 
spoiled  them  as  much  as  they  were  capable  of  being  spoiled). 
Besides,  in  former  days  I  certainly  could  not  accuse  her  of  too 
\:^\\<z\\  extravagance^  and  this  I  think  was  almost  the  only  allusion 
she  made  to  the  pecuniary  differences  between  u-s.  So  she  had 
her  people  dress^  in  their  best,  and  her  best  wines,  plate,  and 
furniture  from  Castlewood  by  sea  at  no  small  charge,  and  her 
dress  in  which  she  had  been  married  in  George  II.'s  reign,  and 
we  all  flattered  ourselves  that  our  coach  made  the  greatest 
figure  of  any  except  his  Excellency's,  and  we  engaged  Signor 
Formicalo,  his  Excellency's  major-domo,  to  superintend  the 
series  of  feasts  that  were  given  in  my  honor ;  and  more  flesh- 
pots  were  set  a-stewing  in  our  kitchens  in  one  month,  our  ser- 
vants said,  than  had  been  known  in  the  family  since  the  young 
gentlemen  went  away.  So  great  was  Theo's  influence  over  my 
mother,  that  she  actually  persuaded  her,  that  year,  to  receive 
our  sister  Fanny,  Hal's  wife,  who  would  have  stayed  upon  the 
plantation  rather  than  face  Madam  Esmond.  But,  trusting  to 
Theo's  promise  of  amnesty,  Fanny  (to  whose  house  we  had 
paid  more  than  one  visit)  came  up  to  town,  and  made  her  curt- 
sey to  Madam  Esmond,  and  was  forgiven.  And  rather  than  be 
forgiven  in  that  way,  I  own,  for  my  part,  that  I  would  prefer 
perdition  or  utter  persecution. 

"  You  know  these,  my  dear  ?  "  says  Madame  Esmond,  point- 
ing to  her  fine  silver  sconces,  "  Fanny  hath  often  cleaned 
them  when  she  was  with  me  at  Castlewood.  And  this  dress, 
too,  Fanny  knows,  I  dare  say  .''  Her  poor  mother  had  the  care 
of  it.     I  always  had  the  greatest  confidence  in  her." 

Here  there  is  wrath  flashing  from  Fanny's  eyes,  which  our 
mother,  who  has  forgiven  her,  does  not  perceive — not  she  !  " 

"  Oh,  she  was  a  treasure  to  me  !  "  Madame  resumes.  "  I 
never  should  have  nursed  my  boys  through  their  illness  but  for 
your  mother's  admirable  care  of  them.  Colonel  Lee,  permit 
me  to  present  you  to  my  daughter,  ray  Lady  Warrington.  Her 
ladyship  is  a  neighbor  of  your  relatives  the  Bunburys  at  home. 
Here  comes  his  Excellency.     Welcome,  my  lord  !  " 

And  our  princess  performs  before  his  lordship  one  of  those 
curtseys  of  which  she  was  not  a  little  proud  ;  and  I  fancy  I  see 
some  of  the  company  venturing  to  smile. 

"  By  George,  Madam,"  says  Mr.  Lee,  "  since  Count  Boru- 
lawski,  I  have  not  seen  a  bow  so  elegant  as  your  ladyship's." 

"  And  pray,  sir,  who  was  Count  Borulawski  ?  "  asks 
madam. 


734 


THE  VIRGINIANS. 


"  He  was  a  nobleman  high  in  favor  with  his  Polish  Majesty," 
replies  Mr.  Lee.  "  May  I  ask  you,  Madam,  to  present  me  to 
your  distinguished  son  ?  " 

"This  is  Sir  George  Warrington,"  says  my  mother,  pointing 
to  me. 

"  Pardon  me,  Madam.  I  meant  Captain  Warrington,  who 
was  by  Mr.  Wolfe's  side  when  he  died.  I  liad  been  contented 
to  share  his  fate,  so  I  had  been  near  him." 

And  the  ardent  Lee  swaggers  up  to  Harry,  and  takes  his 
hand  with  respect,  and  pays  him  a  compliment  or  two,  which 
makes  me,  at  least,  pardon  him  for  late  impertinence  :  for  my 
dearest  Hal  walks  gloomily  through  his  mother's  rooms,  in  his 
uniform  of  the  famous  corps  which  he  has  quitted. 

We  had  had  many  meetings,  which  the  stern  mother  could 
not  interrupt,  and  in  which  that  instinctive  love  which  bound 
us  to  one  another,  and  which  nothing  could  destroy,  had  oppor- 
tunity to  speak.  Entirely  unlike  each  other  in  our  pursuits, 
our  tastes,  our  opinions — his  life  being  one  of  eager  exercise, 
active  sport,  and  all  the  amusements  of  the  field,  while  mine  is 
to  dawdle  over  books  and  spend  my  time  in  languid  self- 
contemplation — we  have,  nevertheless,  had  such  a  sympathy  as 
almost  passes  the  love  of  women.  My  poor  Hal  confessed  as 
much  to  me,  for  his  part,  in  his  artless  manner,  when  we  went 
away  without  wives  or  womankind,  except  a  few  negroes  left  in 
the  place,  and  passed  a  week  at  Castlewood  together. 

The  ladies  did  not  love  each  other.  I  know  enough  of  my 
Lady  Theo,  to  see  after  a  very  few  glances  whether  or  not  she 
takes  a  liking  to  another  of  her  amiable  sex.  All  my  powers  of 
persuasion  or  command  fail  to  change  the  stubborn  creature's 
opinion.  Had  she  ever  said  a  word  against  Mrs.  This  or  Miss 
That  ?  Not  she  !  Has  she  been  otherwise  than  civil  ?  No, 
assuredly !  My  Lady  Theo  is  polite  to  a  beggar-woman,  treats 
her  kitchen-maids  like  duchesses,  and  murmurs  a  compliment 
to  the  dentist  for  his  elegant  manner  of  pulling  her  tooth  out. 
She  would  black  my  boots,  or  clean  the  grate,  if  I  ordained  it 
(always  looking  like  a  duchess  the  while)  ;  but  as  soon  as  I  say 
to  her,  "  My  dear  creature,  be  fond  of  this  lady,  or  t'other  !  " 
all  obedience  ceases ;  she  executes  the  most  refined  curtseys ; 
smiles  and  kisses  even  to  order  ;  but  performs  that  mysterious 
undefinable  freemasonic  signal,  which  passes  between  women, 
by  which  each  knows  that  the  other  hates  her.  So,  with  regan 
to  Fanny,  we  had  met  at  her  house,  and  at  others.  I  remei 
ber  her  affectionately  from  old  days,  I  fully  credited  poor  Hal's* 
violent  protests   and  tearful  oaths,  that,  by  George,  it  was  our 


THE  VIRGINIANS. 


735 


mother's  persecution  which  made  him  marry  her.  He  couldn't 
stand  by  and  see  a  poor  thing  tortured  as  she  was,  without 
coming  to  her  rescue;  no,  by  heavens,  he  couldn't!  I  say  I 
believed  all  this ;  and  had  for  my  sister-in-law  a  genuine  com- 
passion, as  well  as  an  early  regard  ;  and  yet  I  have  no  love  to 
give  her  :  and,  in  reply  to  Hal's  passionate  outbreaks  in  praise 
of  her  beauty  and  worth,  and  eager  queries  to  me  whether  I 
did  not  think  her  a  perfect  paragon,  I  could  only  answer  with 
faint  compliments  or  vague  approval,  feeling  all  the  while  that 
I  was  disappointing  my  poor  ardent  fellow,  and  cursing  inwardly 
that  revolt  against  flattery  and  falsehood  into  which  I  sometimes 
frantically  rush.  Why  should  I  not  say,  "  Yes,  dear  Hal,  thy 
wife  is  a  paragon  ;  her  singing  is  delightful,  her  hair  and  shape 
are  beautiful ;"  as  I  might  have  said  by  a  little  common  stretch 
of  politeness  ?  Why  could  I  not  cajole  this  or  that  stupid 
neighbor  or  relative,  as  I  have  heard  Theo  do  a  thousand  times, 
finding  all  sorts  of  lively  prattle  to  amuse  them,  whilst  I  sit  be- 
fore them  dumb  and  gloomy  .?  I  say  it  was  a  sin  not  to  have 
more  words  to  say  in  praise  of  Fanny.  We  ought  to  have  praised 
her,  we  ought  to  have  liked  her.  My  lady  Warrington  certainly 
ought  to  have  liked  her  for,  she  can  play  the  hypocrite,  and  I  can- 
not. And  there  was  this  young  creature — pretty,  graceful,  shaped 
like  a  nymph,  with  beautiful  black  eyes — and  we  cared  for 
them  no  more  than  two  gooseberries !  At  Warrington  my  wife 
and  I,  when  we  pretended  to  comjDare  notes,  elaborately  compli- 
mented each  other  on  our  new  sister's  beauty.  What  lovely  eyes  ! 
— Oh,  yes  !  What  a  sweet  little  dimple  on  her  chin  ! — Ah  oui ! 
What  wonderful  little  feet! — Perfectly  Chinese  I  where  should 
we  in  London  get  slippers  small  enough  for  her  ?  And,  these 
compliments  exhausted,  we  knew  that  we  did  not  like  Fanny 
the  value  of  one  penny-piece  ;  we  knew  that  we  disliked  her ;  we 
knew  that  we  ha  "*  *  *  Well,  what  hypocrites  women  are  !  We 
heard  from  many  quarters  how  eagerly  my  brother  had  taken 
up  the  new  anti-English  opinion,  and  what  a  champion  he  was 
of  so-called  American  rights  and  freedom.  "  It  is  her  doing,  my 
dear,"  says  I  to  my  wife.  "  If  I  had  said  so  much,  I  am  sure 
you  would  have  scolded  me,"  says  my  Lady  Warrington,  laugh- 
ing :  and  I  did  straightway  begin  to  scold  her,  and  say  it  was 
most  cruel  of  her  to  suspect  our  new  sister  ;  and  what  earthly 
right  had  we  to  do  so  ?  But  I  say  again,  I  know  Madame  Theo 
so  well,  that  when  once  she  has  got  a  prejudice  against  a  person 
in  her  little  head,  not  all  the  king's  horses  nor  all  the  king's 
men  will  get  it  out  again.  I  vow  nothing  would  induce  her  to 
believe  that  Harry  was  not  henpecked — nothing. 


736  THE   VIRGINIANS, 

Well,  we  went  to  Castlewood  together  without  the  women, 
and  stayed  at  the  dreary,  dear  old  place,  where  we  had  been  so 
happy,  and  I,  at  least,  so  gloomy.  It  was  winter,  and  duck 
time,  and  Harry  went  away  to  the  river,  and  shot  dozens  and 
scores  and  bushels  of  canvas-backs,  whilst  I  remained  in  my 
grandfather's  library  amongst  the  old  mouldering  books  which 
I  loved  in  m}^  childhood — which  I  see  in  a  dim  vision  still  rest- 
ing on  a  little  boy's  lap,  as  he  sits  by  an  old  white-headed  gentle- 
man's knee.  I  read  my  books  ;  I  sleep  in  m3^own  bed  and  room 
— religiously  kept,  as  my  mother  told  me,  and  left  as  on  the 
day  when  I  went  to  Europe.  Hal's  cheery  voice  would  wake 
me,  as  of  old.  Like  all  men  who  love  to  go  a-field,  he  was  an 
earlier  riser :  he  would  come  and  wake  me,  and  sit  on  the  foot 
of  the  bed  and  perfume  the  air  with  his  morning  pipe,  as  the 
house  negroes  laid  great  logs  on  the  fire.  It  Vv-as  a  happy  time  ! 
Old  Nathan  had  told  me  of  cunning  crypts  where  ancestral  rum 
and  claret  were  deposited.  We  had  had  cares,  struggles,  battles, 
bitter  griefs,  and  disappointments  ;  we  were  boys  again  as  we 
sat  there  together.  I  am  a  boy  now  even,  as  I  think  of  the 
time. 

That  unlucky  tea-tax,  which  alone  of  the  taxes  lately  imposed 
upon  the  colonies  the  home  Government  was  determined  to  re- 
tain, was  met  with  defiance  throughout  America.  'Tis  true  we 
paid  a  shilling  in  the  pound  at  home,  and  asked  only  three- 
pence from  Boston  or  Charleston  ;  but  as  a  question  of  prin- 
ciple, the  impost  was  refused  by  the  provinces,  which  indeed 
ever  showed  a  most  spirited  determination  to  pay  as  little  as 
they  could  help.  In  Charleston,  the  tea-ships  were  unloaded, 
and  the  cargoes  stored  in  cellars.  From  New  York  and  Phila- 
delphia, the  vessels  were  turned  back  to  London.  In  Boston 
(where  there  was  an  armed  force,  whom  the  inhabitants  were 
perpetually  mobbing),  certain  patriots,  painted  and  disguised  as 
Indians,  boarded  the  ships,  and  flung  the  obnoxious  cargoes  into 
the  water.  The  wrath  of  our  white  Father  was  kindled  against 
this  city  of  Mohocks  in  masquerade.  The  notable  Boston  Port 
Bill  was  brought  forward  in  the  British  House  of  Commons; 
the  port  was  closed,  and  the  Custom  House  removed  to  Salem. 
The  Massachusetts  Charter  was  annulled;  and, — in  just  appre- 
hension that  riots  might  ensue,  in  dealing  with  the  perpetrators 
of  which  the  colonial  courts  might  be  led  to  act  partially, — 
Parliament  decreed  that  persons  .indicted  for  acts  of  violence 
and  armed  resistance,  might  be  sent  home,  or  to  another  colony, 
for  trial.  If  such  acts  set  all  America  in  a  flame,  they  certainly 
drove  all  well-wishers  of  our  country  into  a  fur}'.     I  might  have 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  737 

sentenced  Master  Miles  \\^arrington,  at  five  years  old,  to  a  whip- 
ping, and  he  would  have  cried,  taken  down  his  little  small- 
clothes and  submitted  :  but  suppose  I  offered  (and  he  richly 
deserving  it)  to  chastise  Captain  Miles  of  the  Prince's  Dragoons  ? 
He  would  whirl  my  paternal  cane  out  of  my  hand,  box  my  hair- 
powder  out  of  my  ears.  Lord  a-mercy !  I  tremble  at  the  very 
idea  of  the  controversy  !  He  would  assert  his  independtiice  in  a 
word  ;  and  if,  I  say,  I  think  the  home  Parliament  had  a  right  to 
levy  taxes  in  the  colonies,  I  own  that  we  took  means  most 
captious,  most  insolent,  most  irritating,  and,  above  all,  most 
impotent,  to  assert  our  claim. 

My  Lord  Dunmore,  our  Governor  of  Virginia,  upon  Lord 
Bottetourt's  death,  received  me  into  some  intimacy  soon  after 
my  arrival  in  the  colony,  being  willing  to  live  on  good  terms 
with  all  our  gentry.  My  mother's  severe  loyalty  was  no  secret 
to  him  ;  indeed,  she  waved  the  king's  banner  in  all  companies, 
and  talked  so  loudly  and  resolutely,  that  Randolph  and  Patrick 
Henry  himself  were  struck  dumb  before  her.  It  was  Madam 
Esmond's  celebrated  reputation  for  loyalty  (his  Excellency 
laughingly  told  me)  which  induced  him  to  receive  her  eldest 
son  to  grace. 

"  I  have  had  the  worst  character  of  you  from  home,"  his 
lordship  said.  "  Little  birds  whisper  to  me.  Sir  George,  that 
you  are  a  man  of  the  most  dangerous  principles.  You  are  a 
friend  of  Mr.  Wilkes  and  Alderman  Beckford.  I  am  not  sure 
you  have  not  been  at  Medmenham  Abbey.  You  have  lived  with 
players,  poets,  and  all  sorts  of  wild  people.  I  have  been  warned 
against  you,  sir,  and  I  find  you " 

"  Not  so  black  as  I  have  been  painted,"  I  interrupted  his 
lordship  with  a  smile. 

"Faith,"  says  my  lord,  "if  I  tell  Sir  George  Warrington  that 
he  seems  to  be  a  very  harmless,  quiet  gentleman,  and  that  'tis 
a  great  relief  to  me  to  talk  to  him  amidst  these  loud  pohticians  ; 
these  lawyers  with  their  perpetual  noise  about  Greece  and 
Rome  ;  these  Virginian  squires  who  are  for  ever  professing  their 
loyalty  and  respect,  whilst  they  are  shaking  their  fists  in  my  face 
— I  hope  nobody  overhears  us,"  says  my  lord,  with  an  arch 
smile,  "  and  nobody  will  carry  my  opinions  home." 

His  lordship's  ill  opinion  having  been  removed  by  a  better 
knowledge  of  me,  our  acquaintance  daily  grew  more  intimate ; 
and,  especially  between  the  ladies  of  his  family  and  my  own,  a 
close  friendship  arose — between  them  and  my  wife  at  least. 
Hal's  wife,  received  kindly  at  the  little  provincial  court,  as  all 
ladies  were,  made  herself  by  no  means  popular  there  by  the  hot 

47 


^38  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

and  eager  political  tone  which  she  adopted.  She  assailed  all 
the  Government  measures  with  indiscriminating  acrimony 
Were  they  lenient  ?  She  said  the  perfidious  British  Govern-, 
ment  was  only  preparing  a  snare,  and  biding  its  time  until  it 
could  forge  heavier  chains  for  unhappy  America.  Were  they 
angry  ?  Why  did  not  every  American  citizen  rise,  assert  his 
rights  as  a  freeman,  and  serve  every  British  governor,  officer, 
soldier,  as  they  had  treated  the  East  India  Company's  tea? 
My  mother,  on  the  other  hand,  was  pleased  to  express  her 
opinions  with  equal  frankness,  and,  indeed,  to  press  her  advice 
upon  his  Excellency  with  a  volubility  which  may  have  fatigued 
that  representative  of  the  Sovereign.  Call  out  the  militia  ;  send 
for  fresh  troops  from  Nev/  York,  from  home,  from  anywhere  ; 
lock  up  the  Capitol !  (this  advice  was  followed  it  must  be  owned) 
and  send  every  one  of  the  ringleaders  amongst  those  wicked 
burgesses  to  prison  !  was  Madam  Esmond's  daily  counsel  to  the 
Governor  by  word  and  letter.  And  if  not  only  the  burgesses, 
but  the  burgesses'  wives  could  have  been  led  off  to  punishment 
and  captivity,  I  think  this  Brutus  of  a  woman  would  scarce 
have  appealed  against  the  sentence. 


CHAPTER  LXXXVII. 

THE    LAST    OF    GOD    SAVE    THE    KING. 

What  perverse  law  of  Fate  is  it  that  ever  places  me  in  a 
minority  ?  Should  a  law  be  proposed  to  hand  over  this  realm 
to  the  Pretender  of  Rome,  or  the  Grand  Turk,  and  submit  it 
to  the  new  sovereign's  religion,  it  might  pass,  as  I  should  cer- 
tainly be  voting  against  it.  At  home  in  Virginia,  I  found  my- 
self disagreeing  with  everybody  as  usual.  By  the  Patriots  I 
was  voted  (as  indeed  I  professed  myself  to  be)  a  Tory  ;  by  the 
Tories  I  was  presently  declared  to  be  a  dangerous  Republican. 
The  time  was  utterly  out  of  joint.  O  cursed  spite  !  Ere  I  had 
been  a  year  in  Virginia,  how  I  wished  myself  back  by  the  banks 
of  Waveney !  But  the  aspect  of  affairs  was  so  troublous,  that 
I  could  not  leave  my  mother,  a  lone  lady,  to  face  possible  war 
and  disaster,  nor  would  she  quit  the  country  at  such  a  juncture, 
nor  should  a  man  of  spirit  leave  it.  At  his  Excellency's  table, 
and  over  his  Excellency's  plentiful  claret,  that  point  was  agreed 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


739 


on  by  numbers  of  the  well-affected,  that  vow  was  vowed  over 
countless  brimming  bumpers.  No  :  it  was  statue  sigmim,  sig- 
?iifey .'  We  Cavaliers  would  all  rally  round  it ;  and  at  these 
times,  our  Governor  talked  like  the  bravest  of  the  brave. 

Now,  I  will  say,  of  all  my  Virginian  acquaintance,  Madam 
Esmond  was  the  most  consistent.  Our  gentlefolks  had  come 
in  numbers  to  Williamsburg  ;  and  a  great  number  of  them  pro- 
posed to  treat  her  Excellency  the  Governor's  lady  to  a  ball, 
when  the  news  reached  us  of  the  Boston  Port  Bill.  Straight- 
way the  House  of  Burgesses  adopts  an  indignant  protest 
against  this  measure  of  the  British  Parliament,  and  decrees  a 
solemn  day  of  fast  and  humiliation  throughout  the  country, 
and  of  solemn  prayer  to  heaven  to  avert  the  calamity  of  Civil 
War.  Meanwhile,  the  invitation  to  my  Lady  Dunmore  having 
been  already  given  and  accepted,  the  gentlemen  agreed  that 
their  ball  should  take  place  on  the  appointed  evening,  and  then 
sackcloth  and  ashes  should  be  assumed  some  days  afterwards. 

"  A  ball  !  "  says  Madam  Esmond.  "  I  go  to  a  ball  which  is 
given  by  a  set  of  rebels  who  are  going  publicly  to  insult  his 
Majesty  a  week  afterwards!  I  will  die  sooner!"  And  she 
wrote  to  the  gentlemen  who  were  stewards  for  the  occasion  to 
say,  that  viewing  the  dangerous  state  of  the  country,  she,  for 
her  part,  could  not  think  of  attending  a  ball. 

What  was  her  surprise  then,  the  next  time  she  went  abroad 
in  her  chair,  to  be  cheered  by  a  hundred  persons,  white  and 
black,  and  shouts  of  ''  Huzzah,  Madam  !  "  ''  Heaven  bless 
your  ladyship  !  "  They  evidently  thought  her  patriotism  had 
caused  her  determination  not  to  go  to  the  ball. 

Madam,  that  there  should  be  no  mistake,  puts  her  head  out 
of  the  chair,  and  cries  out  "  God  save  the  King,"  as  loud  as 
she  can.  The  people  cried  "  God  save  the  King,"  too.  Every- 
body cried  "  God  save  the  King  "  in  those  days.  On  the  night 
of  that  entertainment,  my  poor  Harry,  as  a  Burgess  of  the 
House,  and  one  of  the  givers  of  the  feast,  donned  his  uniform 
red  coat  of  Wolfe's  (which  he  so  soon  was  to  exchange  for 
another  color)  and  went  off  with  Madam  Fanny  to  the  ball. 
My  Lady  Warrington  and  her  humble  servant,  as  being  strangers 
in  the  country,  and  English  people  as  it  were,  were  permitted 
by  Madam  to  attend  the  assembly,  from  which  she  of  course 
absented  herself.  I  had  the  honor  to  dance  a  country-dance 
with  the  lady  of  Mount  Vernon,  whom  I  found  a  most  lively, 
pretty  and  amiable  partner  ;  but  am  bound  to  say  that  my  wife's 
praises  of  her  were  received  with  a  very  grim  acceptance  by 
my  mother,  when  Lady  Warrington  came  to  recount  the  events 


y^o  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

of  the  evening.  Could  not  Sir  George  Warrington  have  danced 
with  my  Lady  Dunmore  or  her  daughters,  or  with  anybody  but 
Mrs.  Washington  ;  to  be  sure  the  Colonel  thought  so  well  of 
himself  and  his  wife,  that  no  doubt  he  considered  her  the 
grandest  lady  in  the  room  ;  and  she  who  remembered  him  a 
road  surveyor  at  a  guinea  a  day.  Well,  indeed  !  there  was  no 
measuring  the  pride  of  these  provincial  upstarts,  and  as  for  this 
gentleman,  my  Lord  Dunmore's  partiality  for  him  had  evidently 
turned  his  head.  I  do  not  know  about  Mr.  Washington's  pride, 
I  know  that  my  good  mother  never  could  be  got  to  love  him  or 
anything  that  was  his. 

She  was  no  better  pleased  with  him  for  going  to  the  ball, 
than  with  his  conduct  three  days  afterwards,  when  the  day  of 
of  fast  and  humiliation  was  appointed,  and  when  he  attended 
the  service  which  our  new  clergyman  performed.  She  invited 
Mr.  Belman  to  dinner  that  day,  and  sundr}^  colonial  authorities. 
The  clergyman  excused  himself,  Madam  Esmond  tossed  up  her 
head,  and  said  he  might  do  as  he  liked.  She  made  a  parade 
of  a  dinner ;  she  lighted  her  house  up  at  night,  when  all  the 
rest  of  the  city  was  in  darkness  and  gloom  ;  she  begged  Mr. 
Hardy,  one  of  his  Excellency's  aides-de-camp,  to  sing  "  God 
save  the  King,"  to  which  the  people  in  the  street  outside  lis- 
tened, thinking  that  it  might  be  a  part  of  some  religious  service 
w^hich  Madam  was  celebrating  ;  but  then  she  called  for  "  Britons, 
strike  home  !  "  which  the  simple  young  gentleman,  just  from 
Europe,  began  to  perform,  when  a  great  yell  arose  in  the  street, 
and  a  large  stone,  flung  from  some  rebellious  hand,  plumped 
into  the  punch-bowl  before  me,  and  scattered  it  and  its  con- 
tents about  our  dining-room. 

My  mother  went  to  the  window  nothing  daunted.  I  can 
see  her  rigid  little  figure  now,  as  she  stands  with  a  tossed-up 
head,  out-stretched  frilled  arms,  and  the  twinkling  stars  for  a 
background,  and  sings  in  chorus,  "Britons,  strike  home  !  strike 
home  !  "  The  crowd  in  front  of  the  palings  shout  and  roar, 
"  Silence  !  for  shame  !  go  back  1  "  but  she  will  not  go  back, 
not  she.  "  Fling  more  stones,  if  you  dare ! "  says  the  brave 
little  lady ;  and  more  might  have  come,  but  some  gentlemen 
issuing  out  of  the  "  Raleigh  Tavern  "  interpose  with  the  crowd. 
"You  mustn't  insult  a  lady,"  says  a  voice  I  think  I  know. 
"  Huzzah,  Colonel  !  Hurrah,  Captain  !  God  bless  your  honor  ! " 
say  the  people  in  the  street.     And  thus  the  enemies  are  pacified. 

My  mother,  protesting  that  the  whole  disturbance  was  over, 
would  have  had  Mr.  Hardy  sing  another  song,  but  he  gave  a 
sickly  grin,   and  said,   "  he  really  did  not  like  to  sing  to  such 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  741 

accompaniments,"  and  the  concert  for  that  evening  was  ended  ; 
though  I  am  bound  to   say  that  some   scoundrels   returned  at 
night,  frightened  my  poor  wife  ahnost  out  of  wits,  and  broke 
every  single  window  in  the  front   of  our  tenement.     "  Britons, 
strike   home  !  "  was  a  little   too  much ;  Madam  should  have 
contented  herself  with  "God  save  the  King."      Militia  were 
drilled,  bullets  were  cast,  supplies  of  ammunition  got  ready, 
cunning  plans  for  disappointing  the  royal  ordinances   devised 
and  carried  out ;  but,  to  be  sure,   "  God  save   the  King  "   was 
the  cry  everyvvdiere,  and  in  reply  to  my  objections  to"  the  gentle- 
men-patriots,  "  Why,  you   are   scheming  for  a  separation  ;  you 
are  bringing  down  upon  you  the  inevitable  wrath  of  the  greatest 
power  in  the  world  !  " — the   answer  to  me   always  was,   "  We 
mean  no  separation  at  all  ;  we  yield  to  no   men  in  loyalty  ;  we 
glory  in  the  name  of  Britons,"  and  so  forth,  and  so  forth.    The 
powder-barrels  were  heaped  in  the   cellar,  the   train  was   laid, 
but  Mr.  Fawkes  was  persistent  in  his  dutiful  petitions  to  King 
and  Parliament  and  meant  no  harm,  not  he  !     'Tis  true  when  I 
spoke  of  the  power  of  our  country,  I  imagined  she  would  exert 
it ;  that  she  would  not  expect  to  overcome   three  millions  of 
fellow-Britons  on  their  own  soil  with  a  few  battalions,  a  half- 
dozen  generals  from  Bond  Street,  and  a  few  thousand  bravos 
hired  out  of  Germany.     As  if  we  wanted  to  insult  the  thirteen 
colonies  as  well  as  to  subdue  them,  we   must   set  upon  them 
these  hordes  of  Hessians,  and  the  murderers  out  of  the  Indian 
wigwams.     Was  our  great  quarrel  not  to  be  fought  without  tali 
aiixilio   and  istis  defensoribus  ?      Ah  !    'tis  easy,    now   we    are 
worsted,  to  look  over  the  map  of  the  great  empire  wrested 
from   us,  and  show  how  we   ought  not  to   have  lost  it.     Long 
Island  ought  to  have    exterminated   Washington's    army  ;   he 
ought  never  to   have  come   out  of  Valley  Forge  except  as  a 
prisoner.     The  South  was  ours  after  the  battle  of  Camden,  but 
for  the  inconceivable  meddling  of  the  Commander-in-Chief  at 
New  York,  who  paralyzed  the  exertions  of  the   only  capable 
British  General  who  appeared   during  the  war,  and  sent  him 
into  that  miserable   cul-dc-sac  at  York  Town,  whence  he  could 
only  issue  defeated  and  a  prisoner.     Oh,  for  a  week  more  !  a 
day  more,  an  hour  more  of  darkness  or  light !     In  reading  over 
our  American  campaigns  from  their  unhappy  commencement 
to  their  inglorious  end,  now  that  we  are  able  to  see  the  enemy's 
movements  and  condition  as  well  as   our  own,  I  fancy  we   can 
see  how  an  advance,  a  march,  might  have  put  enemies  into  our 
power  who  had  no  means   to  withstand  it,  and   changed  the 
entire  issue  of  the  struggle.     But  it  was  ordained  by  heaven, 


742 


THE  VIRGINIANS. 


and  for  the  good,  as  we  can  now  have  no  doubt,  of  both  em- 
pires, that  the  great  Western  RepubUc  should  separate  from 
us  :  and  the  gallant  soldiers  who  fought  on  her  side,  their  in- 
domitable Chief  above  all,  had  the  glory  of  facing  and  over- 
coming, not  only  veterans  amply  provided  and  inured  to  war, 
but  wretchedness,  cold,  hunger,  dissensions,  treason  within 
their  own  camp,  where  all  must  have  gone  to  rack,  but  for  the 
pure  unquenchable  flame  of  patriotism  that  was  for  ever  burn- 
ing in  the  bosom  of  the  heroic  leader.  What  a  constancy,  what 
a  magnanimity,  what  a  surprising  persistency  against  fortune  ! 
^Vashington  before  the  enemy  was  no  better  nor  braver  than 
hundreds  that  fought  with  him  or  against  him  (who  has  not 
heard  the  repeated  sneers  against  "  Fabius "  in  which  his 
factious  captains  were  accustomed  to  indulge?)  but  Washington 
the  Chief  of  a  nation  in  arms,  doing  battle  with  distracted  par- 
ties ;  calm  in  the  midst  of  conspiracy ;  serene  against  the  open 
foe  before  him  and  the  darker  enemies  at  his  back ;  Washing- 
ton inspiring  order  and  spirit  into  troops  hungry  and  in  rags ; 
stung  by  ingratitude,  but  betraying  no  anger,  and  ever  ready 
to  forgive  ;  in  defeat  invincible,  magnanimous  in  conquest,  and 
never  so  sublime  as  on  that  day  when  he  laid  down  his  victo- 
rious sword  and  sought  his  noble  retirement ; — here  indeed  is  a 
character  to  admire  and  revere  ;  a  life  without  a  stain,  a  fame 
without  a  flaw.  Quando  invenies  pare77i  ?  In  that  more  exten- 
sive work,  which  I  have  planned  and  partly  written  on  the 
subject  of  this  great  war,  I  hope  I  have  done  justice  to  the 
character  of  its  greatest  leader.'*  And  this  from  the  sheer 
force  of  respect  which  his  eminent  virtues  extorted.  With  the 
young  Mr.  Washington  of  my  own  early  days  I  had  not  the 
honor  to  enjoy  much  sympathy :  though  my  brother,  whose 
character  is  much  more  frank  and  affectionate  than  mine,  was 
always  his  fast  friend  in  early  times,  when  they  were  equals,  as 
in  latter  days  when  the  General,  as  I  do  own  and  think,  was 
all  mankind's  superior. 

I  have  mentioned  that  contrariety  in  my  disposition,  and, 
perhaps,  in  my  brother's,  which  somehow  placed  us  on  wrong 
sides  in  the  quarrel  which  ensued,  and  which  from  this  time 
forth  raged  for  five  years,  until  the  mother-countr}'-  was  fain  to 
acknowledge  her  defeat.     Harry  should  have  been  the  Tory, 

*  And  I  trust  that  in  the  opinions  I  have  recorded  regarding  him,  I  have  shown  that  I 
also  can  be  just  and  magnanimous  towards  those  who  view  me  personally  \vith  no  favor. 
Kor  my  brother  Hal  being  at  Mount  Vernon,  and  always  eager  to  bring  me  and  his  beloved 
Chief  on  good  terms,  showed  his  Excellency  some  of  the  early  sheets  of  mj'  History.  Gen- 
eral Washington  (who  read  hut  few  books,  and  had  not  the  slightest  pretensions  to  literary 
taste)  remarked,  "  If  you  w/// have  my  opinion,  my  dear  General,  I  think  Sir  George's  pro- 
jected work,  from  the  specimen  I  have  of  it,  is  certain  to  offend  both  parties." — G.  E.  W. 


THE  VIRGINIANS.  743 

and  I  the  Whig.  Theoretically  my  opinions  were  very  much 
more  liberal  than  those  of  my  brother,  who,  especially  after  his 
marriage,  became  what  our  Indian  Nabobs  call  a  Bahadoor — a 
person  ceremonious,  stately,  and  exacting  respect.  When  my 
Lord  Dunmore,  for  instance,  talked  about  liberating  the  negroes, 
so  as  to  induce  them  to  join  the  King's  standard,  Hal  was  for 
hanging  the  Governor  and  the  Black  Guards  (as  he  called 
them)  whom  his  Excellency  had  crimped.  "  If  you  gentlemen 
are  fighting  for  freedom,"  says  I,  "  sure  the  negroes  may  fight, 
too."  On  which  Harry  roars  out,  shaking  his  fist,  "  Infernal 
villains,  if  I  meet  any  of  'em  they  shall  die  by  this  hand  ! " 
And  my  mother  agreed  that  this  idea  of  a  negro  insurrection 
was  the  most  abominable  and  parricidal  notion  wdiich  had  ever 
sprung  up  in  her  unhappy  country.  She  at  least  was  more 
consistent  than  brother  Hal.  She  would  have  black  and 
white  obedient  to  the  powers  that  be  :  wdiereas  Hal  only  could 
admit  that  freedom  was  the  right  of  the  latter  color. 

As  a  proof  of  her  argument,  Madam  Esmond,  and  Harry,  too, 
would  point  to  an  instance  in  our  own  family  in  the  person  of 
Mr.  Gumbo.  Having  got  his  freedom  from  me,  as  a  reward 
for  his  admirable  love  and  fidelity  to  me  when  times  were  hard, 
Gumbo,  on  his  return  to  Virginia,  was  scarce  a  welcome  guest 
in  his  old  quarters,  amongst  my  mother's  servants.  He  was 
free,  and  they  were  not :  he  was,  as  it  were,  a  centre  of  insur- 
rection. He  gave  himself  no  small  airs  of  protection  and 
consequence  amongst  them  ;  bragging  of  his  friends  in  Europe 
("at  home,"  as  he  called  it),  and  his  doings  there  ;  and  for  a 
while  bringing  the  household  round  about  him  to  listen  to  him 
and  admire  him,  like  the  monkey  who  had  seen  the  world.  Now 
Sady,  Hal's  boy,  who  went  to  America  of  his  own  desire,  was 
not  free.  Hence  jealousies  between  him  and  Mr.  Gum  ;  and 
battles,  in  which  they  both  practised  the  noble  art  of  boxing 
and  butting,  which  they  had  learned  at  Marybone  Gardens  and 
Hockley-in-the-Hole.  Nor  was  Sady  the  only  jealous  person  ; 
almost  all  my  mother's  servants  hated  Signer  Gumbo  for  the 
airs  which  he  gave  himself ;  and,  I  am  scrry  to  say,  that  our 
faithful  Molly,  his  wife,  was  as  jealous  as  his  old  fellow-servants. 
The  blacks  could  not  pardon  her  for  having  demeaned  herself 
so  far  as  to  marry  one  of  their  kind.  She  met  with  no  respect, 
could  exercise  no  authority,  came  to  her  mistress  with  ceaseless 
complanits  of  the  idleness,  knavery,  lies,  stealing  of  the  black 
people;  and  finally  with  a  story  of  jealousy  against  a  certain  Dinah, 
or  Diana,  who,  I  heartily  trust,  was  as  innocent  as  her  namesake 
the  moonlight  visitant  of  Endymion.     Now,  on  the  article  of 


744  T'^E   VIRGINIA ISrS 

Morality,  Madam  Esmond  was  a  very  Draconess  ;  and  a  person 
accused  was  a  person  guilty.  She  made  charges  against  Mr. 
Gumbo  to  which  he  replied  with  asperity.  Forgetting  that  he 
was  a  free  gentleman,  my  mother  now  ordered  Gumbo  to  be 
whipped,  on  which  Molly  flew  at  her  ladyship,  all  her  wrath  at 
her  husband's  infidelity  vanishing  at  the  idea  of  the  indignity 
put  upon  him  :  there  was  a  rebellion  in  our  house  at  Castle- 
wood.  A  quarrel  took  place  between  me  and  my  mother,  as  I 
took  my  man's  side.  Hal  and  Fanny  sided  with  her,  on  the 
contrary ;  and  in  so  far  the  difference  did  good,  as  it  brought 
about  some  little  intimacy  between  madam  and  her  3-ounger 
children.  This  little  difference  was  speedily  healed  ;  but  it 
was  clear  that  the  Standard  of  Insurrection  must  be  removed 
out  of  our  house  ;  and  we  determined  that  Mr.  Gumbo  and  his 
lady  should  return  to  Europe. 

My  wife  and  I  would  willingly  have  gone  with  them,  God 
wot,  for  our  boy  sickened  and  lost  his  strength,  and  caught  the 
fever  in  our  swampy  country  ;  but  at  this  time  she  was  expect- 
ing to  lie  in  (of  our  son  Henry),  and  she  knew,  too,  that  I  had 
promised  to  stay  in  Virginia.  It  was  agreed  that  we  should 
send  the  two  back ;  but  when  I  offered  Theo  to  go,  she  said 
her  place  was  with  her  husband; — her  father  and  Hetty  at 
at  home  would  take  care  of  our  children  ;  and  she  scarce  would 
allow  me  to  see  a  tear  in  her  eyes  whilst  she  was  making  her 
preparations  for  the  departure  of  her  little  ones.  Dost  thou 
remember  the  time.  Madam,  and  the  silence  round  the  work- 
tables,  as  the  piles  of  little  shirts  are  made  ready  for  the 
voyage  ?  and  the  stealthy  visits  to  the  children's  chambers 
whilst  they  are  asleep  and  yet  with  you  ?  and  the  terrible  time 
of  parting,  as  our  barge  with  the  servants  and  children  rows  to 
the  ship,  and  you  stand  on  the  shore?  Had  the  Prince  of 
Wales  been  going  on  that  voyage,  he  could  not  have  been 
better  provided.  Where,  sirrah,  is  the  Tompion  watch  your 
grandmother  gave  you  ?  and  how  did  you  survive  the  boxes  of 
cakes  which  the  good  lady  stowed  away  in  your  cabin  ? 

The  ship  which  took  out  my  poor  Theo's  children,  returned 
with  the  Reverend  Mr.  Hagan  and  my  Lady  Maria  on  board, 
who  meekly  chose  to  resign  her  rank,  and  was  known  in  the 
colony  (which  was  not  to  be  a  colony  very  long)  only  as  Mrs. 
Hagan.  At  the  time  when  I  was  in  favor  with  my  Lord  Dun- 
more,  a  living  falling  vacant  in  Westmoreland  county,  he  gave 
it  to  our  kinsman,  who  arrived  in  Virginia  time  enough  to 
christen  our  boy  Henry,  and  to  preach  some  sermons  on  the 
then  gloomy  state  of  affairs,  which  Madam  Esmond  pronounced 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  745 

to  be  prodigious  fine.  I  think  my  Lady  Maria  won  Madam's 
heart  by  insisting  on  going  out  of  the  room  after  her.  "  My 
father,  your  brother,  was  an  earl,  'tis  true,"  says  she,  "  but  you 
know  your  ladyship  is  a  marquis's  daughter,  and  I  never  can 
think  of  taking  precedence  of  you  ! "  So  fond  did  Madam 
become  of  her  niece,  that  she  even  allowed  Hagan  to  read  plays 
— my  own  humble  compositions  amongst  others — and  was  fairly 
forced  to  own  that  there  was  merit  in  the  tragedy  of  "  Poca- 
hontas," which  our  parson  delivered  with  uncommon  energy 
and  fire. 

Hal  and  his  wife  came  but  rarely  to  Castlewood  and  Rich- 
mond when  the  chaplain  and  his  lady  were  with  us.  Fanny 
was  very  curt  and  rude  with  Maria,  used  to  giggle  and  laugh 
strangely  in  her  company,  and  repeatedly  remind  her  of  her 
age,  to  our  mother's  astonishment,  who  would  often  ask,  was 
there  any  cause  of  quarrel  between  her  niece  and  her  daughter- 
in-law  ?  I  kept  my  own  counsel  on  these  occasions,  and  was 
often  not  a  little  touched  by  the  meekness  with  which  the  elder 
lady  bore  her  persecutions.  Fanny  loved  to  torture  her  in  her 
husband's  presence  (who,  poor  fellow,  was  also  in  happy  igno- 
rance about  his  wife's  early  history),  and  the  other  bore  her 
agony,  wincing  as  little  as  might  be.  I  sometimes  would 
remonstrate  with  Madam  Harrv^  and  ask  her  was  she  a  Red 
Indian,  that  she  tortured  her  victims  so  ?  "  Have  not  I  had 
torture  enough  in  my  time?"  says  the  young  lady,  and  looked 
as  though  she  was  determined  to' pay  back  the  injuries  inflicted 
on  her.  , 

"Nay,"  says  I,  "  you  were  bred  in  our  wigwam,  and  I  don  t 
remember  anvthing  but  kindness !  "  ,        t 

'•  Kindness  !  "  cries  she.  "  No  slave  was  ever  treated  as  I 
was.  The  blows  which  wound  most,  often  are  those  which 
never  are  aimed.  The  people  who  hate  us  are  not  those  we 
have  injured." 

I  thought  of  little  Fanny  in  our  early  days,  silent,  smiling, 
willing  to  run  and  do  all  our  biddings  for  us,  and  I  grieved  for 
my  poor  brother,  who  had  taken  this  sly  creature  into  his 
bosom. 


746  THE  VIRGINIANS. 

CHAPTER    LXXXVIII. 

YANKEE  DOODLE  COMES  TO  TOWN. 

One  of  the  uses  to  which  we  put  America  in  the  clays  of  our 
British  dominion  was  to  make  it  a  refuge  for  our  sinners.  Besides 
convicts  and  assigned  servants  whom  we  transported  to  our 
colonies,  we  discharged  on  their  shores  scapegraces  and  younger 
sons,  for  whom  dissipation,  despair,  and  bailiffs  made  the  old 
country  uninhabitable.  And  as  Mr.  Cook,  in  his  voyage,  made 
his  newly  discovered  islanders  presents  of  English  animals  (and 
other  specimens  of  European  civilization),  we  used  to  take  care 
to  send  samples  of  our  black  sheep  over  to  the  colonies,  there  to 
browse  as  best  they  might,  and  propagate  their  precious  breed. 
I  myself  was  perhaps  a  little  guilty  in  this  matter,  in  busving 
myself  to  find  a  living  in  America  for  the  worthy  Hagan,  hus- 
band of  my  kinswoman, — at  least  was  guilty  in  so  far  as  this, 
that  as  we  could  get  him  no  employment  in  England,  we  were 
glad  to  ship  him  to  Virginia,  and  give  him  a  colonial  pulpit- 
cushion  to  thump.  He  demeaned  himself  there  as  a  brave 
honest  gentleman,  to  be  sure  ;  he  did  his  duty  thoroughly  by 
his  congregation,  and  his  king  too  ;  and  in  so  far  did  credit  to 
my  small  patronage.  Madam  Theo  used  to  urge  this  when  I 
confided  to  her  my  scruples  of  conscience  on  this  subject,  and 
show,  as  her  custom  was,  and  is,  that  my  conduct  in  this,  as  in 
all  other  matters,  was  dictated  by  the  highest  principles  of  mo- 
rality and  honor.  But  would  I  have  given  Hagan  our  living  at 
home,  and  selected  him  and  his  wife  to  minister  to  our  parish  .? 
I  fear  not.  I  never  had  a  doubt  of  our  cousin's  sincere  repent- 
ance ;  but  I  think  I  was  secretly  glad  when  she  went  to  work  it 
out  in  the  wilderness.  And  I  say  this,  acknowledging  my  pride 
and  my  error.  Twice,  when  I  wanted  them  most,  this  kind 
Maria  aided  me  with  her  sympathy  and  friendship.  She  bore 
her  own  distresses  courageously,  and  soothed  those  of  others 
with  admirable  affection  and  devotion.  And  yet  I,  and  some 
of  mine  (not  Theo),  ivould  look  down  upon  her.  Oh,  for  shame, 
for  shame  on  our  pride  ! 

My  poor  lady  Maria  was  not  the  only  one  of  our  family  who 
was  to  be  sent  out  of  the  way  to  American  wildernesses. 
Having  borrowed,  stolen,  cheated  at  home,  until  he  could  cheat, 
borrovv-   and  steal  no  more,  the  Honorable   \Mlliam  Esmond, 


THE  VIRGINIANS. 


747 


Esquire,  was  accommodated  with  a  place  in  New  York  ;  and 
his  noble  brother  and  royal  master  heartily  desired  that  they 
might  see  him  no  more.  When  the  troubles  began,  we  heard 
of  the  fellow  and  his  doings  in  his  new  habitation.  Lies  and 
mischief  were  his  av ant-couriers  wherever  he  travelled.  My 
Lord  Dunmore  informed  me  that  Mr.  Will  declared  publicly, 
that  our  estate  at  Castlewood  was  only  ours  during  his  brother's 
pleasure  ;  that  his  father,  out  of  consideration  for  Madam  Es- 
mond, his  lordship's  half-sister,  had  given  her  the  place  for  life, 
and  that  he,  William,  was  in  negotiation  with  his  brother,  the 
present  Lord  Castlewood,  for  the  purchase  of  the  reversion  of 
the  estate  !  We  had  the  deed  of  gift  in  our  strong-room  at 
Castlewood,  and  it  w^as  furthermore  registered  in  due  form  at 
Williamsburg ;  so  that  w^e  were  easy  on  that  score.  But  the 
intention  w^as  everything  ;  and  Hal  and  I  promised,  as  soon  as 
ever  we  met  Mr.  William,  to  get  from  him  a  confirmation  of 
this  pretty  story.  Wliat  Madam  Esmond's  feelings  and  expres- 
sions were  when  she  heard  it,  I  need  scarcely  here  particularize. 
"  What !  my  father,  the  Marquis  of  Esmond,  was  a  liar,  and  I 
am  a  cheat,  am  I  ?  "  cries  my  mother.  "  He  will  take  my  son's 
property  at  my  death,  will  he  ?  "  And  she  was  for  writing,  not 
only  to  Lord  Castlewood  in  England,  but  to  his  Majesty  him- 
self at  St.  James's,  and  was  only  prevented  by  my  assurances 
that  Mr.  Will's  lies  were  notorious  amiongstall  his  acquaintance, 
and  that  we  could  not  expect,  in  our  own  case,  that  he  should 
be  so  inconsistent  as  to  tell  the  truth.  We  heard  of  him  pres- 
ently as  one  of  the  loudest  amongst  the  Loyalists  in  New  York, 
as  Captain,  and  presently  Major  of  a  corps  of  volunteers  who 
were  sending  their  addresses  to  the  well-disposed  in  all  the 
other  colonies,  and  announcing  their  perfect  readiness  to  die 
for  the  mother-country. 

We  could  not  lie  in  a  house  without  a  whole  window,  and 
closing  the  shutters  of  that  unlucky  mansion  we  had  hired  at 
Williamsburg,  Madam  Esmond  left  our  little  capital,  and  my 
family  returned  to  Richmond,  which  also  was  deserted  by  the 
members  of  the  (dissolved)  Assembly.  Captain  Hal  and  his 
wife  returned  pretty  early  to  their  plantation  ;  and  I,  not  a 
little  annoyed  at  the  course  which  events  were  taking,  divided 
my  time  pretty  much  between  my  own  family  and  that  of  our 
Governor,  who  professed  himself  very  eager  to  have  my  advice 
and  company.  There  were  the  strongest  political  differences, 
but  as  yet  no  actual  personal  quarrel.  Even  after  the  dissolu- 
tion of  our  House  of  Assembly  (the  members  of  which  adjourned 
to  a   tavern,   and   there   held  that  famous  meeting  where,  I 


748  TH^  VIRGINIANS. 

believe,  the  idea  of  a  congress  of  all  the  colonies  was  first 
proposed),  the  gentlemen  who  were  strongest  in  opposition 
remained  good  friends  with  his  Excellency,  partook  of  his 
hospitality,  and  joined  him  in  excursions  of  pleasure.  The 
session  over,  the  gentry  went  home  and  had  meetings  in  their 
respective  counties  ;  and  the  Assemblies  in  most  of  the  other 
provinces  having  been  also  abruptly  dissolved,  it  was  agreed 
everywhere  that  a  general  congress  should  be  held.  Philadel- 
phia, as  the  largest  and  most  important  city  on  our  continent, 
was  selected  as  the  place  of  meeting ;  and  those  celebrated  con- 
ferences began,  which  were  but  the  angry  preface  of  war.  We 
were  still  at  God  save  the  King ;  we  were  still  at  presenting  our 
humble  petitions  to  the  throne  ;  but  when  I  went  to  visit  my 
brother  Harry  at  Fanny's  Mount  (his  new  plantation  lay  not 
far  from  ours,  but  with  Rappahannock  between  us,  and  towards 
Mattaponey  River),  he  rode  out  on  business  one  morning,  and 
I  in  the  afternoon  happened  to  ride  too,  and  was  told  by  one 
of  the  grooms  that  master  was  gone  towards  "  Willis's  Ordi- 
nary ;  "  in  which  direction,  thinking  no  harm,  I  followed.  And 
upon  a  clear  place  not  far  from  "  Willis's,"  as  I  advance  out  of 
the  wood,  I  come  on  Captain  Hal  on  horseback,  with  three  or 
four  and  thirty  countrymen  round  about  him,  armed  with  every 
sort  of  weapon,  pike,  scythe,  fowling-piece,  and  musket ;  and 
the  Captain,  with  two  or  three  likely  young  fellows  as  officers 
under  him,  was  putting  the  men  through  their  exercise.  As  I 
rode  up  a  queer  expression  comes  over  Hal's  face.  "  Present 
arms  !  "  says  he  (and  the  army  tries  to  perform  the  salute  as 
well  as  they  could).  "  Captain  Cade,  this  is  my  brother,  Sir 
George  Warrington." 

"  As  a  relation  of  yours,  Colonel,''  says  the  individual  ad- 
dressed as  captain,  "  the  gentleman  is  welcome,"  and  he  holds 
out  a  hand  accordingly. 

"  And — and  a  true  friend  to  Virginia,"  says  Hal,  with  a 
reddening  face. 

"  Yes,  please  God  1  gentlemen,"  say  I,  on  which  the  regi- 
ment gives  a  hearty  huzzay  for  the  Colonel  and  his  brother. 
The  drill  over,  the  officers,  and  the  men  too,  were  for  adjourn- 
ing to  "  Willis's  "  and  taking  some  refreshment,  but  Colonel 
Hal  said  he  could  not  drink  with  them  that  afternoon,  and  we 
trotted  homewards  together. 

"  So,  Hal,  the  cat's  out  of  the  bag !  "  I  said. 

He  gave  me  a  hard  look.  "  I  guess  there's  wilder  cats  in  it. 
It  must  come  to  this,  George.  I  say,  you  mustn't  tell  Madam," 
he  adds. 


A    REHEARSAL. 


1 


THE  VIRGINIANS. 


749 


"  Good  God  !  "  I  cried,  ''  do  you  mean  that  with  fellows 
such  as  those  I  saw  yonder,  you  and  your  friends  are  going  to 
make  fight  against  the  greatest  nation  and  the  best  army  in  the 
world  ? " 

"  I  guess  we  shall  get  an  awful  whipping,"  says  Hal,  "  and 
that's  the  fact.  But,  then,  George,"  he  added,  wdth  his  sweet, 
kind  smile,  "  we  are  young,  and  a  whipping  or  two  may  do  us 
good.  Won't  it  do  us  good,  Dolly,  you  old  slut  ?  "  and  he  gives 
a  playful  touch  with  his  whip  to  an  old  dog  of  all  trades,  that 
was  running  by  him. 

I  did  not  try  to  urge  upon  him  (I  had  done  so  in  vain  many 
times  previously)  our  British  side  of  the  question,  the  side  which 
appears  to  me  to  be  the  best.  He  was  accustomed  to  put  off 
my  reasons  by  saying,  "  All  mighty  well,  brother,  you  speak  as 
an  Englishman,  and  have  cast  in  your  lot  with  your  country,  as 
I  have  with  mine."  To  this  argument  I  own  there  is  no 
answer,  and  all  that  remains  for  the  disputants  is  to  fight  the 
matter  out,  when  the  strongest  is  in  the  right.  Which  had  the 
right  in  the  wars  of  the  last  century  ?  The  King  or  the  Par- 
liament ?  The  side  that  was  uppermost  was  the  right,  and  on 
the  whole  much  more  humane  in  their  victory  than  the  Cavaliers 
would  have  been  had  they  won.  Nay,  suppose  we  Tories  had 
won  the  day  in  America  ;  how  frightful  and  bloody  that  triumph 
would  have  been  !  What  ropes  and  scaffolds  one  imagines, 
what  noble  heads  laid  low  !  A  strange  feeling  this,  I  own ;  I 
was  on  the  Loyalist  side,  and  yet  wanted  the  Whigs  to  win. 
My  brother  Hal,  on  the  other  hand,  who  distinguished  himself 
greatly  with  his  regiment,  never  allowed  a  word  of  disrespect 
against  the  enemy  whom  he  opposed.  "  The  officers  of  the 
British  army,"  he  used  to  say,  "  are  gentlemen  :  at  least,  I  have 
not  heard  that  they  are  very  much  changed  since  my  time. 
There  may  be  scoundrels  and  ruffians  amongst  the  enemy's 
troops ;  I  dare  say  we  could  find  some  such  amongst  our  own. 
Our  business  is  to  beat  his  Majesty's  forces,  not  to  call  them 
names ; — any  rascal  can  do  that."  And  from  a  name  which 
Mr.  Lee  gave  my  brother,  and  many  oi  his  rough  horsemen 
did  not  understand,  Harry  was  often  called  "  Chevalier  Baird  " 
in  the  Continental  army.  He  was  a  knight,  indeed,  without 
fear  and  without  reproach. 

As  for  the  argument,  "  What  could  such  people  as  those 
you  were  drilling  do  against  the  British  army  ?  "  Hal  had  a 
confident  answer. 

"  They  can  beat  them,"  says  he,  "  Mr,  George,  that's  what 
they  can  do." 


75° 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


•'  Great  heavens  !  "  I  cry,  ''  do  you  mean  with  your  company 
of  Wolfe's  you  would  hesitate  to  attack  five  hundred  such  ?  " 

"  With  my  company  of  the  67th,  I  would  go  anywhere  ;  and 
agree  with  you,  that  at  this  present  moment  I  know  more  about 
soldiering  than  they ; — but  place  me  on  that  open  ground 
where  you  found  us,  armed  as  you  please,  and  half-a-dozen  of 
my  friends,  with  rifles,  in  the  woods  round  about  me  ;  which 
would  get  the  better  ?  You  know  best,  Mr.  Braddock's  aide- 
de-camp," 

There  was  no  arguing  with  such  a  determination  as  this. 
"  Thou  knowest  my  way  of  thinking,  Hal,  I  said  ;  "  and  having 
surprised  you  at  your  work,  I  must  tell  my  Lord  what  I  have 
seen." 

"  Tell  him,  of  course.  You  have  seen  our  county  militia 
exercising.  You  will  see  as  much  in  every  colony  from  here  to 
the  Saint  Lawrence  or  Georgia.  As  I  am  an  old  soldier,  they 
have  elected  me  colonel.  What  more  natural  1  Come,  brother, 
let  us  trot  on  ;  dinner  will  be  ready,  and  Mrs.  Fan  does  not 
like  me  to  keep  it  waiting."  And  so  we  made  for  his  house, 
which  was  open,  like  all  the  houses  of  our  Virginian  gentle- 
men and  where  not  only  every  friend  and  neighbor,  but  every 
stranger  and  traveller,  was  sure  to  find  a  welcome. 

"  So,  Mrs.  Fan,"  I  said,  "  I  found  out  what  game  my 
brother  has  been  pla3dng." 

"  I  trust  the  Colonel  will  have  plenty  of  sport  ere  long," 
says  she,  with  a  toss  of  her  head. 

My  wife  thought  Harry  had  been  hunting,  and  I  did  not 
care  to  undeceive  her,  though  what  I  had  seen  and  he  had  told 
me  made  me  naturally  very  anxious. 


CHAPTER   LXXXIX. 

A  COLONEL  WITHOUT  A  REGIMENT. 

When  my  visit  to  my  brother  was  concluded,  and  my  wife 
and  young  child  had  returned  to  our  maternal  house  at  Rich- 
mond, I  made  it  my  business  to  go  over  to  our  Governor,  then 
at  his  country-house,  near  Williamsburg,  and  confer  with  him 
regarding  these  open  preparations  for  war,  which  were  being 
made,  not  only  in  our  own  province,  but  in  every  one  of  the 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  7^1 

colonies  as  far  as  we  could  learn.  Gentlemen,  with  whose 
names  history  has  since  made  all  the  world  familiar,  were  ap- 
pointed from  Virginia  as  Delegates  to  the  General  Congress 
about  to  be  held  in  Philadelphia.  In  Massachusetts  the  peo- 
ple and  the  Royal  troops  were  facing  each  other  almost  in  open 
hostility  :  in  ^Maryland  and  Pennsylvania  we  flattered  ourselves 
that  a  much  more  loyal  spirit  was  prevalent :  in  the  Carolinas 
and  Georgfa  the  mother  countr}'  could  reckon  upon  staunch 
adherents,  and  a  great  majority  of  the  inhabitants  :  and  it 
never  was  to  be  supposed  that  our  own  Virginia  would  forego 
its  ancienlt  oyalty.  We  had  but  few  troops  in  the  province, 
but  its  gentry  were  proud  of  their  descent  from  the  Cavaliers 
of  the  old  times  :  and  round  about  our  Governor  were  swarms 
of  loud  and  confident  Loyalists  who  were  only  eager  for  the 
moment  when  they  might  draw  the  sword,  and  scatter  the 
rascally  rebels  before  them.  Of  course,  in  these  meetings  I 
was  forced  to  hear  many  a  hard  word  against  my  poor  Harr}^ 
His  wife,  all  agreed  (and  not  without  good  reason,  perhaps), 
had  led  him  to  adopt  these  extreme  anti-British  oioinions  which 
he  had  of  late  declared  ;  and  he  was  infatuated  by  his  attach- 
ment to  the  gentleman  of  Mount  Vernon,  it  was  farther  said, 
whose  opinions  my  brother  always  followed,  and  who,  day  by 
day,  was  committing  himself  farther  in  the  dreadful  and  des- 
perate course  of  resistance.  "  This  is  your  friend,"  the  people 
about  his  Excellency  said,  "this  is  the  man  you  favored,  who 
has  had  your  special  confidence,  and  who  has  repeatedly 
shared  your  hospitality ! "  It  could  not  but  be  owned  much 
of  this  was  true :  though  what  some  of  our  eager  Loyalists 
called  treachery,  was  indeed  rather  a  proof  of  the  longing 
desire  Mr.  Washington  and  other  gentlemen  had,  not  to  with- 
draw from  their  allegiance  to  the  Crown,  but  to  remain  faithful, 
and  exhaust  the  very  last  chance  of  reconciliation,  before  they 
risked  the  other  terrible  alternative  of  revolt  and  separation. 
Let  traitors  arm,  and  villains  draw  the  parricidal  sword  !  We 
at  least  would  remain  faithful ;  the  unconquerable  power  of 
England  would  be  exerted,  and  the  misguided  and  ungrateful 
provinces  punished  and  brought  back  to  their  obedience.  With 
what  cheers  we  drank  his  Majesty's  health  after  our  banquets  ! 
We  would  die  in  defence  of  his  rights ;  we  would  have  a  Prince 
of  his  Royal  house  to  come  and  govern  his  ancient  dominions ! 
In  consideration  of  my  own  and  my  excellent  mother's  loyalty, 
my  brother's  benighted  conduct  should  be  forgiven.  Was  it 
yet  too  late  too  secure  him  by  offering  him  a  good  command  ? 
Would  I  not  intercede  with   him,  who,  it  was  known,  had  a 


752  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

great  influence  over  him  ?  In  our  Williamsburg  councils  we 
were  alternately  in  every  state  of  exaltation  and  triumph,  of 
hope,  of  fury  against  the  rebels,  of  anxious  expectancy  of  home 
succor,  of  doubt,  distrust,  and  gloom. 

I  promised  to  intercede  with  my  brother  ;  and  wrote  to  him, 
I  own,  with  but  little  hope  of  success,  repeating,  and  trying  to 
strengthen  the  arguments  which  I  had  many  a  time  used  in  our 
conversations.  My  mother,  too,  used  her  authority  ;  but  from 
this,  I  own,  I  expected  little  advantage.  She  assailed  him,  as 
her  habit  was,  with  such  texts  of  Scripture  as  she  thought  bore 
out  her  own  opinion,  and  threatened  punishment  to  him.  She 
menaced  him  with  the  penalties  which  must  fall  upon  those 
who  were  disobedient  to  the  powers  that  be.  She  pointed  to 
his  elder  brother's  example ;  and  hinted,  I  fear,  at  his  subjec- 
tion to  his  wife,  the  ver}^  worst  argument  she  could  use  in  such 
a  controversy.  She  did  not  show  me  her  own  letter  to  him  ; 
possibly  she  knew  I  might  find  fault  with  the  energy  of  some 
of  the  expressions  she  thought  proper  to  employ ;  but  she 
showed  me  his  answer,  from  which  I  gathered  what  the  style 
and  tenor  of  her  argument  had  been.  And  if  Madam  Esmond 
brought  Scripture  to  her  aid,  Mr.  Hal,  to  my  surprise,  brought 
scores  of  texts  to  bear  ujDon  her  in  reply,  and  addressed  her  in 
a  very  neat,  temperate,  and  even  elegant  composition,  which  I 
thought  his  wife  herself  was  scarcely  capable  of  penning.  In- 
deed, I  found  he  had  enlisted  the  services  of  Mr.  Belman,  the 
new  Richmond  clergyman,  who  had  taken  up  strong  opinions 
on  the  Whig  side,  and  who  preached  and  printed  sermons 
against  Hagan  (who,  as  I  have  said,  was  of  our  faction),  in 
which  I  fear  Belman  had  the  best  of  the  dispute. 

My  exhortations  to  Hal  had  no  more  success  than  our 
mother's.  He  did  not  answer  my  letters.  Being  still  farther 
pressed  by  the  friends  of  the  Government,  I  wrote  over  most 
imprudently  to  say  I  would  visit  him  at  the  end  of  the  week  at 
Fanny's  Mount ;  but  on  arriving,  I  only  found  my  sister,  who 
received  me  with  perfect  cordiality,  but  informed  me  that  Hal 
was  gone  into  the  country,  ever  so  far  towards  the  Blue 
Mountains  to  look  at  some  horses,  and  was  to  be  awa}' — she 
did  not  know  how  long  he  was  to  be  away  ! 

I  knew  then  there  was  no  hope.  "  My  dear,"  I  said,  "  as  far 
as  I  can  judge  from  the  signs  of  the  times,  the  train  that  has  been 
laid  these  years  must  have  a  match  put  to  it  before  long. 
Harry  is  riding  away.     God  knows  to  what  end." 

*'  The  Lord  prosper  the  righteous  cause,  Sir  George,"  says 
she. 


THE  VIRGINIANS.  753 

"  Amen,  with  all  my  heart.  You  and  he  speak  as  Amer- 
icans ;  I  as  an  Englishman.  Tell  him  from  me,  that  when 
anything  in  the  course  of  nature  shall  happen  to  our  mother, 
I  have  enough  for  me  and  mine  in  England,  and  shall  resign 
all  our  land  here  in  Virginia  to  him." 

"  You  don't  mean  that,  George  ?  "  she  cries,  with  brighten- 
ing eyes.  "  Well,  to  be  sure,  it  is  but  right  and  fair,''  she 
presently  added.  "  Why  should  you,  who  are  the  eldest  but  by 
an  hour,  have  everything?  a  palace  and  lands  in  England — the 
plantation  here — the  title — and  children — and  my  poor  Harry 
none  1  But  'tis  generous  of  you  all  the  same — leastways  hand- 
some and  proper,  and  I  didn't  expect  it  of  you  :  and  you  don't 
take  after  your  mother  in  this.  Sir  George,  that  you  don't,  no- 
how. Give  my  love  to  sister  Theo  !  "  And  she  offers  me  a 
cheek  to  kiss,  ere  I  ride  away  from  her  door.  With  such  a 
woman  as  Fanny  to  guide  him,  how  could  I  hope  to  make  a 
convert  of  my  brother  .? 

Having  met  with  this  poor  success  in  my  enterprise,  I  rode 
back  to  our  Governor,  with  whom  I  agreed  that  it  was  time  to 
arm  in  earnest,  and  prepare  ourselves  against  the  shock  that 
certainly  was  at  hand.  He  and  his  whole  Court  of  Officials 
were  not  a  little  agitated  and  excited  ;  needlessly  savage,  I 
thought,  in  their  abuse  of  the  wicked  Whigs,  and  loud  in  their 
shouts  of  Old  England  for  ever ;  but  they  were  all  eager  for 
the  day  when  the  contending  parties  could  meet  hand  to  hand, 
and  they  could  have  an  opportunity  of  riding  those  wicked 
Whigs  down.  And  I  left  my  lord,  having  received  the  thanks 
of  his  Excellency  in  Council,  and  engaged  to  do  my  best 
endeavors  to  raise  a  body  of  men  in  defence  of  the  Crown. 
Hence  the  corps,  called  afterwards  the  Westmoreland  De- 
fenders, had  its  rise,  of  which  I  had  the  honor  to  be  appointed 
Colonel,  and  which  I  was  to  command  when  it  appeared  in  the 
field.  And  that  fortunate  event  must  straightway  take  place, 
so  soon  as  the  county  knew  that  a  gentleman  of  my  station  and 
name  would  take  the  command  of  the  force.  The  announce- 
ment was  duly  made  in  the  Government  Gazette,  and  we  filled 
in  our  officers  readily  enough ;  but  the  recruits,  it  must  be 
owned,  were  slow  to  come  in,  and  quick  to  disappear.  Never- 
theless, friend  Hagan  eagerly  came  forward  to  offer  himself  as 
chaplain.  Madam  Esmond  gave  us  our  colors,  and  progressed 
about  the  country  engaging  volunteers ;  but  the  most  eager 
recruiter  of  all  was  my  good  old  tutor,  little  Mr.  Dempster,  who 
had  been  out  as  a  boy  on  the  Jacobite  side  in  Scotland,  and 
who  went  specially  into  the  Carolinas,  among  the  children  of 

48 


7^4  ^-^^  VIRGINIANS. 

his  banished  old  comrades,  who  had  worn  the  white  cockade 
of  Prince  Charles,  and  who  most  of  all  showed  themselves  in 
this  contest  still  loyal  to  the  Crown. 

Hal's  expedition  in  search  of  horses,  led  him  not  only  so 
far  as  the  Blue  Mountains  in  our  colony,  but  thence  on  a  long 
journey  to  Annapolis  and  Baltimore  ;  and  from  Baltimore  to 
Philadelphia,  to  be  sure  ;  where  a  second  General  Congress  was 
now  sitting,  attended  by  our  Virginian  gentlemen  of  the  last 
year.  Meanwhile,  all  the  almanacs  tell  what  had  happened. 
Lexington  had  happened,  and  the  first  shots  were  fired  in  the 
war  which  was  to  end  in  the  independence  of  my  native  countr}'. 
We  still  protested  of  our  loyalty  to  his  Majesty ;  but  w^e  stated 
our  determination  to  die  or  be  free  ;  and  some  twenty  thousand 
of  our  loyal  petitioners  assembled  round  about  Boston  with 
arms  in  their  hands  and  cannon,  to  w^hich  they  had  helped 
themselves  out  of  the  Government  stores.  Mr.  Arnold  had 
begun  that  career  which  was  to  end  so  brilliantly,  by  the  daring 
and  burglarious  capture  of  two  forts,  of  which  he  forced  the 
doors.  Three  generals  from  Bond  Street,  with  a  large  rein- 
forcement, were  on  their  w^ay  to  help  Mr.  Gage  out  of  his  ugly 
position  at  Boston.  Presently  the  armies  were  actually  en- 
gaged ;  and  our  British  generals  commenced  their  career  of 
conquest  and  pacification  in  the  colonies  by  the  glorious  blunder 
of  Breed's  Hill.  Here  they  fortified  themselves,  feeling  them- 
selves not  strong  enough  for  the  moment  to  wdn  any  more 
glorious  victories  over  the  rebels  ;  and  the  two  armies  lay 
watchinsf  each  other  whilst  Cong-ress  was  deliberatins^  at  Phila- 

o  o  o 

delphia  who  should  command  the  forces  of  the  confederated 
colonies. 

We  all  know  on  whom  the  most  fortunate  choice  of  the 
nation  fell.  Of  the  Virginian  regiments  w^hich  marched  to  join 
the  new  General-in-Chief,  one  was  commanded  by  Henry 
Esmond  Warrington,  Esq.,.  late  a  Captain  in  his  Majesty's  ser- 
vice ;  and  by  his  side  rode  his  little  wife,  of  whose  bravery  we 
often  subsequently  heard.  I  was  glad,  for  one,  that  she  had 
quitted  Virginia ;  for,  had  she  remained  after  her  husband's 
departure,  our  mother  w'ould  infallibly  have  gone  over  to  give 
her  battle ;  and  I  was  thankful,  at  least,  that  that  incident  of 
civil  war  was  spared  to  our  family  and  history. 

The  rush  of  our  farmers  and  country-folk  was  almost  all 
directed  towards  the  new  northern  army  ;  and  our  people  were 
not  a  little  flattered  at  the  selection  of  a  A^irginian  gentleman 
for  the  principal  command.  With  a  thrill  of  wrath  and  fury  the 
provinces  heard  of  the  blood  drawn  at  Lexington ;  and  men 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  753 

yelled  denunciations  against  the  cruelty  and  wantonness  of  the 
bloody  British  invader.  The  invader  was  but  doing  his  duty, 
and  was  met  and  resisted  by  men  in  arms,  who  wished  to  pre- 
vent him  from  helping  himself  to  his  own ;  but  people  do  not 
stay  to  weigh  their  words  when  they  mean  to  be  angry ;  the 
colonists  had  taken  their  side  ;  and,  with  what  I  own  to  be  a 
natural  spirit  and  ardor,  were  determined  to  have  a  trial  of 
strength  with  the  braggart  domineering  mother-country.  Breed's 
Hill  became  a  mountain,  as  it  were,  which  all  men  of  the 
American  Continent  might  behold,  with  Liberty,  Victory,  Glory, 
on  its  flaming  summit.  These  dreaded  troops  could  be  with- 
stood, then,  by  farmers  and  ploughmen.  These  famous  officers 
could  be  out-generalled  by  doctors,  lawyers,  and  civilians  ! 
Granted  that  Britons  could  conquer  all  the  world  ; — liere  were 
their  children  who  could  match  and  conquer  Britons  !  Indeed, 
I  don't  know  which  of  the  two  deserves  the  palm,  either  for 
bravery  or  vainglory.  We  are  in  the  habit  of  laughing  at  our 
French  neighbors  for  boasting,  gasconading,  and  so  forth ;  but 
for  a  steady  self-esteem  and  indomitable  confidence  in  our  own 
courage,  greatness,  magnanimity  ;  —  who  can  compare  with 
Britons,  except  their  children  across  the  Atlantic  1 

The  people  round  about  us  took  the  people's  side  for  the 
most  part  in  the  struggle,  and,  truth  to  say.  Sir  George  War- 
rington found  his  regiment  of  Westmoreland  Defenders  but 
very  thinly  manned  at  the  commencement,  and  woefully  dimin- 
ished in  numbers  presently,  not  only  after  the  news  of  battle 
from  the  north,  but  in  consequence  of  the  behavior  of  my  Lord 
our  Governor,  whose  conduct  enraged  no  one  more  than  his 
own  immediate  partisans,  and  the  loyal  adherents  of  the  Crown 
throughout  the  colony.  That  he  would  plant  the  King's  stand- 
ard, and  summon  all  loyal  gentlemen  to  rally  round  it,  had 
been  a  measure  agreed  in  countless  meetings,  and  applauded 
over  thousands  of  bumpers.  I  have  a  pretty  good  memory, 
and  could  mention  the  name  of  many  a  gentleman,  now  a  smug 
officer  of  the  United  States  Government,  whom  I  have  heard 
hiccup  out  a  prayer  that  he  might  be  allowed  to  perish  under 
the  folds  of  his  country's  flag  ;  or  roar  a  challenge  to  the  bloody 
traitors  absent  with  the  rebel  army.  But  let  bygones  be  by- 
gones. This,  however,  is  matter  of  public  history,  that  his 
lordship,  our  Governor,  a  peer  of  Scotland,  the  Sovereign's  rep- 
resentative in  his  Old  Dominion,  who  so  loudly  invited  all  the 
lieges  to  join  the  King's  standard,  was  the  first  to  put  it  in  his 
pocket,  and  fly  to  his  ships  out  of  reach  of  danger.  He  would 
not  leave  them,  save  as  a  pirate  at  midnight  to  burn  and  de- 


756  THE   VIRGIAUANS. 

stroy.  Meanwhile,  we  loyal  gentry  remained  on  shore,  com- 
mitted to  our  cause,  and  only  subject  to  greater  danger  in  con- 
sequence of  the  weakness  and  cruelty  of  him  who  ought  to 
have  been  our  leader.  It  was  the  beginning  of  June,  our 
orchards  and  gardens  were  all  blooming  with  plenty  and  sum- 
mer ;  a  week  before  I  had  been  over  at  Williamsburg,  exchang- 
ing compliments  with  his  Excellency,  devising  plans  for  future 
movements  by  which  we  should  be  able  to  make  good  head 
against  rebellion,  shaking  hands  heartily  at  parting,  and  vince7-e 
aid  mo7'i  the  very  last  words  upon  all  our  lips.  Our  little  family 
was  gathered  at  Richmond,  talking  over,  as  we  did  daily,  the 
prospect  of  affairs  in  the  north,  the  quarrels  between  our  own 
Assembly  and  his  Excellency,  by  whom  they  had  been  afresh 
convened,  when  our  ghostly  Hagan  rushes  into  our  parlor,  and 
asks,  "  Have  we  heard  the  news  of  the  Governor  ?  " 

"  Has  he  dissolved  the  Assembly  again,  and  put  that  scoun- 
drel Patrick  Henry  in  irons  ?  "  asked  Madam  Esmond. 

"  No  such  thing  i  His  lordship  with  his  lady  and  family 
have  left  their  palace  privately  at  night.  They  are  on  board  a 
man-of-war  off  York,  whence  my  lard  has  sent  a  despatch  to  the 
Assembly,  begging  them  to  continue  their  sitting,  and  announ- 
cing that  he  himself  had  only  quitted  the  Government  House 
out  of  fear  of  the  fury  of  the  people." 

What  was  to  become  of  the  sheep,  now  the  shepherd  had 
run  away  ?  No  entreaties  could  be  more  pathetic  than  those  of 
the  gentlemen  of  the  House  of  Assembly,  who  guaranteed  their 
Governor  security  if  he  would  but  land,  and  implored  him  to 
appear  amongst  them,  if  but  to  pass  bills  and  transact  the  ne- 
cessary business.  No  :  the  man-of-war  was  his  seat  of  govern- 
ment, and  my  lord  desired  his  House  of  Commons  to  wait  upon 
him  there.  This  was  erecting  the  King's  standard  with  a  ven- 
geance. Our  Governor  had  left  us  ;  our  Assembly  perforce 
ruled  in-  his  stead  ;  a  rabble  of  people  followed  the  fugitive  Vice- 
roy on  board  his  ships,  A  mob  of  negroes  deserted  out  of  the 
plantations  to  join  this  other  deserter.  He  and  his  black  allies 
landed  here  and  there  in  darkness,  and  emulated  the  most  law- 
less of  our  opponents  in  their  alacrity  at  seizing  and  burning. 
He  not  only  invited  runaway  negroes,  but  he  sent  an  ambas- 
sador to  Indians  with  entreaties  to  join  his  standard.  When  he 
came  on  shore  it  was  to  burn  and  destroy  :  when  the  people 
resisted,  as  at  Norfolk  and  Hampton,  he  retreated  and  betook 
himself  to  his  ships  again. 

Even  my  mother,  after  that  miserable  flight  of  our  chief, 
was  scared  at  the  aspect  of  affairs,  and  doubted  of  the  speedy 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


757 


putting  down  of  the  rebellion.  The  arming  of  the  negroes  was, 
in  her  opinion,  the  most  cowarcll}'  blow  of  all.  The  loyal  gentry 
were  ruined,  and  robbed,  many  of  them,  of  their  only  property. 
A  score  of  our  worst  hands  deserted  from  Richmond  and  Castle- 
wood,  and  fled  to  our  courageous  Governor's  fleet ;  not  all  of 
them,  though  some  of  them,  were  slain,  and  a  couple  hung  by 
the  enemy  for  plunder  and  robber}^  perpetrated  whilst  with  his 
lordship's  precious  army.  Because  her  property  was  w^antonly 
injured,  and  his  IMajesty's  chief  officer  an  imbecile,  would 
]\Iadam  Esmond  desert  the  cause  of  Royalty  and  Honor  ?  My 
good  mother  was  never  so  prodigiously  dignified,  and  loudly 
and  enthusiastically  loyal,  as  after  she  heard  of  our  Governor's 
lamentable  defection.  The  people  round  about  her;  though 
most  of  them  of  quite  a  different  way  of  thinking,  listened  to 
her  speeches  without  unkindness.  Her  oddities  were  known 
far  and  wide  through  our  province  :  where,  I  am  afraid,  many 
of  the  wags  amongst  our  young  men  were  accustomed  to  smoke 
her,  as  the  phrase  then  was,  and  draw  out  her  stories  about  the 
Marquis  her  father,  about  the  splendor  of  her  family,  and  so 
forth.  But,  along  with  her  oddities,  her  charities  and  kindness 
were  remembered,  and  many  a  rebel,  as  she  called  them,  had  a 
sneaking  regard  for  the  pompous  little  Tory  lady. 

As  for  the  Colonel  of  the  Westmoreland  Defenders,  though 
that  gentleman's  command  dwindled  utterly  away  after  the  out- 
rageous conduct  of  his  chief,  yet  I  escaped  from  some  very 
serious  danger  which  might  have  befallen  me  and  mine  in  con- 
sequence of  some  disputes  which  I  was  known  to  have  had  with 
my  Lord  Dunmore.  Going  on  board  his  ship  after  he  had 
burnt  the  stores  at  Hampton,  and  issued  the  proclamation  call- 
ing the  negroes  to  his  standard,  I  made  so  free  as  to  remon- 
strate with  him  in  regard  to  both  measures ;  I  implored  him  to 
return  to  Williamsburg,  where  hundreds  of  us,  thousands,  I 
hoped,  would  be  ready  to  defend  him  to  the  last  extremity  ;  and 
in  my  remonstrance  used  terms  so  free,  or  rather,  as  I  suspect, 
indicated  my  contempt  for  his  conduct  so  clearly  by  my  beha- 
vior, that  his  lordship  flew  into  a  rage,  said  I  was  a rebel, 

like  all  the  rest  of  them,  and  ordered  me  under  arrest  there  on 
board  his  own  ship.  In  my  quality  of  militia  officer  (since  the 
breaking  out  of  the  troubles  I  commonly  used  a  red  coat,  to 
show  that  I  w^ore  the  King's  color,)  I  begged  for  a  court-martial 
immediately  ;  aud  turning  round  to  two  officers  who  had  been 
present  during  our  altercation,  desired  them  to  remember  all 
that  had  passed  between  his  lordship  and  me.  These  gentle- 
men were  no  doubt  of  my  way  of  thinking  as  to  the  chief's  be- 


758 


THE   ]'IRGIXfAXS. 


liavior,  and  our  interview  ended  in  my  going  ashore  unaccom- 
panied  by  a  guard.  The  story  got  wind  amongst  the  Whig 
gentry,  and  was  improved  in  the  telling.  I  had  spoken  out 
my  mind  manfully  to  the  Governor ;  no  Whig  could  have 
uttered  sentiments  more  liberal.  When  riots  took  place  in 
Richmond,  and  many  of  the  Loyalists  remaining  there  were  in 
peril  of  life  and  betook  themselves  to  the  ships,  my  mother's 
proj^erty  and  -house  were  never  endangered,  nor  her  family 
insulted.  We  were  still  at  the  stage  when  a  reconciliation  was 
fondly  thought  possible.  '"  Ah  !  if  all  the  Tories  were  like  you," 
a  distinguished  Whig  has  said  to  me,  "  we  and  the  people  at 
home  should  soon  come  together  again."  This,  of  course,  was 
before  the  famous  Fourth  of  July,  and  that  Declaration  which 
rendered  reconcilement  impossible.  Afterwards,  when  parties 
grew  more  rancorous,  motives  much  less  creditable  were  as- 
signed for  my  conduct,  and  it  was  said  I  chose  to  be  a  Liberal 
Tory  because  I  was  a  cunning  fox,  and  wished  to  keep  my 
estate  whatever  way  things  went.  And  this,  I  am  bound  to  say, 
is  the  opinion  regarding  my  humble  self  which  has  obtained  in 
ver)'  high  quarters  at  home,  where  a  profound  regard  for  my 
own  interest  has  been  supposed  not  uncommonly  to  have  occa- 
sioned my  conduct  during  the  late  unhappy  troubles. 

There  were  two  or  three  persons  in  the  world  (for  I  had  not 
told  my  mother  how  I  was  resolved  to  cede  to  my  brother  all 
my  life-interest  in  our  American  property)  who  knew  that  I  had 
no  mercenary  motives  in  regard  to  the  conduct  I  pursued.  It 
was  not  worth  while  to  undeceive  others  ;  what  were  life  worth, 
if  a  man  were  forced  to  put  himself  a  la  piste  of  all  the  calum- 
nies uttered  against  him  }  And  I  do  not  quite  know  to  this 
present  day,  how  it  happened  that  my  mother,  that  notorious 
Loyalist,  was  left  for  several  years  quite  undisturbed  in  her  house 
at  Castlewood,  a  stray  troop  or  company  of  Continentals  being 
occasionally  quartered  upon  her.  I  do  not  know  for  certain,  I 
say,  how  this  jDiece  of  good  fortune  happened,  though  I  can  give 
a  pretty  shrewd  guess  as  to  the  cause  of  it.  Madam  Fanny, 
after  a  campaign  before  Boston,  came  back  to  Fanny's  Mount, 
leaving  her  Colonel.  My  modest  Hal,  until  the  conclusion  of 
the  war,  would  accept  no  higher  rank,  believing  that  in  com- 
mand of  a  regiment  he  could  be  more  useful  than  in  charge  of 
a  division.  Madam  Fanny,  I  say,  came  back,  and  it  was  remark- 
able after  her  return  how  her  old  asperity  towards  my  mother 
seemed  to  be  removed,  and  what  an  affection  she  showed  for 
her  and  all  the  property.  She  was  great  friends  with  the  Gov- 
ernor and  some  of  the  most  influential  gentlemen  of  the  new 


THE   J^IKGINIAiXS. 


759 


Assembly  : — Maaam  Esmond  was  harmless  ,  and  for  her  son's 
sake,  who  was  bravely  battling  for  his  country,  her  errors  should 
be  lightly  visited  : — I  know  not  how^  it  was,  but  for  years  she 
remained  unharmed,  except  in  respect  of  heavy  Government 
requisitions,  which  of  course  she  had  to  pay,  and  it  was  not 
until  the  red  coats  appeared  about  our  house,  that  much  serious 
evil  came  to  it. 


CHAPTER  XC. 

IN    WHICH    WE    BOTH    FIGHT    AND    RUN    AWAY. 

What  was  the  use  of  a  Colonel  without  a  regiment  ?  The 
Governor  and  Council  who  had  made  such  a  parade  of  thanks 
in  endowing  me  with  mine,  were  away  out  of  sight,  skulking  on 
board  ships,  with  an  occasional  piracy  and  arson  on  shore. 
My  Lord  Dunmore's  black  allies  frightened  away  those  of  his 
own  blood  ;  and  besides  these  negroes  w^hom  he  had  summoned 
round  him  in  arms,  we  heard  that  he  had  sent  an  envoy 
among  the  Indians  of  the  South,  and  that  they  were  to  come 
do-wn  in  numbers  and  tomahawk  our  people  into  good  beha- 
vior. "  And  these  are  to  be  our  allies  !  "  I  say  to  my  mother, 
exchanging  ominous  looks  with  her,  and  remembering,  with  a 
ghastly  distinctness,  that  savage  whose  face  glared  over  mine, 
and  wdiose  knife  was  at  my  throat  when  Florae  struck  him  down 
on  Braddock's  Field.  We  put  our  house  of  Castlewood  into 
as  good  a  state  of  defence  as  we  could  devise  ;  but,  in  truth,  it 
was  more  of  the  red  men  and  the  blacks  than  of  the  rebels  we 
were  afraid.  I  never  saw  my  mother  lose  courage  but  once, 
and  then  when  she  was  recounting  to  us  the  particulars  of  our 
father's  death  in  a  foray  of  Indians  more  than  forty  years  ago. 
Seeing  some  figures  one  night  moving  in  front  of  our  house, 
nothing  could  persuade  the  good  lady  but  that  they  w^ere 
savages,  and  she  sank  on  her  knees  crying  out,  "  The  Lord 
have  mercy  upon  us  !     The  Indians — the  Indians  !  " 

My  lord's  negro  allies  vanished  on  board  his  ships,  or 
where  they  could  find  pay  and  plunder ;  but  the  painted  heroes 
from  the  South  never  made  their  appearance,  though  I  own  to 
have  looked  at  my  mother's  gray  head,  my  wife's  brown  hair, 
and  our  little   one's  golden  ringlets,  with  a  horrible  pang  of 


760  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

doubt  lest  these  should  fall  the  victims  of  ruffian  war.  And  it 
was  we  who  fought  with  such  weapons,  and  enlisted  these 
allies  !  But  that  I  dare  not  (so  to  speak)  be  setting  myself  up 
as  interpreter  of  Providence,  and  pointing  out  the  special  finger 
of  heaven  (as  many  people  are  wont  to  do),  I  would  say  our 
employment  with  these  Indians,  and  of  the  German  merce- 
naries, brought  their  own  retribution  wdth  them  in  this  w^ar.  In 
the  field,  where  the  mercenaries  were  attacked  by  the  Provin- 
cials, they  yielded,  and  it  was  triumphing  over  them  that  so 
raised  the  spirit  of  the  Continental  army;  and  the  murder  of 
one  woman  (Miss  McCrea)  by  a  half-dozen  drunken  Indians, 
did  more  harm  to  the  Royal  cause  than  the  lose  of  a  battle  or 
the  destruction  of  regiments. 

Now,  the  Indian  panic  over.  Madam  Esmond's  courage  re- 
turned :  and  she  began  to  be  seriously  and  not  unjustly  uneasy, 
at  the  danger  which  I  ran  myself,  and  which  I  brought  upon 
others,  by  remaining  in  A^irginia. 

"  What  harm  can  they  do  me,"  says  she,  "  a  poor  woman  1 
If  I  have  one  son  a  colonel  without  a  regiment,  I  have  another 
with  a  couple  of  hundred  Continentals  behind  him  in  Mr. 
Warrington's  camp.  If  the  Royalists  come,  they  will  let  me 
off  for  your  sake  ;  if  the  rebels  appear,  I  shall  have  Harry's 
passport.  I  don't  wish,  sir,  I  don't  like  that  your  delicate  wife, 
and  this  dear  little  baby  should  be  here,  and  only  increase  the 
risk  of  all  of  us  !  We  must  have  them  away  to  Boston  or  New 
York.  Don't  talk  about  defending  me  !  Who  will  think  of 
hurting  a  poor,  harmless  old  woman  ?  If  the  rebels  come,  I 
shall  shelter  behind  Mrs.  Fanny's  petticoats,  and  shall  be  much 
safer  without  you  in  the  house  than  in  it."  This  she  said  in 
part,  perhaps,  because  'twas  reasonable  ;  more  so  because  she 
would  have  me  and  my  family  out  of  the  danger  ;  and  danger 
or  not,  for  her  part  she  was  determined  to  remain  in  the  land 
wdiere  her  father  was  buried,  and  she  was  born.  She  was  living 
backwards^  so  to  speak.  She  had  seen  the  new  generation,  and 
blessed  them,  and  bade  them  farewell.  She  belonged  to  the 
past,  and  old  days  and  memories. 

While  we  were  debating  about  the  Boston  scheme,  comes 
the  news  that  the  British  have  evacuated  that  luckless  city 
altogether,  never  having  ventured  to  attack  Mr.  Washington  in 
his  camp  at  Cambridge  (though  he  lay  there  for  many  months 
without  powder  at  our  mercy) ;  but  waiting  until  he  procured 
ammunition,  and  seized  and  fortified  Dorchester  heights,  w^hich 
commanded  the  town,  out  of  which  the  w^hole  British  army 
and  colony  were  obliged  to   beat   a  retreat.     That  the  King's 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


761 


troops  won  the  battle  at  Bunker's  Hill,  there  is  no  more  doubt 
than  that  they  beat  the  French  at  Blenheim ;  but  through  the 
war  their  chiefs  seem  constantly  to  have  been  afraid  of  assault- 
ing entrenched  Continentals  afterwards  ;  else  why,  from  JiUy 
to  March,  hesitate  to  strike  an  almost  defenceless  enemy  ? 
Why  th-e  hesitation  at  Long  Island,  when  tlie  Continental  army 
was  in  our  hand  ?  Why  that  astonishing  timorousness  of 
Howe  before  Valley  Forge,  where  the  relics  of  a  force, 
starving,  sickening,  and  in  rags,  could  scarcely  man  the  lines, 
which  they  held  before  a  great,  victorious,  and  perfectly 
appointed  army  ? 

As  the  hopes  and  fears  of  the  contending  parties  rose  and 
fell,  it  was  curious  to  mark  the  altered  tones  of  the  partisans 
of  either.  When  the  news  came  to  us  in  the  country  of  the 
evacuation  of  Boston,  every  little  Whig  in  the  neighborhood 
made  his  bow  to  Madam,  and  advised  her  to  a  speedy  sub- 
mission. She  did  not  carry  her  loyalty  quite  so  openly  as 
heretofore,  and  flaunt  her  flag  in  the  faces  of  the  public,  but 
she  never  swerved.  Every  night  and  morning  in  private  poor 
Hagan  prayed  for  the  Royal  family  in  our  own  household,  and 
on  vSundays  any  neighbors  were  welcome  to  attend  the  service, 
where  my  mother  acted  as  a  very  emphatic  clerk,  and  the 
prayer  for  the  High  Court  of  Parliament  under  our  most 
religious  and  gracious  King  was  very  stoutly  delivered.  The 
brave  Hagan  was  a  parson  without  a  living,  as  I  was  a  Militia 
Colonel  without  a  regiment.  Hagan  had  continued  to  pray 
stoutly  for  King  George  in  Williamsburg,  long  after  his  Ex- 
cellency our  Governor  had  run  away  :  but  on  coming  to  church 
one  Sunday  to  perform  his  duty,  he  found  a  corporal's  guard  at 
the  church  door,  who  told  him  that  the  Committee  of  Safety 
had  put  another  divine  in  his  place,  and  he  was  requested  to 
keep  a  quiet  tongue  in  his  head.  He  told  the  man  to  "  lead 
him  before  their  chiefs  "  (our  honest  friend  always  loved  tall 
words  and  tragic  attitudes)  ;  and  accordingly  was  marched 
through  the  streets  to  the  Capitol,  with  a  chorus  of  white  and 
colored  blackguards  at  the  skirts  of  his  gown  ;  and  had  an 
interview  with  Mr.  Henry  and  the  new  State  officers,  and 
confronted  the  robbers,  as  he  said,  in  their  den.  Of  course  he 
was  for  making  an  heroic  speech  before  these  gentlemen,  (and 
was  one  of  many  men  who  perhaps  would  have  no  objection  to 
be  made  martyrs,  so  that  they  might  be  roasted  co?'am  populo,  or 
tortured  in  a  full  house,)  but  Mr.  Henry  was  determined  to 
give  him  no  such  chance.  After  keeping  Hagan  three  or  four 
hours   waiting   in  an   ante-room   in   the  company  of  negroes, 


762 


THE   VIRGINIAXS. 


when  the  worthy  divine  entered  the  new  chief  magistrate's 
room  with  an  undaunted  mein,  and  began  a  prepared  speech 

with — "  Sir,  by  what  authority   am  I,  a   minister  of    the " 

"  Mr.  Hagan,"  says  the  other,  interrupting  him,  "  I  am  too 
busy  to  listen  to  speeches.  And  as  for  King  George,  he  has 
henceforth  no  more  authority  in  this  country  than  King 
Nebuchadnezzar.  Mind  you  that,  and  hold  your  tongue,  if  you 
please!  Stick  to  King  John,  sir,  and  King  Macbeth;  and  if 
you  will  send  round  your  benefit-tickets,  all  the  Assembly  shall 
come  and  hear  you.  Did  you  ever  see^Mr.  Hagan  on  the 
boards,  wdien  you  w^as  in  London,  General?  "  And,  so  saying, 
Henry  turns  round  upon  Mr.  Washington's  second  in  command. 
General  Lee,  who  was  now  come  into  Virginia  upon  State 
affairs,  and  our  shame-faced  good  Hagan  was  bustled  out  of 
the  room,  reddening,  and  almost  crying  with  shame.  After  this 
event  we  thought  that  Hagan's  ministrations  were  best  confined 
to  us  in  the  country,  and  removed  the  worthy  pastor  from  his 
restive  lambs  in  the  city. 

The  selection  of  Virginians  to  the  very  highest  civil  and 
military  appointments  of  the  new  government  bribed  and 
flattered  many  of  our  leading  people,  who,  but  for  the  outrageous 
conduct  of  our  government,  might  have  remained  faithful  to  the 
Crowm,  and  made  good  head  against  the  rising  rebellion.  But, 
although  we  Loyalists  were  gagged  and  muzzled,  though  the 
Capitol  w-as  in  the  hands  of  the  Whigs,  and  our  vaunted  levies 
of  loyal  recruits  so  many  Falstaff's  regiments,  for  the  most 
part,  the  faithful  still  kept  intelligence  wdth  one  another  in  the 
colony,  and  wdth  our  neighbors  ;  and  though  we  did  not  rise, 
and  though  we  ran  away,  and  though,  in  examination  before 
committees,  justices,  and  so  forth,  some  of  our  frightened 
people  gave  themselves  Republican  airs,  and  vowed  perdition 
to  kings  and  nobles  ;  yet  we  knew  each  other  pretty  well,  and — 
according  as  the  chances  were  more  or  less  favorable  to  us,  the 
master  more  or  less  hard — we  concealed  our  colors,  showed  our 
colors,  half  showed  our  colors,  or  downright  apostatized  for  the 
nonce,  and  cried  "  Dow^i  with  King  George  !  "  Our  negroes  bore 
about,  from  house  to  house,  all  sorts  of  messages  and  tokens. 
Endless  underhand  plots  and  schemes  w^ere  engaged  in  by 
those  who  could  not  afford  the  light.  The  battle  over,  the 
neutrals  come  and  join  the  winning  side,  and  shout  as  loudly 
as  the  patriots.  The  runaways  are  not  counted.  Will  any 
man  tell  me  that  the  signers  and  ardent  well-wdshers  of  the 
Declaration  of  Independence  were  not  in  a  minority  of  the 
nation,  and  that  the  minority  did  not  wdn  ?     We  knew  that  a 


THE  VIRGINIA yS.  ^C^, 

part  of  the  defeated  army  of  Massachusetts  was  about  to  make 
an  important  expedition  southward,  upon  the  success  of  which 
the  very  greatest  hopes  were  founded  ;  and  I,  for  one,  being 
anxious  to  make  a  movement  as  soon  as  there  was  any  chance 
of  activity,  had  put  myself  in  communication  with  the  ex- 
Governor  Martin,  of  North  Carolina,  whom  I  proposed  to  join, 
with  three  or  four  of  our  Virginia  gentlemen,  officers  of  that 
notable  corps  of  which  we  only  wanted  privates.  We  made  no 
particular  mystery  about  our  departure  from  Castlewood  ;  the 
affairs  of  Congress  were  not  going  so  well  yet  that  the  new 
government  could  afford  to  lay  any  particular  stress  or  tyranny 
upon  persons  of  a  doubtful  way  of  thinking.  Gentlemen's 
houses  were  still  open  ;  and  in  our  southern  fashion  we  would 
visit  our  friends  for  months  at  a  time.  My  wife  and  I,  with 
our  infant  and  a  fitting  suit  of  servants,  took  leave  of  Madam 
Esmond  on  a  visit  to  a  neighboring  plantation.  We  went 
thence  to  another  friend's  house,  and  then  to  another,  till 
finally  we  reached  Wilmington,  in  North  Carolina,  which  was  the 
point  at  which  we  expected  to  stretch  a  hand  to  the  succors 
which  were  coming  to  meet  us. 

Ere  our  arrival,  our  brother  Carolinian  Royalists  had  shown 
themselves  in  some  force.  Their  encounters  with  the  Whigs 
had  been  unlucky.  The  poor  Highlanders  had  been  no  more 
fortunate  in  their  present  contest  in  favor  of  King  George,  than 
when  they  had  drawn  their  swords  against  him  in  their  own 
country.  We  did  not  reach  Wilmington  until  the  end  of  May, 
by  which  time  we  found  Admiral  Parker's  squadron  there,  with 
General  Clinton  and  five  British  regiments  on  board,  whose 
object  was  a  descent  upon  Charleston. 

The  General,  to  whom  I  immediately  made  myself  known, 
seeing  that  my  regiment  consisted  of  Lady  Warrington,  our  in- 
fant, whom  she  was  nursing,  and  three -negro  servants,  received 
us  at  first  with  a  very  grim  welcome.  But  Captain  Horner  of 
the  "  Sphinx  "  frigate,  \yho  had  been  on  the  Jamaica  station, 
and  received,  like  all  the  rest  of  the  world,  many  kindnesses 
from  our  dear  Governor  there,  when  he  heard  that  my  wife  was 
General  Lambert's  daughter,  eagerly  received  her  on  board, 
and  gave  up  his  best  cabin  to  our  service ;  and  so  w^e  were 
refugees,  too,  like  my  Lord  Dunmore,  having  waved  our  flag, 
to  be  sure,  and  pocketed  it,  and  slipped  out  at  the  back  door. 
From  ^^'ilmington  we  bore  away  quickly  to  Charleston,  and  in 
the  course  of  the  voyage  and  our  delay  in  the  river,  previous 
to  our  assault  on  the  place,  I  made  some  acquaintance  with  Mr. 
Clinton,   which   increased  to  a  further  intimacy.     It  was  the 


764  ^-^^^"   VIRGIXIAXS. 

King's  birthday  when  we  api^eared  in  tlie  river  :  we  determined 
it  was  a  glorious  da}'  for  the  commencement  of  the  expedition, 

It  did  not  take  place  for  some  days  after,  and  I  leave  out, 
purposely,  all  descriptions  of  my  Andromache  parting  from  her 
Hector,  going  forth  on  this  expedition.  In  the  first  place, 
Hector  is  perfectly  well  (though  a  little  gouty),  nor  has  any 
rascal  of  a  Pyrrhus  made  a  prize  of  his  widow  :  and  in  times  of 
war  and  commotion,  are  not  such  scenes  of  woe  and  terror,  and 
parting,  occurring  every  hour  ?  I  can  see  the  gentle  face  yet 
over  the  bulwark,  as  we  descend  the  ship's  side  into  the  boats, 
and  the  smile  of  the  infant  on  her  arm.  What  old  stories,  to 
be  sure  !  Captain  Miles,  having  no  natural  taste  for  poetry, 
you  have  forgot  the  verses,  no  doubt,  in  Mr.  Pope's  ''  Homer," 
in  which  you  are  described  as  parting  with  your  heroic  father ; 
but  your  mother  often  read  them  to  you  as  a  bo}',  and  keeps  the 
gorget  I  wore  on  that  day  somewhere  amongst  her  dressing- 
boxes  now. 

My  second  venture  at  fighting  was  no  more  lucky  than  my 
first.  We  came  back  to  our  ships  that  evening  thoroughly 
beaten.  The  madcap  Lee,  whom  Clinton  had  faced  at  Boston, 
now  met  him  at  Charlestown.  Lee,  and  the  gallant  garrison 
there,  made  a  brilliant  and  most  successful  resistance.  The 
fort  on  Sullivan's  Island,  which  we  attacked,  was  a  nut  we  could 
not  crack.  The  fire  of  all  our  frigates  was  not  strong  enough 
to  pound  its  shell  ;  the  passage  by  which  we  moved  up  to  the 
assault  of  the  place  was  not  fordable,  as  those  ofiicers  found — 
Sir  Henry  at  the  head  of  them,  who  was  always  the  first  to 
charge — who  attempted  to  wade  it.  Death  by  shot,  by  drown- 
ing, by  catching  my  death  of  cold,  I  had  braved  before  I  re- 
turned to  my  wife  ;  and  our  frigate  being  aground  for  a  time 
and  got  off  with  difficulty,  was  agreeably  cannonaded  by  the 
enemy  until  she  got  off  her  bank. 

A  small  incident  in  the  midst  of  this  unlucky  struggle  was 
the  occasion  of  a  subsequent  intimacy  which  arose  between  me 
and  Sir  Harry  Clinton,  and  bound  me  to  that  most  gallant 
officer  during  the  period  in  which  it  was  my  fortune  to  follow 
the  w^ar.  Of  his  qualifications  as  a  leader  there  may  be  many 
opinions  :  I  fear  to  say,  regarding  a  man  I  heartily  respect  and 
admire,  there  ought  only  to  be  one.  Of  his  personal  bearing 
and  his  courage  there  can  be  no  doubt ;  he  was  always  eager  to 
show  it ;  and  whether  at  the  final  charge  on  Breed's  Hill,  when 
at  the  head  of  the  rallied  troops  he  carried  the  Continental  lines, 
or  here  before  Sullivan's  Fort,  or  a  year  later  at  Fort  Washing- 
ton, when,  standard  in  hand,  he  swept  up   the   height,  and  en- 


THE  VIRGIiXIANS. 


I^S 


tered  the  fort  at  the  head  of  the  storming  column,  CUnton  was 
always  foremost  in  the  race  of  battle,  and  the  King's  service 
knew  no  more  admirable  soldier. 

We  were  taking  to  the  water  from  our  boats,  with  the  in- 
tention of  forcing  a  column  to  the  fort,  through  a  wa}^  which 
our  own  guns  had  rendered  practicable,  when  a  shot  struck  a 
boat  alongside  of  us,  so  well  aimed,  as  actuall}^  to  put  three- 
fourths  of  the  boat's  crew  /io?'s  de  combat,  and  knocked  down 
the  officer  steering,  and  the  flag  behind  him.  I  could  not  help 
crying  out,  Bravo  !  well  aimed!"  for  no  ninepins  ever  went 
down  more  helplessly  than  these  poor  fellows  before  the  round 
shot.  Then  the  General,  turning  round  to  me,  says  rather 
grimly,  "  Sir,  the  behavior  of  the  enemy  seems  to  please  you  !  " 
"  I  am  pleased,  sir,"  says  I,  "  that  my  countrymen,  yonder, 
should  fight  as  becomes  our  nation."  We  floundered  on  to- 
wards the  fort  in  the  midst  of  the  same  amiable  attentions  from 
small  arms  and  great,  until  we  found  the  water  was  up  to  our 
breasts  and  deepening  at  ever}^  step,  when  we  w^ere  fain  to  take 
to  our  boats  again  and  pull  out  of  harm's  way.  Sir  Henry 
waited  upon  my  Lady  Warrington  on  board  the  "  Sphinx  "  after 
this,  and  was  ver)' gracious  to  her,  and  mighty  facetious  regard- 
ing the  character  of  the  humble  writer  of  the  present  memoir, 
whom  his  Excellency  always  described  as  a  rebel  at  heart.  I 
pray  my  children  may  live  to  see  or  engage  in  no  great  revolu- 
tions,— such  as  that,  for  instance,  raging  in  the  country  of  our 
miserable  French  neighbors.  Save  a  very,  very  few  indeed,  the 
actors  in  those  great  tragedies  do  not  bear  to  be  scanned  too 
closely ;  the  chiefs  are  often  no  better  than  ranting  quacks ; 
the  heroes  ignoble  puppets  :  the  heroines  anything  but  pure. 
The  prize  is  not  always  to  the  brave.  In  our  revolution  it  cer- 
tainly did  fall,  for  once  and  for  a  wonder,  to  the  most  deserv- 
ing :  but  who  knows  his  enemies  now  ?  His  great  and  sur- 
prising triumphs  were  not  in  those  rare  engagements  with  the 
enemy  where  he  obtained  a  trifling  mastery  ;  but  over  Congress  ; 
over  hunger  and  disease ;  over  lukewarm  friends,  or  smiling 
foes  in  his  own  camp,  whom  his  great  spiric  had  to  meet,  and 
master.  When  the  struggle  was  over,  and  our  impotent  chiefs 
who  had  conducted  it  began  to  squabble  and  accuse  each  other 
in  their  own  defence  before  the  nation, — what  charges  and 
counter-charges  were  brought ;  what  pretexts  of  delay  were  urged ; 
what  piteous  excuses  were  put  forward  that  this  fleet  arrived 
too  late  ;  that  that  regiment  mistook  its  orders  ;  that  these 
cannon-balls  would  not  fit  those  guris  :  and  so  to  the  end  of  the 
chapter !     Here  was  a  general  who  beat  us  with  no  shot  at 


766  THE   VIRGimANS. 

times,  and  no  powder,  and  no  money  ;  and  he  never  thought  of 
a  convention  ;  his  courage  never  capitulated!  Through  all  the 
doubt  and  darkness,  the  danger  and  long  tempest  of  the  war,  I 
think  it  was  only  the  American  leader's  indomitable  'soul  that 
remained  entirely  steady. 

Of  course  our  Charleston  expedition  was  made  the  most  of, 
and  pronounced  a  prodigious  victor}^  by  the  enemy,  who  had 
learnt  (from  their  parents,  perhaps,)  to  cry  victory  if  a  corporal's 
guard  were  surprised,  as  loud  as  if  we  had  won  a  pitched  battle. 
Mr.  Lee  rushed  back  to  New  York,  the  conqueror  of  conquerors, 
trumpeting  his  glory,  and  by  no  man  received  with  more  eager 
delight  than  by  the  Commander-in-Chief  of  the  American  armv. 
It  was  my  dear  Lee  and  my  dear  General  between  them,  then  ; 
and  it  hath  always  touched  me  in  the  history  of  our  early 
Revolution  to  note  that  simple  confidence  and  admiration  with 
which  the  General-in-Chief  was  wont  to  regard  officers  under 
him,  who  had  happened  previously  to  serve  with  the  King's 
army.  So  the  Mexicans  of  old  looked  and  wondered  when  they 
first  saw  an  armed  Spanish  horseman  !  And  this  mad,  flashy 
braggart  (and  another  Continental  general,  whose  name  and 
whose  luck  afterwards  were  sufficiently  notorious),  you  ma3f 
be  sure  took  advantage  of  the  modesty' of  the  Commander-in- 
Chief,  and  advised,  and  blustered,  and  sneered,  and  disobeyed 
orders  ;  daily  presenting  fresh  obstacles  (as  if  he  had  not  enough 
otherwise  !)  in  the  path  over  which  only  Mr.  Washington's 
astonishing  endurance  could  have  enabled  him  to  march. 

Whilst  we  were  away  on  our  South  Carolina  expedition,  the 
famous  Fourth  of  July  had  taken  place,  and  we  and  the  thirteen 
United  States  were  parted  for  ever.  My  own  native  state  of 
Virginia  had  also  distinguished  itself  by  announcing  that  all 
men  are  equally  free  ;  that  all  power  is  vested  in  the  people, 
who  have  an  inalienable  right  to  alter,  reform,  or  abolish  their 
form  of  government  at  pleasure,  and  that  the  idea  of  an  heredi- 
tary first  magistrate  is  unnatural  and  absurd !  Our  General 
presented  me  with  this  document  fresh  from  Williamsburg,  as 
we  were  sailing  northward  by  the  Virginia  capes,  and,  amidst 
not  a  little  amusement  and  laughter,  pointed  out  to  me  the 
faith  to  which,  from  the  Fourth  inst.  inclusive,  I  was  bound. 
There  was  no  help  for  it ;  I  was  a  Virginian — my  godfathers 
had  promised  and  vowed,  in  my  name,  that  all  men  were  equally 
free,  (including,  of  course,  the  race  of  poor  Gumbo,)  that  the 
idea  of  a  monarchy  is  absurd,  and  that  I  had  the  right  to  alter 
my  form  of  government  at  pleasure.  I  thought  of  Aladam 
Esmond  at  home,  and  how  she  would  look  when  these   articles 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  767 

of  faith  were  brought  her  to  subscribe  ;  'how  would  Hagan 
receive  them  ?  He  demoUshed  them  in  a  sermon,  in  which  all 
the  logic  was  on  his  side,  but  the  U.  S.  Government  has  not, 
somelx)\v,  been  affected  by  the  discourse ;  and  when  he  came 
to  touch  upon  the  point  that  all  men  being  free,  therefore 
Gumbo  and  Sady,  and  Nathan,  had  assuredly  a  right  to  go  to 
Congress  :  "  Tut,  tut !  my  good  Mr.  Hagan,"  says  my  mother, 
"  let  us  hear  no  more  of  this  nonsense  ;  but  leave  such  wicked- 
ness and  folly  to  the  rebels  ! " 

By  the  middle  of  August  we  were  before  New  York,  whither 
Mr.  Howe  had  brought  his  army  that  had  betaken  itself  to 
Halifax  afte'r  its  inglorious  expulsion  from  Boston.  The  Ameri- 
can Commander-in-Chief  was  at  New  York,  and  a  great  battle 
inevitable  ;  and  I  looked  forward  to  it  with  an  inexpressible 
feeling  of  doubt  and  anxiety^  knowing  that  my  dearest  brother 
and  his  regiment  formed  part  of  the  troops  whom  w^e  must 
attack,  and  could  not  but  overpower.  Almost  the  whole  of  the 
American  army  came  over  to  fight  on  a  small  island,  where 
every  officer  on  both  sides  knew  that  they  were  to  be  beaten, 
and  whence  they  had  not  a  chance  of  escape.  Two  frigates, 
out  of  a  hundred  we  had  placed  so  as  to  command  the  enemy's 
entrenched  camp  and  point  of  retreat  across  East  River  to  New 
York,  would  have  destroyed  eveiy  bark  in  which  he  sought  to 
fly,  and  compelled  him  to  lay  down  his  arms  on  shore.  He 
fought  :  his  hasty  levies  were  utterly  overthrown  ;  some  of  his 
generals,  his  best  troops,  his  artillery  taken ;  the  remnant  hud- 
dled into  their  entrenched  camp  after  their  rout,  the  pursuers 
entering  it  with  them.  The  victors  were  called  back ;  the 
enemy  was  then  pent  up  in  a  corner  of  the  island,  and  could 
not  escape.  "  They  are  at  our  mercy,  and  are  ours  to-morrow," 
says  the  gentle  General.  Not  a  ship  was  set  to  watch  the 
American  force ;  not  a  sentinel  of  ours  could  see  a  movement 
in  their  camp.  A  whole  army  crossed  under  our  eyes  in  one 
single  night  to  the  mainland  without  the  loss  of  a  single  man ; 
and  General  Howe  was  suffered  to  remain  in  command  after  this 
feat,  and  to  complete  his  glories  of  Long  Island  and  Breed's 
Hill,  at  Philadelphia  !  A  friend,  to  be  sure,  crossed  in  the 
night  to  say  the  enemy's  army  was  being  ferried  over,  but  he 
fell  upon  a  picket  of  Germans  :  they  could- not  understand  him  : 
their  commander  was  boozing  or  asleep.  In  the  morning,  when 
the  spy  was  brought  to  some  one  who  could  comprehend  the 
American  language,  the  whole  Continental  force  had  crossed 
the  East  River,  and  our  empire  over  thirteen  colonies  had 
slipped  away. 


768 


THE    VIRGINIANS. 


The  opinions  I  had  about  our  chief  were  by  no  means  un 
common  in  the  army  ;  though,  perhaps,  wisely  kept  secret  by 
gentlemen  under  Mr.  Howe's  immediate  command.  Am  I 
more  unlucky  than  other  folks,  I  wonder  ?  or  why  arre  my 
imprudent  sayings  carried  about  more  than  my  neighbors  ?  My 
rage  that  such  a  use  was  made  of  such  a  victory  was  no  greater 
than  that  of  scores  of  gentlemen  with  the  army.  Why  must  my 
name  forsooth  be  given  up  to  the  Commander-in-Chief  as  that 
of  the  most  guilty  of  the  grumblers  ?  Personalh",  General 
Howe  was  perfectly  brave,  amiable,  and  good-humored. 

"  So,  Sir  George,"  says  he,  "  you  find  fault  with  me,  as  a 
military  man,  because  there  was  a  fog  after  the  battle  on  Long 
Island,  and  your  friends,  the  Continentals,  gave  me  the  slip ! 
Surely  we  took  and  killed  enough  of  them;  but  there  is  no 
satisfying  you  gentlemen  amateurs  !  "  and  he  turned  his  back 
on  me,  and  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  talked  to  some  one 
else.  Amateur  I  might  be,  and  he  the  most  amiable  of  men  ; 
but  if  King  George  had  said  to  him,  *'  Never  more  be  officer  of 
mine,"  3^onder  agreeable  and  pleasant  Cassio  would  most  cer- 
tainly have  had  his  desert. 

I  soon  found  how  our  Chief  had  come  in  possession  of  his 
information  regarding  m3"self.  My  admirable  cousin,  Mr.  Wil- 
liam Esmond — who  of  course  had  forsaken  New  York  and  his 
post,  when  all  the  Royal  authorities  fled  out  of  the  place,  and 
Washington  occupied  it, — returned  along  with  our  troops  and 
fleets  ;  and,  being  a  gentleman  of  good  birth  and  name,  and 
well  acquainted  with  the  city,  made  himself  agreeable  to  the 
new-comers  of  the  Royal  army,  the  young  bloods,  merry 
fellows,  and  macaronis,  by  introducing  them  to  play-tables, 
taverns,  and  yet  worse  places,  with  which  the  worthy  gentleman 
continued  to  be  familiar  in  the  New  World  as  in  the  Old. 
CoeIu77i  noil  animiun.  However  Will  had  changed  his  air,  or 
whithersoever  he  transported  his  carcase,  he  carried  a  rascal 
in  his  skin. 

I  had  heard  a  dozen  stories  of  his  sayings  regarding  my 
family,  and  was  determined  neither  to  avoid  him  nor  seek  him  ; 
but  to  call  him  to  account  whensoever  we  met ;  and,  chancing 
one  day  to  be  at  a  coffee-house  in  a  friend's  company,  my 
worthy  kinsman  swaggered  in  with  a  couple  of  young  lads  of  the 
army,  whom  he  found  it  was  his  pleasure  and  profit  now  to  lead 
into  every  kind  of  dissipation.  I  happened  to  know  one  of  Mr. 
Will's  young  companions,  an  aide-de-camp  of  General  Clinton's, 
who  had  been  in  my  close  company  both  at  Charleston,  before 
Sullivan's   Island,  and   in  the   action  of  Brooklyn,  where   our 


777^   VIRGINIANS. 


769 


General  gloriously  led  the  right  wing  of  the  English  army. 
They  took  a  box  without  noticing  us  at  first,  though  I  heard  my 
name  three  or  four  times  mentioned  by  my  brawling  kinsman, 
who  ended  some  drunken  speech  he  was  making  by  slapping  his 

fist  on  the  table,  and  swearing,  "  By ,  I  will  do  for  him,  and 

the  bloody  rebel,  his  brother  !  " 

''  Ah  !  Mr.  Esmond,"  says  I,  coming  forward  with  my  hat  on. 
(He  looked  a  little  pale  behind  his  punch-bowl.)  "  I  have  long 
wanted  to  see  you,  to  set  some  little  matters  right  about  which 
there  has  been  a  difference  between  us." 

"  And  what  may  those  be,  sir  ?  "  says  he,  with  a  volley  of 
oaths. 

"  You  have  chosen  to  cast  a  doubt  upon  my  courage,  and 
say  that  I  shirked  a  meeting  with  you  when  we  were  young  men. 
Our  relationship  and  our  age  ought  to  prevent  us  from  having 
recourse  to  such  murderous  follies  "  (Mr.  Will  started  up,  look- 
ing fierce  and  relieved),  "  but  I  give  you  notice,  that  though  I 
can  afford  to  overlook  lies  against  myself,  if  I  hear  from  you  a 
word  in  disparagement  of  my  brother.  Colonel  Warrington,  of 
the  Continental  Army,  I  will  hold  you  accountable." 

"  Indeed,  gentlemen  ?  Mighty  fine,  indeed  !  You  take  no- 
tice of  Sir  George  Warrington's  words  !  "  cries  Mr.  Will  over 
his  punch-bowl. 

"You  have  been  pleased  to  say,"  I  continued,  growing 
angry  as  I  spoke,  and  being  a  fool  therefore  for  my  pains, 
"  that  the  very  estates  we  hold  in  this  country  are  not  ours,  but 
of  right  revert  to  your  family  !  " 

"  So  they  are  ours  !  By  George,  they're  ours  !  I've  heard 
my  brother  Castlewood  say  so  a  score  of  times  !  "  swears  Mr. 
Will. 

"In  that  case,  sir,"  says  I,  hotly,  "your  brother,  my  Lord 
Castlewood,  tells  no  more  truth  than  yourself.  We  have  the 
titles  at  home  in  Virginia.  They  are  registered  in  the  courts 
there  ;  and  if  ever  I  hear  one  word  more  of  this  impertinence, 
I  shall  call  you  to  account  where  no  constables  will  be  at  hand 
to  interfere !  " 

"I  wonder,"  cries  Will,  in  a  choking  voice,  "that  I  don't 
cut  him  into  twenty  thousand  pieces  as  he  stands  there  before 
me  with  his  confounded  yellow  face.  It  was  my  brother  Castle- 
wood won  his  money — no,  it  was  his  brother  ;  d —  you,  which 
are  you,  the  rebel  or  the  other  ?  I  hate  the  ugly  faces  of  both 
of  you,  and,  hie ! — if  you  are  for  the  King,  show  you  are  for  the 
King,  and  drink  his  health  !  "  and  he  sank  down  into  his  box 
with  a  hiccup  and  a  wild  laugh,  which  he  repeated  a  dozen 

49 


770 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


times,  with  a  hundred  more  oaths  and  vociferous  outcries  that 
I  should  drink  the  King's  health. 

To  reason  with  a  creature  in  this  condition,  or  ask  explana- 
tions or  apologies  from  him,  was  absurd.  I  left  Mr.  Will  to  reel 
to  his  lodgings  under  the  care  f  his  young  friends — who  were 
surprised  to  find  an  old  toper  so  suddenly  affected  and  so  utterly 
prostrated  by  liquor — and  limped  home  to  my  wife,  whom  I 
found  happy  in  possession  of  a  brief  letter  from  Hal,  which  a 
countryman  had  brought  in  ;  and  who  said  not  a  word  about 
the  affairs  of  the  Continentals  with  whom  he  was  engaged,  but 
wrote  a  couple  of  pages  of  rapturous  eulogiums  upon  his  brother's 
behavior  in  the  field,  which  my  dear  Hal  was  pleased  to  admire, 
as  he  admitted  everything  I  said  and  did. 

I  rather  looked  for  a  message  from  my  amiable  kinsman  in 
consequence  of  the  speeches  which  had  passed  between  us  the 
night  before,  and  did  not  know  but  that  I  might  be  called  by 
Will  to  make  my  words  good  ;  and  when  accordingly  Mr.  Lacy 
(our  companion  of  the  previous  evening)  made  his  appearance 
at  an  early  hour  of  the  forenoon,  I  was  beckoning  my  Lady 
Warrington  to  leave  us,  when,  with  a  laugh  and  a  cry  of  "O 
dear,  no  !  "  IMr.  Lacy  begged  her  Ladyship  not  to  disturb 
herself. 

"I  have  seen,''  says  he,  "a  gentleman  who  begs  to  send 
you  his  apologies  if  he  uttered  a  word  last  night  which  could 
offend  3-0U." 

"  What  apologies  ?  what  words  ?  "  asks  the  anxious  wife. 

I  explained  that  roaring  Will  Esmond  had  met  me  in  a 
coffee-house  on  the  previous  evening,  and  quarrelled  with  me, 
as  he  had  done  with  hundreds  before.  "  It  appears  the  fellow 
is  constantly  abusive,  and  invariably  pleads  drunkenness,  and 
apologizes  the  next  morning,  unless  he  is  caned  over-night," 
remarked  Captain  Lacy.  And  my  lady,  I  dare  say,  makes  a 
little  sermon,  and  asks  why  we  gentlemen  will  go  to  idle  coft'ee- 
houses  and  run  the  risk  of  meeting  roaring,  roystering  Will 
Esmonds  ? 

Our  sojourn  in  New  York  was  enlivened  by  a  project  for 
burning  the  city  which  some  ardent  patriots  entertained  and 
partially  executed.  Several  such  schemes  were  laid  in  the 
course  of  the  war,  and  each  one  of  the  principal  cities  was 
doomed  to  fire  ;  though  in  the  interests  of  peace  and  good-will, 
it  will  be  remembered  that  these  plans  never  originated  with 
the  cruel  government  of  a  tyrant  king,  but  were  always  pro- 
posed by  gentlemen  on  the  Continental  side,  who  vowed  that, 
rather  than  remain  under  the  ignominious   despotism  of   the 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


771 


niffian  of  Brunswick,  the  fairest  towns  of  America  should  burn. 
I  presume  that  the  sages  who  were  for  burning  down  Boston 
were  not  actual  proprietors  in  that  place,  and  the  New  York 
burners  might  come  from  other  parts  of  the  country — from 
Philadelphia,  or  what  not.  Howbeit,  the  British  spared  you, 
gentlemen,  and  we  pray  you  give  us  credit  for  this  act  of 
moderation. 

I  had  not  the  fortune  to  be  present  in  the  action  on  the 
White  Plains,  being  detained  by  a  hurt  which  I  had  received  at 
Long  Island,  and  which  broke  out  again  and  again,  and  took 
some  time  in  the  healing.  The  tenderest  of  nurses  watched 
me  through  my  tedious  malady,  and  was  eager  for  the  day  when 
I  should  doff  my  militia-coat  and  return  to  the  quiet  English 
home  where  Hetty  and  our  good  General  were  tending  our 
children.  Indeed  I  don't  know  that  I  have  yet  forgiven  myself 
for  the  pains  and  terrors  which  I  must  have  caused  my  poor 
wife,  by  keeping  her  separate  from  her  young  ones,  and  away 
from  her  home,  because,  forsooth,  I  wished  to  see  a  little  more 
of  the  war  then  going  on.  Our  grand  tour  in  Europe  had  been 
all  very  well.  We  had  beheld  St.  Peter's  at  Rome,  and  the 
Bishop  thereof ;  the  Dauphiness  of  France  (alas,  to  think  that 
glorious  head  should  ever  have  been  brought  so  low  !)  at  Paris ; 
and  the  rightful  King  of  England  at  Florence.  I  had  dipped  my 
gout  in  a  half-dozen  baths  and  spas,  and  played  cards  in  a  hun- 
dred courts,  as  my  "  Travels  in  Europe  "  (which  I  propose  to 
publish  after  my  completion  of  the  "  Histor}^  of  the  American 
War  ")  will  testify,*  And,  during  our  peregrinations,  my  hypo- 
chondria diminished  (which  plagued  me  woefully  at  home);  and 
my  health  and  spirits  visibly  improved.  Perhaps  it  was  because 
she  saw  the  evident  benefit  I  had  from  excitement  and  change, 
that  my  wife  was  reconciled  to  my  continuing  to  enjoy  them  : 
and  though  secretly  suffering  pangs  at  being  away  from  her 
nursery  and  her  eldest  boy  (for  whom  she  ever  has  had  an 
absurd  infatuation),  the  dear  hypocrite  scarce  allowed  a  look  of 
anxiety  to  appear  on  her  face  ;  encouraged  me  with  smiles ; 
professed  herself  eager  to  follow  me  ;  asked  why  it  should  be  a 
sin  in  me  to  covet  honor.?  and,  in  a  word,  was  ready  to  stay,  to 
go,  to  smile,  to  be  sad  ;  to  scale  mountains,  or  to  go  down  to 
the  sea  in  ships ;  to  say  that  cold  was  pleasant,  heat  tolerable, 
hunger  good  sport,  dirty  lodgings  delightful  ;  though  she  is  a 
wretched  sailor,  very  delicate  about  the  little  she  eats,  and  an 
extreme  sufferer  both  of  cold  and  heat.  Hence,  as  I  willed  to 
stay  on  yet  awhile  on  my  native  continent,  she  was  certain 
nothing  was  so  good  for  me  ;  and  when  I  was  minded  to  return 


772  THE   VIRGINIANS, 

home— oh,  how  s-.e  brightened,  and  kissed  her  infant,  and  told 
him  how  he  should  see  the  beautiful  gardens  at  home,  and  Aunt 
Hetty,  and  grandpapa,  and  his  sister,  and  Miles.  "  Miles  !  " 
cries  the  little  parrot,  mocking  its  mother— and  crowing;  as  if 
there  was  any  mighty  privilege  in  seeing  Mr.  Miles,  forsooth, 
M'ho  was  under  Doctor  Sumner's  care  at  Harrow-on-the-Hill, 
where,  to  do  the  gentleman  justice,  he  showed  that  he  could 
eat  more  tarts  than  any  boy  in  the  school,  and  took  most 
creditable  prizes  at  football  and  hare-and-hounds. 


CHAPTER  XCI. 

SATIS    PUGNyE. 


It  has  always  seemed  to  me  (I  speak  under  the  correction  of 
military  gentlemen)  that  the  entrenchments  of  Breed's  Hill 
served  the  Continental  army  throughout  the  whole  of  our  Amer- 
ican war.  The  slaughter  inflicted  upon  us  from  behind  those 
lines  was  so  severe,  and  the  behavior  of  the  enemy  so  resolute, 
that  the  British  chiefs  respected  the  barricades  of  the  Amer- 
icans afterwards  ;  and  were  they  firing  from  behind  a  row  of 
blankets,  certain  of  our  generals  rather  hesitated  to  force  them. 
In  the  affair  of  the  White  Plains,  when,  for  a  second  time,  Mr. 
Washington's  army  was  quite  at  the  mercy  of  the  victors,  we 
subsequently  heard  that  our  conquering  troops  were  held  back 
before  a  barricade  actually  composed  of  corn-stalks  and  straw. 
Another  opportunity  was  given  us,  and  lasted  during  a  whole 
winter,  during  which  the  dwindling  and  dismayed  troops  of 
Congress  lay  starving  and  unarmed  under  our  grasp,  and  the 
magnanimous  :^Ir.  Howe  left  the  famous  camp  of  A^alley  Forge 
untouched,  whilst  his  great,  brave,  and  perfectlv  appointed  army 
fiddled  and  gambled  and  feasted  in  Philadelphia.  And,  by 
Byng's  countr3^men,  triumphal  arches  were  erected,  tournaments 
were  held  in  pleasant  mockery  of  the  middle  ages,  and  wreaths 
and  garlands  offered  by  beautiful  ladies  to  this  clement  chief, 
with  fantastical  mottoes  and  posies  announcing  that  his  laurels 
should  be  immortal  !  V.'hy  have  my  ungrateful  countr^^men  in 
America  never  erected  statues  to  this  general  ?      They  had  not 

*  Neither  of  these  two  projected   works  of  Sir  George  Warrington  were  brought,  as  it 
appears,  to  a  completion. 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  773 

in  all  their  army  an  officer  who  fought  their  battles  better ;  who 
enabled  them  to  retrieve  their  errors  with  such  adroitness  ;  who 
took  care  that  their  defeats  should  be  so  little  hurtful  to  them- 
selves ;  and  when,  in  the  course  of  events,  the  stronger  force 
naturally  got  the  uppermost,  who  showed  such  an  untiring  ten- 
derness, patience,  and  complacency  in  helping  the  poor  disabled 
opponent  on  to  his  legs  again.  Ah  !  think  of  eighteen  years 
before  and  the  fiery  young  warrior  whom  England  had  sent  out 
to  fight  her  adversary  on  the  American  continent.  Fancy  him 
for  ever  pacing  round  the  defences  behind  which  the  foe  lies 
sheltered  ;  by  night  and  by  day  alike  sleepless  and  eager  ;  con- 
suming away  in  his  fierce  wrath  and  longing,  and  never  closing 
his  eye,  so  intent  is  it  in  watching  ;  winding  the  track  with  un- 
tiring scent  that  pants  and  hungers  for  blood  and  battle  ;  prowl 
ing  through  midnight  forests,  or  climbing  silent  over  precipices 
before  dawn  ;  and  w^atching  till  his  great  heart  is  almost  worn 
out,  until  the  foe  shows  himself  at  last,  when  he  springs  on  him 
and  grapples  wdth  him,  and,  dying,  slays  him  !  Think  of  Wolfe 
at  Quebec,  and  hearken  to  Howe's  fiddles  as  he  sits  smiling 
amongst  the  dancers  at  Philadelphia  ! 

A  favorite  scheme  with  our  Ministers  at  home  and  some  of 
our  generals  in  America,  was  to  establish  a  communication  be- 
tween Canada  and  New  York,  by  which  means  it  was  hoped 
New  England  might  be  cut  off  from  the  neighboring  colonies, 
overpowered  in  detail,  and  forced  into  submission.  Burgoyne 
was  entrusted  with  the  conduct  of  the  plan,  and  he  set  forth 
from  Quebec,  confidently  promising  to  bring  it  to  a  successful 
issue.  His  march  began  in  military  state  :  the  trumpets  of  his 
proclamations  blew  before  him  ;  he  bade  the  colonists  to  re- 
member the  immense  power  of  England  ;  and  summoned  the 
misguided  rebels  to  lay  down  their  arms.  He  brought  with 
him  a  formidable  English  force,  an  army  of  German  veterans 
not  less  powerful,  a  dreadful  band  of  Indian  warriors,  and  a 
brilliant  train  of  artillery.  It  was  supposed  that  the  people 
round  his  march  would  rally  to  the  Royal  cause  and  standards. 
The  Continental  force  in  front  of  him  was  small  at  first,  and 
Washington's  army  was  weakened  by  the  withdrawal  of  troops 
who  were  hurried  forward  to  meet  this  Canadian  invasion.  A 
British  detachment  from  New  York  was  to  force  its  way  up  the 
Hudson,  sweejDing  away  the  enemy  on  the  route,  and  make  a 
junction  wath  Burgoyne  at  Albany.  Then  was  the  time,  when 
Washington's  weakened  army  should  have  been  struck  too  ; 
but  a  greater  Power  willed  otherwise  :  nor  am  I,  for  one,  even 
going  to  regret  the  term.ination  of  the  war.      As  we  look  over 


774  ^-^^   VIRGINIANS. 

the  game  now,  how  clear  seem  the  bkinders  which  were  made 
by  the  losing  side  !  From  the  beginning  to  the  end  we  were 
for  ever  arriving  too  late.  Our  supplies  and  reinforcements 
from  home  were  too  late.  Our  troops  were  in  difficulty,  and 
our  succors  reached  them  too  late.  Our  fleet  appeared  off 
York  Town  just  too  late,  after  Cornwallis  had  surrendered.  A 
way  of  escape  was  opened  to  Burgoyne,  but  he  resolved  upon 
retreat  too  late.  I  have  heard  discomfited  officers  in  after  days 
prove  infallibly  how  a  different  wind  would  have  saved  America 
to  us ;  how  we  must  have  destroyed  the  French  fleet  but  for  a 
tempest  or  two  ;  how  once,  twice,  thrice,  but  for  nightfall,  Mr. 
Washington  and  his  army  were  in  our  power.  Who  has  not 
speculated,  in  the  course  of  his  reading  of  history,  upon  the 
"  Has  been"  and  the  "Might  have  been"  in  the  world?  I 
take  my  tattered  old  map-book  from  the  shelf,  and  see  the 
board  on  which  the  great  contest  was  played  ;  I  wonder  at  the 
curious  chances  which  lost  it ;  and,  putting  aside  any  idle  talk 
about  the  respective  bravery  of  the  two  nations,  can't  but  see 
that  we  had  the  best  cards  and  that  we  lost  the  game. 

I  own  the  sport  had  a  considerable  fascination  for  me,  and 
stirred  up  my  languid  blood.  My  brother  Hal,  when  settled  on 
his  plantation  in  Virginia,  was  perfectly  satisfied  with  the  sports 
and  occupations  he  found  there.  The  company  of  the  countr}' 
neighbors  sufficed  him  ;  he  never  tired  of  looking  after  his  crops 
and  people,  taking  his  fish,  shooting  his  ducks,  hunting  in  his 
woods,  or  enjoying  his  rubber,  and  his  supper.  Happy  Hal, 
in  his  great  barn  of  a  house,  under  his  roomyporches,  his  dogs 
lying  round  his  feet :  his  friends,  the  Virginian  Will  Wimbles, 
at  free  quarters  in  his  mansion ;  his  negroes  fat,  lazy,  and 
ragged  :  his  shrewd  little  wife  ruling  over  them  and  her 
husband,  who  always  obeyed  her  implicitly  when  living,  and 
who  was  pretty  speedily  consoled  when  she  died  !  I  say  happy, 
though  his  lot  would  have  been  intolerable  to  me  :  wife,  and 
friends,  and  plantation,  and  town  life  at  Richmond  (Richmond 
succeeded  to  the  honor  of  being  the  capital  when  our  Province 
became  a  State).  How  happy  he  whose  foot  fits  the  shoe  which 
fortune  gives  him  !  My  income  was  five  times  as  great,  my 
house  in  England  as  large,  and  built  of  bricks  and  faced  with 
freestone ;  my  wife — would  I  have  changed  her  for  any  other 
wife  in  the  world  ?  My  children — well,  I  am  contented  with 
my  Lady  Warrington's  opinion  about  thejji.  But  with  all  these 
plums  and  peaches  and  rich  fruits  out  of  Plenty's  horn  poured 
into  my  lap,  I  fear  I  have  been  but  an  ingrate  ;  and  Hodge,  my 
gatekeeper,  who  shares  his  bread  and  scrap  of  bacon  with  a 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  jj^ 

family  as  large  as  his  master's  seems,  to  me  to  enjoy  his  meal 
as  much  as  I  do,  though  ]\Irs.  Molly  prepares  her  best  dishes 
and   sweetmeats  and  Gumbo  uncorks  the  choicest  bottles  from 
the  cellar.     Ah  me  !  sweetmeats  have   lost  their  savor  for  me, 
however  they  may  rejoice  my  young  ones  from  the  nursery,  and 
the  perfume  of  claret  palls  upon  old  noses  !     Our  parson  has 
poured  out  his  sermons  many  and  many  a  time  to  me,  and  per- 
haps I  did  not  care  for  them  much  when  he  first  broached  them. 
Dost  thou  remember,  honest  friend,  (sure  he  does,  for  he  has 
repeated  the  story  over  the  bottle  as  many  times  as  his  sermons 
almost,  and  my  Lady  Warrington  pretends  as  if  she  had  never 
heard  it,) — I  say,  Joe  Blake,  thou  rememberest  full  well,  and  with 
advantages,  that  October  evening  when  we  scrambled  up  an 
embrasure  at  Fort  Clinton,  and  a  clubbed  musket  would  have 
dashed  these  valuable  brains  out,  had  not  Joe's  sword  whipped 
my  rebellious  countryman  through  the  gizzard.     Joe  wore  a  red 
coat  in  those  days  (the  uniform  of  the  brave  Sixty-third,  whose 
leader,  the  bold  Sill,  fell  pierced  with  many  wounds  beside  him). 
He  exchanged  his  red  for  black  and  my  pulpit.     His  doctrines 
are  sound,  and  his  sermons  short.     We  read  the  papers  together 
over  our  wine.     Not  two  months   ago  we   read  our  old  friend 
Howe's  glorious  deed  of  the  first  of  June.     We  were  told  how 
the  noble   Rawdon,  who  fought  with  us  at   Fort  Clinton,  had 
joined  the  Duke  of  York  :  and  to-day  his  Royal  Highness  is  in 
full  retreat  before  Pichegru  :  and  he  and  my  son  Miles  have 
taken  Valenciennes  for  nothing !     Ah,  parson  !  would  you  not 
like  to  put  on  your  old  Sixty-third  coat  ?  (though  I  doubt  Mrs. 
Blake  could  never  make  the    buttons  and  button-holes  meet 
again  over  your  big  bod3\)     The  boys  were  acting  a  play  with 
my  militia   sword.     Oh,  that  I  w^ere  young   again,  Mr.  Blake  ! 
that  I  had  not   the  gout  in  my  toe  ;  and  I  would  saddle  Rosi- 
nante  and   ride  back  into   the  world,  and  feel  the   pulses  beat 
again,  and  play  a  little  of  life's  glorious  game  ! 

The  last  "/^//"  which  I  saw  played,  was  gallantly  won  by 
our  side  ;  though  'tis  true  that  even  in  this  J>arti  the  Americans 
won  the  rubber — our  people  gaining  only  the  ground  they  stood 
on,  and  the  guns,  stores,  and  ships  which  they  captured  and 
destroyed,  whilst  our  efforts  at  rescue  were  too  late  to  prevent 
the  catastrophe  impending  over  Burgoyne's  unfortunate  army. 
After  one  of  those  delays  which  always  were  happening  to 
retard  our  plans  and  weaken  the  blows  which  our  chiefs  intended 
to  deliver,  an  expedition  was  got  under  weigh  from  New  York 
at  the  close  of  the  month  of  September,  '77  ;  that,  could  it  but 
have  advanced  a  fortnight  earlier,  might  have  saved  the  doomed 


776 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


force  of  Burgoyne,  Scd  Dis  aliter  visum.  The  delay  here  was 
not  Sir  Henry  CUnton's  fault,  who  could  not  leave  his  city 
unprotected  ;  but  the  winds  and  weather  which  delayed  the 
arrival  of  reinforcements  which  we  had  lopg  awaited  from 
England.  The  fleet  which  brought  them  brought  us  long  and 
fond  letters  from  home,  v/ith  the  very  last  news  of  the  children 
under  the  care  of  their  good  Aunt  Hetty  and  their  grandfather. 
The  mother's  heart  yearned  towards  the  absent  young  ones. 
She  made  me  no  reproaches  :  but  I  could  read  her  importunities 
in  her  anxious  eyes,  her  terrors  for  me,  and  her  longing  for  her 
children.  "  Why  stay  longer  ?  "  she  seemed  to  say.  "  You 
who  have  no  calling  to  this  war,  or  to  draw  the  sword  against 
your  countrymen — why  continue  to  imperil  your  life  and  my 
happiness  .''  I  understood  her  appeal.  We  were  to  enter  upon 
no  immediate  service  of  danger ;  I  told  her  Sir  Henry  was  only 
going  to  accompany  the  expedition  for  a  part  of  the  way.  I 
would  return  with  him,  the  reconnaissance  over,  and  Christmas, 
please  heaven,  should  see  our  family  once  more  united  in 
England. 

A  force  of  three  thousand  men,  including  a  couple  of 
slender  regiments  of  American  Loyalists  and  New  York  Militia, 
(with  which  latter  my  distinguished  relative,  Mr.  Will  Esmond, 
went  as  captain,)  was  embarked  at  New  York,  and  our  arma- 
ment sailed  up  the  noble  Hudson  River,  that  presents  finer 
aspects  than  the  Rhine  in  Europe  to  my  mind  :  nor  was  any 
fire  opened  upon  us  from  those  beetling  cliffs  and  precipitous 
'•palisades,"  as  they  are  called,  by  which  we  sailed  ;  the  enemy, 
strange  to  say,  being  for  once  unaware  of  the  movement  w^e 
contemplated.  Our  first  landing  was  on  the  Eastern  bank,  at 
a  place  called  Verplancks  Point,  whence  the  Congress  troops 
withdrew  after  a  slight  resistance,  their  leader,  the  tough  old 
Putnam  (so  famous  during  the  war)  supposing  that  our  march 
was  to  be  directed  towards  the  Eastern  Highlands,  by  wdiich  we 
intended  to  penetrate  to  Burgoyne.  Putnam  fell  back  to  occupy 
these  passes,  a  small  detachment  of  ours  being  sent  forward  as 
if  in  pursuit,  which  he  imagined  was  to  be  followed  by  the  rest 
of  our  force.  Meanwhile,  before  daylight,  two  thousand  men 
without  artillery,  were  carried  over  to  Stoney  Point  on  the 
Western  shore,  opposite  Verplancks,  and  under  a  great  hill 
called  the  Dunderberg  by  the  old  Dutch  lords  of  the  stream, 
and  which  hangs  precipitously  over  it.  A  little  stream  at  the 
northern  base  of  this  mountain  intersects  it  from  the  opposite 
height  on  which  Fort  Clinton  stood,  named  not  after  our 
general,  but  after  one  of  the  two  gentlemen  of  the  same  name, 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  777 

who  were  amongst  the  oldest  and  most  respected  of  the  provin- 
cial  gentry  of  New  York,  and  who  were  at  this  moment  actually 
in  command  against  Sir  Henry.  On  the  next  height  to  Clinton 
is  Fort  ^Montgomery  •  and  behind  them  rises  a  hill  called  Bear 
Hill ;  w^iilst  at  the  opposite  side  of  the  magnificent  stream 
stands  "  Saint  Antony's  Nose,"  a  jDrodigious  peak  indeed,  which 
the  Dutch  had  quaintly  christened. 

The  attacks  on  the  two  forts  were  almost  simultaneous. 
Half  our  men  were  detached  for  the  assault  on  Fort  Montgom- 
ery, under  the  brave  Campbell,  who  fell  before  the  rampart. 
Sir  Henry,  who  would  never  be  out  of  danger  where  he  could 
find  it,  personally  led  the  remainder,  and  hoped,  he  said,  that 
we  should  have  better  luck  than  before  the  Sullivan  Island.  A 
path  led  up  to  the  Dunderberg,  so  narrow  as  scarcely  to  admit 
three  men  abreast,  and  in  utter  silence  our  whole  force  scaled 
it,  wondering  at  every  rugged  step  to  meet  with  no  opposition. 
The  enemy  had  not  even  kept  a  watch  on  it ;  nor  were  we 
descried  until  we  were  descending  the  height,  at  the  base  of 
which  we  easily  dispersed  a  small  force  sent  hurriedly  to  op- 
pose us.  The  firing  which  here  took  place  rendered  all  idea 
of  a  surprise  impossible.  The  fort  was  before  us.  With  such 
arms  as  the  troops  had  in  their  hands,  they  had  to  assault ;  and 
silently  and  swiftly  in  the  face  of  the  artillery  playing  upon 
them,  the  troops  ascended  the  hill.  The  men  had  orders  on  no 
account  to  fire.  Taking  the  colors  of  the  Sixty-third,  and  bear- 
ing them  aloft.  Sir  Henry  mounted  with  the  stormers  The 
place  was  so  steep  that  the  men  pushed  each  other  over  the 
wall  and  through  the  embrasures  ;  and  it  was  there  that  Lieu- 
tenant Joseph  Blake,  the  father  of  a  certain  Joseph  Clinton 
Blake,  who  looks  with  the  eyes  of  affection  on  a  certain  young 
lady,  presented  himself  to  the  living  of  Warrington  by  saving 
the  life  of  the  unworthy  patron  thereof. 

About  a  fourth  part  of  the  garrison,  as  we  were  told,  escaped 
out  of  the  fort,  the  rest  being  killed  or  wounded,  or  remaining 
our  jDrisoners  within  the  works.  Fort  Montgomery  was,  in 
like  manner,  stormed  and  taken  by  our  people  ;  and,  at  night, 
as  we  looked  down  from  the  heights  where  the  king's  standard 
had  been  just  planted,  we  were  treated  to  a  splendid  illumina- 
tion in  the  river  below.  Under  Fort  Montgomery,  and  stretch- 
ing over  to  that  lofty  prominence,  called  St.  Antony's  Nose,  a 
boom  and  chain  had  been  laid  with  a  vast  cost  and  labor, 
behind  which  several  American  frigates  and  galleys  were  anchor- 
ed. The  fort  being  taken,  these  ships  attempted  to  get  up  the 
river  in  the   darkness,  out  of  the   reach   of  guns,  which  they 


778  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

knew  must  destroy  them  in  the  morning.  But  the  wind  was 
unfavorable,  and  escape  w^as  found  to  be  impossible.  The 
crews  therefore  took  to  the  boats,  and  so  landed,  having  pre- 
viously set  the  ships  on  fire,  with  all  their  sails  set ;  and  v^e 
beheld  these  magnificent  pyramids  of  flame  burning  up  to  the 
heavens  and  reflected  in  the  waters  below,  until,  in  the  mid^t 
of  prodigious  explosions,  they  sank  and  disappeared. 

On  the  next  day  7i parlemejitaire  cdiinQ  in  from  the  enemy,  to 
inquire  as  to  the  state  of  his  troops  left  wounded  or  prisoners 
in  our  hands,  and  the  continental  officer  brought  me  a  note, 
which  gave  me  a  strange  shock,  for  it  showed  that  in  the 
struggle  of  the  previous  evening  my  brother  had  been  engaged. 
It  was  dated  October  7,  from  Major-General  George  Clinton's 
divisional  head-quarters,  and  it  stated  briefly  that  "  Colonel  H. 
Warrington,  of  the  Virginia  line,  hopes  that  Sir  George  War- 
rington escaped  unhurt  in  the  assault  of  last  evening,  from 
which  the  Colonel  himself  was  so  fortunate  as  to  retire  without 
the  least  injury."  Never  did  I  say  my  prayers  more  heartily 
and  gratefully  than  on  that  night,  devoutly  thanking  heaven 
that  my  dearest  brother  was  spared,  and  making  a  vow  at  the 
same  time  to  withdraw  out  of  the  fratricidal  contest,  into  which 
I  only  had  entered  because  Honor  and  Duty  seemed  imper- 
atively to  call  me. 

I  own  I  felt  an  inexpressible  relief  when  I  had  come  to  the 
resolution  to  retire  and  betake  m3^self  to  the  peaceful  shade  of 
my  own  vines  and  fig-trees  at  home.  I  longed,  however,  to  see 
my  brother  ere  I  returned,  and  asked,  and  easily  obtained,  an 
errand  to  the  camp  of  the  American  General  Clinton  from  our 
own  chief.  The  head-quarters  of  his  division  were  now  some 
miles  up  the  river,  and  a  boat  and  a  flag  of  truce  quickly 
brought  me  to  the  point  where  his  out-picquets  received  me  on 
the  shore.  My  brother  was  xery  soon  with  me.  He  had  only 
lately  joined  General  Clinton's  division  with  letters  from  head- 
"quarters  at  Philadelphia,  and  he  chanced  to  hear,  after  the 
attack  on  Fort  Clinton,  that  I  had  been  present  during  the 
affair.  We  passed  a  brief  delightful  night  together  ;  Mr.  Sady, 
who  always  followed  Hal  to  the  war,  cooking  a  feast  in  honor 
of  both  his  masters.  There  was  but  one  bed  of  straw  in  the 
hut  where  he  had  quarters,  and  Hal  and  I  slept  on  it,  side  by 
side,  as  we  had  done  when  we  were  boys.  We  had  a  hundred 
things  to  say  regarding  past  times  and  present.  His  kind  heart 
gladdened  when  I  told  him  of  my  resolve  to  retire  to  my  acres 
and  to  take  off  the  red  coat  which  I  wore  :  he  flung  his  arms 
round  it.     ''  Praised  be  God  !  "  said  he.    "  O  heavens,  George  ! 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


779 


think  what  might  have  happened  had  we  met  in  the  affair  two 
nights  ago  !  "  And  he  turned  quite  pale  at  the  tliought.  He 
eased  my  mind  witli  respect  to  our  mother.  She  was  a  bitter 
Tory,  to  be  sure,  but  the  Chief  had  given  special  injunctions 
regarding  her  safety.  "And  Fanny"  (Hal's  wife)  "watches 
over  her,  and  she  is  as  good  as  a  company  !  "  cried  the  enthu- 
siastic husband.  "  Isn't  she  clever  ?  Isn't  she  handsome  ? 
Isn't  she  good  ?  "  cries  Hal,  never,  fortunately,  waiting  for  a 
reply  to  these  ardent  queries.  "  And  to  think  that  I  was  nearly 
marrying  Maria  once  !  O  mercy  !  what  an  escape  I  had  ! "  he 
added.  "  Hagan  prays  for  the  King,  every  morning  and  night, 
at  Castlewood,  but  they  bolt  the  doors,  and  nobody  hears. 
Gracious  powers  !  his  wife  is  sixty  if  she  is  a  day  ;  and  oh, 
George  !  the  quantity  she  drinks  is  *  *  *  *  "  But  why  tell  the 
failings  of  our  good  cousin  .''  I  am  pleased  to  think  she  lived  to 
drink  the  health  of  King  George  long  after  his  Old  Dominion 
had  passed  for  ever  from  his  sceptre. 

The  morning  came  when  my  brief  mission  to  the  camp  was 
ended,  and  the  truest  of  friends  and  fondest  of  brothers  accom- 
panied me  to  my  boat,  which  lay  waiting  at  the  river-side.  We 
exchanged  an  embrace  at  parting,  and  his  hand  held  mine  yet 
for  a  moment  ere  I  stepped  into  the  barge  which  bore  me 
rapidly  down  the  stream.  "  Shall  I  see  thee  once  more,  dearest 
and  best  companion  of  my  youth  t  "  I  thought.  "  Amongst 
our  cold  Englishmen,  can  I  ever  hope  to  meet  with  a  friend 
like  thee  ?  When  hadst  thou  ever  a  thought  that  was  not  kindly 
and  generous  ?  When  a  wish,  or  a  possession,  but  for  me  you 
would  sacrifice  it  ?  How  brave  are  you,  and  how  modest ;  how 
gentle,  and  how  strong  ;  how  simple,  unselfish,  and  humble ; 
how  eager  to  see  others'  merit ;  how  diffident  of  your  own  !  " 
He  stood  on  the  shore  till  his  figure  grew  dim  before  me. 
There  was  that  in  my  eyes  which  prevented  me  from  seeing 
him  longer. 

Brilliant  as  Sir  Henry's  success  had  been,  it  was  achieved, 

as  usual,  too  late  :  and  served  but  as  a  small  set-off  asfainst  the 
1  • 
disaster  of  Burgoyne  which  ensued  immediately,  and  which  our 

advance  was  utterly  inadequate  to  relieve.  More  than  one 
secret  messenger  was  despatched  to  him  who  never  reached  him, 
and  of  whom  we  never  learned  the  fate.  Of  one  wretch  who 
offered  to  carry  intelligence  to  him,  and  whom  Sir  Henry  de- 
spatched with  a  letter  of  his  own,  we  heard  the  miserable  doom. 
Falling  in  with  some  of  the  troops  of  General  George  Clinton, 
who  happened  to  be  in  red  uniform  (part  of  the  prize  of  a 


780  THE  VIRGINIANS. 

British  ship's  cargo,  doubtless,  which  had  been  taken  by  Ameri- 
can privateers),  the  spy  thought  he  was  in  the  Enghsh  army, 
and  advanced  towards  the  sentries.  He  found  his  mistake  too 
late.  His  letter  was  discovered  upon  him,  and  he  had  to  die 
for  bearing  it.  In  ten  days  after  the  success  at  the  Forts 
occurred  the  great  disaster  at  Saratoga,  of  which  we  carried  the 
dismal  particulars  to  the  fleet  which  bore  us  home.  I  am  afraid 
my  wife  was  unable  to  mourn  for  it.  She  had  her  children,  her 
father,  her  sisters  to  revisit,  and  daily  and  nightly  thanks  to 
pay  to  heaven  that  had  brought  her  husband  safe  out  of  danger. 


CHAPTER  XCH. 

UNDER    VINE    AND    FIG-TREE. 


Need  I  describe,  young  folks,  the  delights  of  the  meeting 
at  home,  and  the  mother's  happiness  with  all  her  brood  once 
more  under  her  fond  wings  ?  It  was  wrote  in  her  face,  and 
acknowledged  on  her  knees.  Our  house  was  large  enough  for 
all,  but  Aunt  Hetty  would  not  stay  in  it.  She  said,  fairly,  that 
to  resign  her  motherhood  over  the  elder  children,  who  had  been 
hers  for  nearly  three  years,  cost  her  too  great  a  pang ;  and  she 
could  not  bear  for  yet  awhile  to  be  with  them,  and  to  submit  to 
take  only  the  second  place.  So  she  and  her  father  went  away 
to  a  house  at  Bury  St.  Edmunds,  not  far  from  us,  where  they 
lived,  and  where  she  spoiled  her  eldest  nephew  and  niece  in 

private.     It  was  the  year  after  we  came  home  that  Mr.  B 

the  Jamaica  planter  died,  who  left  her  the  half  of  his  fortune ; 
and  then  I  heard,  for  the  first  time,  how  the  worthy  gentleman 
had  been  greatly  enamored  of  her  in  Jamaica,  and,  though  she 
had  refused  him,  had  thus  shown  his  constancy  to  her.  Heaven 
knows  how  much  property  of  Aunt  Hetty's  Monsieur  Miles  hath 
already  devoured  !  the  price  of  his  com.mission  and  outfit ;  his 
gorgeous  uniforms  ;  his  play-debts  and  little  transactions  in  the 
Minories ; — do  you  think,  sirrah,  I  do  not  know  what  human 
nature  is  ;  what  is  the  cost  of  Pall  Mall  taverns,  peiits  soupers, 
play — even  in  moderation — at  the  "Cocoa-Tree;"  and  that  a 
gentleman  cannot  purchase  all  these  enjoyments  with  the  five 
hundred  a  year  which  I  allow  him  ?  Aunt  Hetty  declares  she 
has  made  up  her  mind  to  be  an  old  maid.  "  I  made  a  vow 
never  to  marry  until  I  could  find  a  man  as  good  as  my  dear 


THE   VIRGimANS.  781 

father,"  she  said ;  ''  and  I  never  did,  Sir  George.  Xo,  my 
dearest  Theo,  not  half  as  good ;  and  Sir  George  may  put  that 
in  his  pipe  and  smoke  it." 

And  yet  when  the  good  General  died  calm,  and  full  of  years, 
and  glad  to  depart,  I  think  it  was  my  wife  who  shed  the  most 
tears.  "  I  weep  because  I  think  I  did  not  love  him  enough," 
said  the  tender  creature  :  whereas  Hetty  scarce  departed  from 
her  calm,  at  least  outwardly  and  before  any  of  us  ;  talks  of  him 
constantly  still,  as  though  he  were  alive  ;  recalls  his  merry  say- 
ings, his  gentle,  kind  ways  with  his  children  (when  she  brightens 
up  and  looks  herself  quite  a  girl  again),  and  sits  cheerfully 
looking  up  to  the  slab  in  church  which  records  his  name  and 
some  of  his  virtues,  and  for  once  tells  no  lies. 

I  had  fancied,  sometimes,  that  my  brother  Hal,  for  whom 
Hetty  had  a  juvenile  passion,  always  retained  a  hold  of  her 
heart ;  and  wdien  he  came  to  see  us,  ten  years  ago,  I  told  him 
of  this  childish  romance  of  Het's,  with  the  hope,  I  own,  that  he 
would  ask  her  to  replace  Mrs.  Fanny,  who  had  been  gathered 
to  her  fathers,  and  regarding  whom  my  wife  (with  her  usual 
propensity  to  consider  herself  a  miserable  sinner)  always 
reproached  herself,  because,  forsooth,  she  did  not  regret  Fanny 
enough.  Hal,  when  he  came  to  us,  was  plunged  in  grief  about 
her  loss  ;  and  vowed  that  the  \vorld  did  not  contain  such  another 
woman.  Our  dear  old  General,  who  was  still  in  life  then,  took 
him  in  and  housed  him,  as  he  had  done  in  the  happy  early  days. 
The  women  played  him  the  very  same  tunes  which  he  had 
heard  when  a  boy  at  Oakhurst.  Everybody's  heart  was  very 
soft  with  old  recollections,  and  Harry  never  tired  of  pouring 
out  his  griefs  and  his  recitals  of  his  wife's  virtues  to  Het,  and 
anon  of  talking  fondly  about  his  dear  Aunt  Lambert,  whom  he 
loved  with  all  his  heart,  and  whose  praises,  you  may  be  sure, 
were  welcome  to  the  faithful  old  husband,  out  of  whose  thoughts 
his  wife's  memory  w^as  never,  I  believe,  absent  for  any  three 
waking  minutes  of  the  day. 

General  Hal  went  to  Paris  as  an  American  General  Officer 
in  his  blue  and  yellow  (which  Mr.  Fox  and  other  gentlemen 
had  brought  into  fashion  here  likewise),  and  was  made  much  of 
at  Versailles,  although  he  was  presented  by  Monsieur  le  Mar- 
quis de  Lafayette  to  the  most  Christian  King  and  Queen,  who 
did  not  love  Monsieur  le  Marquis.  And  I  believe  a  Marquise 
took  a  fancy  to  the  Virginian  General,  and  would  have  married 
him  out  of  hand,  had  he  not  resisted,  and  fled  back  to  England 
and  Warrington  and  Bury  again,  especially  to  the  latter  place, 
where  the  folks  would  listen  to  him  as  he  talked  about  his  late 


782 


THE  VIRGINIANS, 


wife,  with  an  endless  patience  and  sympathy.  As  for  us,  who 
had  known,  the  poor  paragon,  we  were  civil,  but  not  quite  so 
enthusiastic  regarding  her,  and  rather  puzzled  sometimes  to 
answer  our  children's  questions  about  Uncle  Hal's  angel  wife. 

The  two  Generals  and  myself,  and  Captain  Miles,  and  Par- 
son Blake  (who  was  knocked  over  at  Monmouth,  the  year  after 
I  left  America,  and  came  home  to  change  his  coat,  and  take  my 
living),  used  to  fight  the  battles  of  the  Revolution  over  our 
bottle ;  and  the  parson  used  to  cry,  "By  Jupiter,  General  "  (he 
compounded  for  Jupiter,  when  he  laid  down  his  military  habit), 
"  you  are  the  Tory,  and  Sir  George  is  the  Whig  !  He  is  always 
finding  fault  with  our  leaders,  and  you  are  for  ever  standing  up 
for  them  ;  and  when  I  prayed  for  the  King  last  Sunday,  I  heard 
you  following  me  quite  loud." 

"  And  so  I  do,  Blake,  with  all  my  heart ;  I  can't  forget  I 
wore  his  coat,"  says  Hal. 

"  Ah,  if  Wolfe  had  been  alive  for  twenty  3-ears  more  !  "  says 
Lambert. 

"Ah,  sir,"  cries  Hal,  "you  should  hear  the  General  talk 
about  him  !  " 

"  What  General  ?  "  says  I  (to  vex  him). 

"J/)'  General,"  says  Hal,  standing  up,  and  filling  a  bumper. 
"  His  Excellency  General  George  Washington  !  " 

"With  all  my  heart,"  cry  I,  but  the  parson  looks  as  if  he 
did  not  like  the  toast  or  the  claret. 

Hal  never  tired  in  speaking  of  his  general ;  and  it  was  on 
some  such  evening  of  friendly  converse,  that  he  told  us  how  he 
had  actually  been  in  disgrace  with  this  general  whom  he  loved 
so  fondly.  Their  difference  seems  to  have  been  about  IMonsieur 
le  Marquis  de  Lafayette  before  mentioned,  who  played  such  a 
fine  part  in  history  of  late,  and  who  hath  so  suddenly  disap- 
peared out  of  it.  His  previous  rank  in  our  own  service,  and 
his  acknowledged  gallantry  during  the  war,  ought  to  have  se- 
cured Colonel  Warrington's  promotion  in  the  Continental  army, 
where  a  whipper-snapper  like  I\L  de  Lafayette  had  but  to  arrive 
and  straightway  to  be  complimented  by  Congress  with  the  rank 
of  Major-General.  Hal,  with  the  freedom  of  an  old  soldier, 
had  expressed  himself  somewhat  contemptuously  regarding 
some  of  the  appointments  made  by  Congress,  with  whom  all 
sorts  of  miserable  intrigues  and  cabals  were  set  to  work  by 
unscrupulous  officers  greedy  of  promotion.  Mr.  Warrington, 
imitating  perhaps  in  this  the  example  of  his  now  illustrious 
friend  of  Blount  Vernon,  affected  to  make  the  war  en  getitil- 
homme ;  took  his  pay,  to  be  sure,  but  spent  it  upon  comforts 


THE    F/RG/NIAjVS. 


783 


and  clothing  for  his  men,  and  as  for  rank,  declared  it  was  a 
matter  of  no  earthly  concern  to  him,  and  that  he  would  as  soon 
serv^e  as  colonel  as  in  any  higher  grade.  No  doubt  he  added 
contemptuous  remarks  regarding  certain  General  Officers  of 
Congress  army,  their  origin,  and  the  causes  of  their  advance- 
ment :  notably  he  was  very  angry  about  the  sudden  promotion 
of  the  young  French  lad  just  named— the  Marquis,  as  they 
loved  to  call  him — in  the  Republican  Army,  and  vvho,  by  the 
way,  was  a  prodigious  favorite  of  the  Chief  himself.  There 
were  not  three  officers  in  the  whole  Continental  force  (after 
poor  madcap  Lee  was  taken  prisoner  and  disgraced)  who 
could  speak  the  Marquis's  language,  so  that  Hal  could  judge 
the  young  Major-General  more  closely  and  familiarly  than  other 
gentlemen,  including  the  Commander-in-Chief  himself.  Mr. 
Washington  good-naturedly  rated  friend  Hal  for  being  jealous 
of  the  beardless  commander  of  Auvergne  ;  was  himself  not  a 
little  pleased  by  the  filial  regard  and  profound  veneration  which 
the  enthusiastic  young  nobleman  always  showed  for  him  ,  and 
had,  moreover,  the  very  best  politic  reasons  for  treating  the 
Marquis  with  friendship  and  favor. 

Meanwhile,  as  it  afterwards  turned  out,  the  Commander- 
in-Chief  was  most  urgently  pressing  Colonel  Warrington's 
promotion  upon  Congress ;  and,  as  if  his  difficulties  before 
the  enemy  were  not  enough,  he  being  at  this  hard  time  of 
winter  entrenched  at  Valley  Forge,  commanding  five  or  six 
thousand  men  at  the  most,  almost  without  fire,  blankets,  food 
or  ammunition,  in  the  face  of  Sir  W^illiam  Howe's  army,  which 
was  perfectly  appointed,  and  three  times  as  numerous  as  his 
own  ;  as  if,  I  say,  this  difficulty  was  not  enough  to  try  him,  he 
had  further  to  encounter  the  cowardly  distrust  of  Congress, 
and  insubordination  and  conspiracy  amongst  the  officers  in  his 
own  camp.  During  the  awful  winter  of  '77,  when  one  blow 
struck  by  the  sluggard  at  the  head  of  the  British  forces  might 
have  ended  the  war,  and  all  was  doubt,  confusion,  despair  in 
the  opposite  camp  (save  in  one  indomitable  breast  alone),  my 
brother  had  an  interview  with  the  Chief,  which  he  has  sub- 
sequently described  to  me,  and  of  which  Hal  could  never  speak 
without  giving  way  to  deep  emotion.  Mr.  Washington  had 
won  no  such  triumph  as  that  which  the  dare-devil  courage  of 
Arnold  and  the  elegant  imbecility  of  Burgoyne  had  procured 
for  Gates  and  the  northern  army.  Save  in  one  or  two  minor 
encounters,  which  proved  how  daring  his  bravery  was,  and  how 
unceasing  his  watchfulness.  General  Washington  had  met  with 
defeat  after  defeat  from  an  enemy  in  all  points   his  superior. 


784  ^-^^^  VIRGIA'IANS, 

The  Congress  mistrusted  him.  Many  an  officer  in  his  own 
camp  hated  him.  Those  who  had  been  disappointed  in  am- 
bition, those  who  had  been  detected  in  peculation,  those  wliose 
selfishness  or  incapacity  his  honest  eyes  had  spied  out, — were 
all  more  or  less  in  league  against  him.  Gates  was  the  chief 
towards  whom  the  malcontents  turned.  oVIr.  Gates  was  the 
only  genius  fit  to  conduct  the  war;  and  with  a  vain-glorious- 
ness,  which  he  afterwards  generously  owned,  he  did  not  refuse 
the  homage  which  was  paid  him. 

To  show  how  dreadful  were  the  troubles  and  anxieties  with 
which  General  Washington  had  to  contend,  I  may  mention 
what  at  this  time  was  called  the  "  Conway  Cabal."  A  certain 
Irishman — a  Chevalier  of  St.  Louis,  and  an  officer  in  the  French 
service — arrived  in  America  early  in  the  year  '77  in  quest  of 
military  employment.  He  was  speedily  appointed  to  the  rank 
of  brigadier,  and  could  not  be  contented,  forsooth,  without  an 
immediate  promotion  to  be  major-general. 

Mr.  C.  had  friends  at  Congress,  who,  as  the  General-in-Chief 
was  informed,  had  promised  him  his  speedy  promotion.  Gen- 
eral Washington  remonstrated,  representing  the  injustice  of 
promoting  to  the  highest  rank  the  youngest  brigadier  in  the 
service  ;  and  whilst  the  matter  was  pending,  was  put  in  posses- 
sion of  a  letter  from  Conway  to  General  Gates,  whom  he  con- 
templated, saying,  that  "  heaven  had  been  determined  to  save 
America,  or  a  weak  general  and  bad  councillors  would  have 
ruined  it."  The  General  enclosed  the  note  to  Mr.  Conway, 
without  a  word  of  comment ;  and  Conway  offered  his  resigna- 
tion, which  was  refused  by  Congress,  who  appointed  him  In- 
spector-General of  the  army,  with  the  rank  of  Major-General. 

"  And  it  was  at  this  time,"  says  Harry  (with  many  passion- 
ate exclamations  indicating  his  rage  with  himself  and  his  admi- 
ration of  his  leader),  "  when,  by  heavens,  the  glorious  Chief  was 
oppressed  by  troubles  enough  to  drive  ten  thousand  men  mad — • 
that  I  must  interfere  with  my  jealousies  about  the  Frenchman ! 
I  had  not  said  much,  only  some  nonsense  to  Greene  and  Cadwal- 
ader  about  getting  some  frogs  against  the  Frenchman  came  to 
dine  with  us,  and  having  a  bagful  of  Marquises  over  from  Paris, 
as  we  are  not  able  to  command  ourselves  ; — but  I  should 
have  known  the  Chief's  troubles,  and  that  he  had  a  better  head 
than  mine,  and  might  have  had  the  grace  to  hold  my  tongue. 

"  For  a  while  the  General  said  nothing,  but  I  could  remark, 
by  the  coldness  of  his  demeanor,  that  something  had  occurred 
to  create  a  schism  between  him  and  me.  Mrs.  Washington, 
who  had  come  to  camp,  also  saw  that  something  was  wrong. 


THE  VIRGINIANS.  785 

Women  have  artful  ways  of  soothing  men  and  finding  their 
secrets  out.  I  am  not  sure  that  I  should  have  ever  tried  to 
learn  the  cause  of  the  General's  displeasure,  for  I  am  as  proud 
as  he  is,  and  besides"  (says  Hal)  "when  the  Chief  is  angry,  it 
was  not  pleasant  coming  near  him,  I  can  promise  you."  My 
brother  was  indeed  subjugated  by  his  old  friend,  and  obeyed 
him  and  bowed  before  him  as  a  boy  before  a  schoolmaster. 

"At  last,"  Hal  resumed,  "  Mrs.  Washington  found  out  the 
mystery.  '  Speak  to  me  after  dinner,  Colonel  Hal,'  says  she. 
'  Come  out  to  the  parade-ground,  before  the  dining-house,  and 
I  will  tell  you  all."  I  left  a  half-score  of  general  officers  and 
brigadiers  drinking  round  the  General's  table,  and  found  Mrs. 
Washington  waiting  for  me.  She  then  told  me  it  was  the  speech 
I  had  made  about  the  box  of  Marquises,  with  which  the  Gen- 
eral was  offended.  'I  should  not  have  heeded  it  in  another,' 
he  had  said,  'but  I  never  thought  Harry  Warrington  would 
have  joined  against  me.' 

"  I  had  to  wait  on  him  for  the  word  that  night,  and  found 
him  alone  at  his  table.  Can  your  Excellency  give  me  five 
minutes'  time  ? '  I  said,  with  my  heart  in  my  mouth.  '  Yes, 
surely,  sir,'  says  he,  pointing  to  the  other  chair.  'Will  you 
please  to  be  seated  ? ' 

"  '  It  used  not  always  to  be  Sir  and  Colonel  Warrington, 
between  me  and  your  Excellency,'  I  said. 

"  '  He  said,  calmly,  'The  times  are  altered.' 

"  '  Et  nos  niutamur  in  illis,'  says  I.  '  Times  and  people  are 
both  changed.' 

"  '  You  had  some  business  with  me  ? '  he  asked. 

"  '  Am  I  speaking  to  the  Commander-in-Chief  or  to  my  old 
friend  ? '  I  asked. 

"  He  looked  at  me  gravely.  '  Well, — to  both,  sir,'  he  said. 
'  Pray  sit,  Harry.' 

" '  If  to  General  Washington,  I  tell  his  Excellency  that  I, 
and  many  officers  of  this  army,  are  not  well  pleased  to  see  a 
boy  of  twenty  made  a  major-general  over  us,  because  he  is  a 
Marquis,  and  because  he  can't  speak  the  English  language. 
If  I  speak  to  my  old  friend,  I  have  to  say  that  he  has  shown  me 
ver}^  little  of  trust  or  friendship  for  the  last  few  weeks  ;  and  that 
I  have  no  desire  to  sit  at  your  table,  an  1  have  impertinent 
remarks  made  by  others  there,  of  the  way  in  which  his  Excel- 
lency turns  his  back  on  me.' 

"  '  Which  charge  shall  I  take  first,  Harry  ? '  he  asked,  turning 
his  chair  away  from  the  table,  and  crossing  his  legs  as  if  ready 
for  a  talk.     'You  are  jealous,  as  I  gather  about  the  Marquis.?' 

50 


786 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


a  i 


Jealous  !  sir,'  says  I.  'An  aide-decamp  of  Mr.  Wolfe  is 
not  jealous  of  a  Jack-a-dandy  who,  fi\e  years  ago,  was  being 
whipped  at  school  ! ' 

"  '  You  yourself  declined  higher  rank  than  that  which  you 
hold,'  says  the  Chief,  turning  a  little  red. 

"  '  But  I  never  bargained  to  have  a  macaroni  Marquis  to 
command  me  !  '  I  cried.  '  I  will  not,  for  one,  carry  the  young 
gentleman's  orders ;  and  since  Congress  and  your  Excellency 
choose  to  take  your  generals  out  of  the  nursery,  I  shall  humbly 
ask  leave  to  resign,  and  to  retire  to  my  plantation.' 

"'Do,  Harry;  that  is  true  friendship!'  says  the  Chief, 
with  a  gentleness  that  surprised  me.  '  Now  that  your  old 
friend  is  in  a  difficult}^,  'tis  surely  the  best  time  to  leave  him.' 

"  '  Sir  !  '  says  I. 

"  '  Do  as  so  many  of  the  rest  are  doing,  Mr.  Warrington. 
Et  tu,  Brute,  as  the  play  says.  Well,  well,  Harr)' !  I  did  not 
think  it  of  you  ;  but,  at  least,  you  are  in  the  fashion.' 

"  '  You  asked  which  charge  you  should  take  first  ? '  I  said. 

"  '  Oh,  the  promotion  of  the  Marquis  ?  I  recommended 
the  appointment  to  Congress,  no  doubt ;  and  you  and  other 
gentleman  disapprove  it.' 

"  '  I  have  spoken  for  myself,  sir,'  says  I. 

"  '  If  you  take  me  in  that  tone,  Colonel  Warrington,  I  have 
nothing  to  answer ! "  says  the  Chief,  rising  up  very  fiercely  ; 
'  and  presume  that  I  can  recommend  officers  for  promotion 
without  asking  your  previous  sanction.' 

" '  Being  on  that  tone,  sir,'  says  I,  '  let  me  respectfully  offer 
my  resignation  to  your  Excellency,  founding  my  desire  to  re- 
sign upon  the  fact,  that  Congress,  at  your  Excellency's  recom- 
mendation, offers  its  highest  commands  to  boys  of  twenty,  w^ho 
are  scarcely  even  acquainted  wdth  our  language.'  And  I  rise 
up  and  make  his  Excellency  a  bow. 

"  '  Great  heavens,  Harry  ! '  he  cries — (about  this  Marquis's 
appointment  he  was  beaten,  that  was  the  fact,  and  he  could  not 
reply  to  me) — 'can't  you  believe  that  in  this  critical  time  of  our 
affairs,  there  are  reasons  why  special  favors  should  be  shown 
to  the  first  Frenchman  of  distinction  who  comes  amongst  us  ? ' 

" '  No  doubt,  sir.  If  your  Excellency  acknowledges  that 
Monsieur  de  Lafayette's  merits  have  nothing  to  do  with  the 
question.' 

" '  I  acknowledge  or  deny  nothing,  sir ! '  says  the  General, 
with  a  stamp  of  his  foot,  and  looking  as  though  he  could  be 
terribly  angry  if  he  would.  '  Am  I  here  to  be  catechized  by 
you  ?  '  Stay. '   Hark,  Harry  ! "    I  speak  to  you  as  a  man  of  the 


THE    V/RGINIA.VS. 


787 


world — nay,  as  an  old  friend.  This  appointment  humiliates 
you  and  others,  you  say  ?  Be  it  so  !  Must  we  not  bear  humil- 
iation along  with  the  other  burdens  and  griefs  for  the  sake  of 
our  country  ?  It  is  no  more  just  perhaps  that  the  Marquis 
should  be  set  over  you  gentlemen,  than  that  your  Prince  Ferdi- 
nand or  your  Prince  of  Wales  at  home  should  have  a  command 
over  veterans.  But  if  in  appointing  this  young  nobleman  we 
please  a  whole  nation,  and  bring  ourselves  twenty  millions  of 
allies,  will  you  and  other  gentlemen  sulk  because  we  do  him 
honor?  'Tis  easy  to  sneer  at  him  (though,  believe  me,  the 
Marquis  has  many  more  merits  than  you  allow  him)  ;  to  my 
mind  it  were  more  generous  as  well  as  more  polite  of  Harry 
Warrington  to  welcome  this  stranger  for  the  sake  of  the  prodi- 
gious benefit  our  country  may  draw  from  him — not  to  laugh  at 
his  peculiarities,  but  to  aid  him  and  help  his  ignorance  by  your 
experience  as  an  old  soldier  :  that  is  what  I  would  do — that  is 
the  part  I  expected  of  thee — for  it  is  the  generous  and  the 
manly  one,  Harry  :  but  you  choose  to  join  my  enemies,  and 
when  I  am  in  trouble  you  say  you  will  leave  me.  That  is  why 
I  have  been  hurt :  that  is  why  I  have  been  cold.  I  thought  I 
might  count  on  your  friendship — and — and  you  can  tell  whether 
I  was  right  or  no.  I  relied  on  you  as  on  a  brother,  and  you 
come  and  tell  me  you  will  resign.  Be  it  so  !  Being  embarked 
in  this  contest,  by  God's  will  I  will  see  it  to  an  end.  You  are 
not  the  first,  Mr.  Warrington,  has  left  me  on  the  way.' 

"  He  spoke  with  so  much  tenderness,  and  as  he  spoke  his 
face  wore  such  a  look  of  unhappiness,  that  an  extreme  remorse 
and  pity  seized  me,  and  I  called  out  I  know  not  what  incohe- 
rent expressions  regarding  old  times,  and  vowed  that  if  he  would 
say  the  word,  I  never  w^ould  leave  him."  "  You  never  loved 
him,  George,"  says  my  brother,  turning  to  me,  "  but  I  did  be- 
yond all  mortal  men  ;  and,  though  I  am  not  clever  like  you,  I 
think  my  instinct  was  in  the  right.  He  has  a  greatness  not 
approached  by  other  men " 

"  I  don't  say  no,  brother,"  said  I,  "  now." 

"  Greatness,  pooh  !  "  says  the  Parson,  growling  over  his 
wine. 

"We  walked  into  Mrs.  Washington's  tea-room  arm-in-arm," 
Hal  resumed  ;  "  she  looked  up  qirite  kind,  and  saw  we  were 
friends.  '  Is  it  all  over,  Colonel  Harry  ? '  she  whispered.  '  I 
know  he  has  applied  ever  so  often  about  your  promotion ' 

"  '  I  never  will  take  it,'  says  I."  "  And  that  is  how  I  came 
to  do  penance,''  says  Harry,  telling  me  the  storf,  "with  Lafayette 
the   next  winter."      (Hal  could  imitate  the    Frenchman  very 


788  THE  VIRGINIANS. 

well.)  "I  will  go  weez  heem,^  says  I.  'I  know  the  way  to 
Quebec,  and  when  we  are  not  in  action  with  Sir  Guy,  I  can  hear 
his  Excellency  the  Major-General  say  his  lesson.'  There  was 
no  fight,  you  know :  we  could  get  no  army  to  act  in  Canada, 
and  returned  to  head-quarters  ;  and  what  do  you  think  dis- 
turbed the  Frenchman  most  1  The  idea  that  people  would 
laugh  at  him,  because  his  command  had  come  to  nothing.  And 
so  they  did  laugh  at  him,  and  almost  to  his  face  too,  and  who 
could  help  it  ?  If  our  Chief  had  any  weak  point  it  was  this 
MarquiSc 

"  After  our  little  difference  we  became  as  great  friends  as 
before — if  a  man  may  be  said  to  be  friends  with  a  Sovereign 
Prince,  for  as  such  I  somehow  could  not  help  regarding  the 
General :  and  one  night,  when  he  had  sat  the  company  out,  we 
talked  of  old  ames,  and  the  jolly  days  of  sport  we  had  together 
both  before  and  after  Bracldock's ;  and  that  pretty  duel  you 
were  near  having  when  we  were  boys.  He  laughed  about  it, 
and  said  he  never  saw  a  man  look  more  wicked  and  more  bent 
on  killing  than  you  did  :  'And  to  do  Sir  George  justice,  I  think  he 
has  hated  me  ever  since,'  says  the  Chief.  '  Ah  ! '  he  added, 
'an  open  enemy  I  can  face  readily  enough.  'Tis  the  secret  foe 
who  causes  the  doubt  and  anguish !  ^^'e  have  sat  with  more 
than  one  at  my  table  to-day  to  whom  I  am  obliged  to  show  a 
face  of  civility,  whose  hands  I  must  take  when  they  are  ordered, 
though  I  know  they  are  stabbing  my  reputation,  and  are  eager 
to  pull  me  down  from  my  place.  You  spoke  but  lately  of  being 
humiliated  because  a  junior  was  set  over  you  in  command. 
What  humiliation  is  yours  compared  to  mine,  who  have  to  play 
the  farce  of  welcome  to  these  traitors ;  who  have  to  bear  the 
neglect  of  Congress,  and  see  men  who  have  insulted  me  pro- 
moted in  my  own  army.  If  I  consulted  my  own  feelings  as  a 
man,  would  I  continue  in  this  command  ?  You  know  whether 
my  temper  is  naturally  warm  or  not,  and  whether  as  a  private 
gentleman  I  should  be  likely  to  suffer  such  slights  and  outrages 
as  are  put  upon  me  daily  ;  but  in  the  advanceme:it  of  the  sacred 
cause  in  which  we  are  engaged,  we  have  to  endure  not  only 
hardship  and  danger,  but  calumny  and  wrong,  and  may  God 
give  us  strength  to  do  our  duty !  '  And  then  the  General 
showed  me  the  papers  regarding  the  affair  of  that  fellow  Con- 
way, whom  Congress  promoted  in  spite  of  the  intrigue,  and 
down  whose  black  throat  John  Cadwalader  sent  the  best  ball 
he  ever  fired  in  his  life. 

"And  it  was  here,"  said  Hal,  concluding  his  story,  "as  I 
looked  at  the  Chief  talking  at  night  in  the  silence  of  the  camp^ 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


789 


and  remembered  how  lonely  he  was,  what  an  awful  responsi- 
bility he  carried  ;  how  spies  and  traitors  were  eating  out  of  his 
dish,  and  an  enemy  lay  in  front  of  him  who  might  at  any  time 
overpower  him,  that  1  thought,  '  Sure,  this  is  the  greatest  man 
now  in  the  world  ;  and  what  a  wretch  I  am  to  think  of  my 
jealousies  and  annoyances,  whilst  he  is  walking  serenely  under 
his  immense  cares  ! '  " 

"We  talked  but  now  of  Wolfe,"  said  I.  "  Here,  indeed,  is 
a  greater  than  Wolfe.  To  endure  is  greater  than  to  dare  ;  to 
tire  out  hostile  fortune  ;  to  be  daunted  by  no  difficulty  ;  to  keep 
heart  when  all  have  lost  it ;  to  go  through  intrigue  spotless  \ 
to  forego  even  ambition  when  the  end  is  gained — who  can  say 
this  is  not  greatness,  or  show  the  other  Englishman  who  has 
achieved  so  much  ?  " 

"  I  wonder,  Sir  George,  you  did  not  take  Mr.  Washington's 
side,  and  wear  the  blue  and  buff  yourself,"  grumbles  Parson 
Blake. 

"  You  and  I  thought  scarlet  most  becoming  to  our  complex- 
ion, Joe  Blake  !  "  sa3^s  Sir  George.  "  And  my  wife  thinks  there 
would  not  have  been  room  for  two  such  great  men  on  one  side." 

"  Well,  at  an}^  rate,  you  were  better  than  that  odious,  swear- 
ing, crazy  General  Lee,  who  was  second  in  command  !  "  cries 
Lady  Warrington.  "  And  I  am  certain  Mr.  Washington  never 
could  write  poetry  and  tragedies  as  you  can  !  What  did  the 
General  say  about  George's  tragedies,  Harr)'  ? " 

Harr)^  burst  into  a  roar  of  laughter  (in  which,  of  course,  Mr. 
Miles  must  join  his  uncle). 

"  Well  !  "  says  he,  "it's  a  fact  that  Hagan  read  one  at  my 
house  to  the  General  and  Mrs.  Washington  and  several  more, 
and  they  all  fell  sound  asleep !  " 

"  He  never  liked  my  husband,  that  is  the  truth  !  "  says 
Theo,  tossing  up  her  head,  "  and  'tis  all  the  more  magnanimous 
of  Sir  George  to  speak  so  well  of  him." 

And  then  Hal  told  how,  his  battles  over,  his  country  freed, 
his  great  work  of  liberation  complete,  the  General  laid  down 
his  victorious  sword,  and  met  his  comrades  of  the  army  in  a 
last  adieu.  The  last  British  soldier  had  quitted  the  shore  of 
the  Republic,  and  the  Commander-in-Chief  proposed  to  leave 
New  York  for  Annapolis,  where  Congress  was  sitting,  and  there 
resign  his  commission.  About  noon,  on  the  4th  December,  a 
barge  was  in  waiting  at  Wliitehall  Ferry  to  convey  him  across 
the  Hudson.  The  chiefs  of  the  army  assembled  at  a  tavern 
near  the  ferry,  and  there  the  General  joined  them.  Seldom  as 
he  showed  his  emotion  outwardly,  on  this  day  he  could  not  dis- 


7c)o  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

guise  it.  He  filled  a  glass  of  wine,  and  said,  "  I  bid  you  fare- 
well with  a  heart  full  of  love  and  gratitude,  and  wish  your  latter 
days  may  be  as  prosperous  and  hajDpy  as  those  past  have  been 
glorious  and  honorable."  Then  he  drank  to  them.  "  I  cannot 
come  to  each  of  you  to  take  m)^  leave,"  he  said,  "  but  shall  be 
obliged  if  you  will  each  come  and  shake  me  by  the  hand." 

General  Knox,  who  was  nearest,  came  forward,  and  the 
Chief,  with  tears  hi  his  eyes,  embraced  him.  The  others  came, 
one  by  one,  to  him,  and  took  their  leave  without  a  word.  A 
line  of  infantry  was  fornied  from  the  tavern  to  the  ferry,  and 
the  General,  with  his  officers  following  him,  walked  silently  to 
the  water.  He  stood  up  in  the  barge,  taking  off  his  hat,  and 
waving  a  farewell.  And  his  comrades  remained  bareheaded 
on  the  shore  till  their  leader's  boat  was  out  of  view. 

As  Harry  speaks  very  low,  in  the  gray  of  evening,  with 
sometimes  a  break  in  his  voice,  we  all  sit  touched  and  silent. 
Hetty  goes  up  and  kisses  her  father. 

"You  tell  us  of  others.  General  Harry,"  she  says,  passing  a 
handkerchief  across  her  eyes,  of  Marion  and  Sumpter,  of 
Greene  and  \^'ayne,  and  Rawdon  and  Cornwallis,  too,  but  you 
never  mention  Colonel  Warrington  !  " 

"  My  dear,  he  will  tell  you  his  story  in  private  !  "  whispers 
my  wife,  clinging  to  her  sister,  "  and  you  can  write  it  for  him." 

But  it  was  not  to  be.  My  Lady  Theo,  and  her  husband 
too,  I  own,  catching  the  infection  from  her,  never  would  let 
Harry  rest,  until  we  had  coaxed,  wheedled^  and  ordered  him  to 
ask  Hetty  in  marriage.  He  obeyed,  and  it  was  she  who  now 
declined.  "  She  had  always,"  she  said,  ''the  truest  regard  for 
him  from  the  dear  old  times  when  they  had  met  as  almost 
children  together.  But  she  would  never  leave  her  father. 
When  it  pleased  God  to  take  him,  she  hoped  she  would  be  too 
old  to  think  of  bearing  an)^  other  name  but  her  own.  Harry 
should  have  her  love  always  as  the  best  of  brothers  ;  and  as 
George  and  Theo  have  such  a  nursery  full  of  children,"  adds 
Hester,  "  we  must  show  our  love  to  them^  by  saving  for  the 
young  ones."  She  sent  him  her  answer  in  writing,  leaving 
home  on  a  visit  to  friends  at  a  distance,  as  though  she  would 
have  him  to  understand  that  her  decision  was  final.  As  such 
Hal  received  it.  He  did  not  break  his  heart.  Cupid's  arrows, 
ladies,  don't  bite  very  deep  into  the  tough  skins  of  gentlemen 
of  our  age  ;  though,  to  be  sure,  at  the  time  of  which  I  write, 
my  brother  was  still  a  young  man,  being  little  more  than  fifty. 
Aunt  Het  is  now  a  staid  little  lady  with  a  voice  of  which  years 
have  touched  the   sweet  chords,  and   a  head  which  Time   has 


THE   VIRGINIAXS.  ygi 

powdered  over  with  silver.  There  are  days  when  she  looks 
surprisingly  young  and  blooming.  Ah  me,  my  dear,  it  seems 
but  a  little  while  since  the  hair  was  golden  brown,  and  the 
cheeks  as  fresh  as  roses  !  And  then  came  the  bitter  blast  of 
love  unrequited  which  withered  them  ;  and  that  long  loneli- 
ness of  heart  which,  they  say,  follows.  Why  should  Theo  and 
I  have  been  so  happy,  and  thou  so  lonely  ?  Why  should  my 
meal  be  garnished  with  love,  and  spread  with  plenty,  while  yon 
solitary  outcast  shivers  at  my  gate  ?  I  bow  my  head  humbly 
before  the  Dispenser  of  pain  and  poverty,  wealth  and  health  ; 
I  feel  sometimes  as  if,  for  the  prizes  which  have  fallen  to  the 
lot  of  me  unworthy,  I  did  not  dare  to  be  grateful.  But  I  hear 
the  voices  of  my  children  in  their  garden,  or  look  up  at  their 
mother  from  my  book,  or  perhaps  my  sick  bed,  and  my  heart 
fills  with  instinctive  gratitude  towards  the  bountiful  Heaven 
that  has  so  blest  me. 

Since  my  accession  to  my  uncle's  title  and  estate  my  inter- 
course with  my  good  cousin  Lord  Castlewood  has  been  very 
rare.  I  had  always  supposed  him  to  be  a  follower  of  the  win- 
ning side  in  politics,  and  was  not  a  little  astonished  to  hear  of 
his  sudden  appearance  in  opposition.  A  disappointment  in 
respect  to  a  place  at  Court,  of  which  he  pretended  to  have  had 
some  promise,  was  partly  the  occasion  of  his  rupture  with  the 
Ministry.  It  is  said  that  the  most  August  Person  in  the  realm 
had  flatly  refused  to  receive  into  the  R-y-1  Household  a  noble- 
man whose  character  was  so  notoriously  bad,  and  whose  ex- 
ample (so  the  August  Objector  was  pleased  to  say)  would  ruin 
and  corrupt  any  respectable  family.  I  heard  of  the  Castle- 
woods  during  our  travels  in  Europe,  and  that  the  mania  for 
play  had  again  seized  upon  his  lordship.  His  impaired  for- 
tunes having  been  retrieved  by  the  prudence  of  his  wife  and 
father-in-law,  he  had  again  begun  to  dissipate  his  income  at 
hombre  and  lansquenet.  There  were  tales  of  malpractices  in 
which  he  had  been  discovered,  and  even  of  chastisement  in- 
flicted upon  him  by  the  victims  of  his  unscrupulous  arts.  His 
wife's  beauty  and  freshness  faded  early;  we  met  but  once  at 
Aix-la-Chapelle,  where  Lady  Castlewood  besought  my  wife  to 
go  and  see  her,  and  afflicted  Lady  Warrington's  kind  heart  by 
stories  of  the  neglect  and  outrage  of  which  her  unfortunate 
husband  was  guilty.  We  were  willing  to  receive  these  as  some 
excuse  and  palliation  for  the  unhappy  lady's  ow^n  conduct.  A 
notorious  adventurer,  gambler,  and  spadassin,  calling  himself 
the  Chevalier  de  Barry,  and  said  to  be  a  relative  of  the  mis- 


7^2  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

tress  of  the  P'rench  king,  but  afterwards  turning  out  to  be  an 
Irishman  of  low  extraction,  was  in  constant  attendance  upon 
the  earl  and  countess  at  this  time,  and  conspicuous  for  the 
audacity  of  his  lies,  the  extravagance  of  his  play,  and  somewhat 
mercenary  gallantry  towards  the  other  sex,  and  a  ferocious 
bravo  courage,  which,  however,  failed  him  on  one  or  two  aw^k- 
ward  occasions,  if  common  report  said  true.  He  subsequently 
married,  and  rendered  miserable,  a  lady  of  title  and  fortune  in 
England.  The  poor  little  American  lady's  interested  union 
with  Lord  Castle w^ood  was  scarcely  more  happy, 

I  remember  our  little  Miles's  infantile  envy  being  excited 
by  learning  that  Lord  Castlewood's  second  son,  a  child  a  few^ 
months  younger  than  himself,  was  already  an  ensign  on  the 
Irish  establishment,  whose  pay  the  fond  parents  regularly  drew. 
This  piece  of  preferment  my  lord  must  have  got  for  his  cadet 
whilst  he  was  on  good  terms  wath  the  Minister,  during  which 
period  of  favor  Will  Esmond  w^as  also  shifted  off  to  New  York. 
Whilst  I  was  in  America  myself,  we  read  in  an  English  journal 
that  Captain  Charles  Esmond  had  resigned  his  commission 
in  his  Majesty's  service,  as  not  wishing  to  take  up  arms  against 
the  countrymen  of  his  mother,  the  Countess  of  Castlewood. 
"It  is  the  doing  of  the  old  fox.  Van  den  Bosch,"  Madam  Es- 
mond said  j  "  he  wishes  to  keep  his  Virginian  property  safe, 
whatever  side  should  win  ! "  I  may  mention,  with  respect  to 
this  old  worthy,  that  he  continued  to  reside  in  England  for  a 
while  after  the  declaration  of  Independence,  not  at  all  denying 
his  sympathy  with  the  American  cause,  but  keeping  a  pretty 
quiet  tongue,  and  alleging  that  such  a  very  old  man  as  himself 
was  past  the  age  of  action  or  mischief,  in  which  opinion  the 
Government  concurred,  no  doubt,  as  he  was  left  quite  unmo- 
lested. But  of  a  sudden  a  warrant  was  out  after  him,  when  it 
was  surprising  with  what  agility  he  stirred  himself,  and  skipped 
off  to  France,  whence  he  presently  embarked  upon  his  return 
to  Virginia. 

The  old  man  bore  the  worst  reputation  amongst  the  Loy- 
alists of  our  colony  ;  and  was  nicknamed  "  Jack  the  Painter  " 
amongst  them,  much  to  his  indignation,  after  a  certain  miscre 
ant  who  was  hung  in  England  for  burning  naval  stores  in  our 
ports  there.  He  professed  to  have  lost  prodigious  sums  at 
home  by  the  persecution  of  the  Government,  distinguished 
himself  by  the  loudest  patriotism  and  the  most  violent  religious 
outcries  in  Virginia ;  where,  nevertheless,  he  was  not  much 
more  liked  by  the  Whigs  than  by  the  party  who  still  remained 
faithful  to  the  Crown.     He  wondered  that  such  an  old  Tory  as 


THE   VIRGINIANS.  jg^ 

Madam  Esmond  of  Castlewood  was  suffered  to  go  at  large, 
and  was  for  ever  crying  out  against  her  amongst  the  gentlemen 
of  the  new  Assembly,  the  Go\ernor,  and  officers  of  the  State. 
He  and  Fanny  had  high  words  in  Richmond  one  day,  when 
she  told  him  he  was  an  old  swindler  and  traitor,  and  that  the 
mother  of  Colonel  Henry  Warrington,  the  bosom  friend  of  his 
Excellency  the  Commander-in-Chief,  was  not  to  be  insulted  by 
such  a  little  smuggling  slave-driver  as  him  !  I  think  it  was  in 
the  year  1780  an  accident  happened,  when  the  old  Register 
Office  at  Williamsburg  was  burned  down,  in  which  was  a  copy 
of  the  formal  assignment  of  the  Virginia  property  from  Francis 
Lord  Castlewood  to  my  grandfather  Henry  Esmond,  Esq,  "  Oh," 
says  Fanny,  "  of  course  this  is  the  work  of  Jack  the  Painter  !  " 
And  Mr.  Van  den  Bosch  was  for  prosecuting  her  for  libel,  but 
that  Fanny  took  to  her  bed  at  this  juncture,  and  died. 

Van  den  Bosch  made  contracts  with  the  new  Government, 
and  sold  them  bargains,  as  the  phrase  is.  He  supplied  horses, 
meat,  forage,  all  of  bad  quality ;  but  when  Arnold  came  into 
Virginia  (in  the  King's  service)  and  burned  right  and  left,  Van 
den  Bosch's  stores  and  tobacco-houses  somehow  were  spared. 
Some  secret  Whigs  now  took  their  revenge  on  the  old  rascal. 
A  couple  of  his  ships  in  James'  River,  his  stores,  and  a  quantity 
of  his  cattle  in  their  stalls  were  roasted  amidst  a  hideous  bel- 
lowing ;  and  he  got  a  note,  as  he  was  in  Arnold's  compan}^, 
saying  that  friends  had  served  him  as  he  served  others  ;  and 
containing  "Tom  the  Glazier's  compliments  to  brother  Jack 
the  Painter."  Nobody  pitied  the  old  man,  though  he  went 
well  nigh  mad  at  his  loss.  In  Arnold's  suite  came  the  Honor- 
able Captain  William  Esmond,  of  the  New  York  Loyalists,  as 
Aide-de-Camp  to  the  General.  When  Howe  occupied  Phila- 
delphia, Will  was  said  to  have  made  some  money  keeping  a  gam- 
bling-house with  an  officer  of  the  dragoons  of  Anspach.  I  know 
not  how  he  lost  it.  He  could  not  have  had  much  when  he 
consented  to  become  an  aide-de-camp  of  Arnold. 

Now  the  King's  officers  having  reappeared  in  the  province, 
Madam  Esmond  thought  fit  to  open  her  house  at  Castlewood 
and  invite  them  thither — and  actually  received  Mr.  Arnold  and 
his  suite.  "  It  is  not  for  me,"  she  said,  "to  refuse  my  wel- 
come to  a  man  whom  my  Sovereign  had  admitted  to  grace." 
And  she  threw  her  house  open  to  him,  treating  him  with  great 
though  frigid  respect  whilst  he  remained  in  the  district.  The 
General  gone,  and  his  precious  aide-de-camp  with  him,  some  of 
the  rascals  who  followed  in  their  suite  remained  behind  in  the 
house  where  they  had  received  so  much  hospitality,  insulted 


yf)4  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

the  old  lady  in  her  hall,  insulted  her  people,  and  finally  set  fire 
to  the  old  mansion  in  a  frolic  of  drunken  fury.  Our  house  at 
Richmond  was  not  burned,  luckily,  though  Mr.  Arnold  had 
fired  the  town  ;  and  thither  the  undaunted  old  lady  proceeded, 
surrounded  by  her  people,  and  never  swerving  in  her  loyalty  in 
spite  of  her  ill  usage.  "The  Esmonds,"  she  said,  "were  ac- 
customed to  Royal  ingratitude." 

And  now  Mr.  Van  den  Bosch,  in  the  name  of  his  grandson 
and  my  Lord  Castlewood,  in  England,  set  u^d  a  claim  to  our 
property  in  Virginia.  He  said  it  was  not  my  lord's  intention 
to  disturb  Madam  Esmond  in  her  enjoyment  of  the  estate 
during  her  life,  but  that  his  father,  it  had  always  been  under- 
stood, had  given  his  kinsman  a  life-interest  in  the  place,  and 
only  continued  it  to  his  daughter  out  of  generosity.  Now  my 
lord  proposed  that  his  second  son  should  inhabit  A^irginia,  for 
which  the  young  gentleman  had  always  shown  the  warmest 
sympathy.  The  outcry  against  Van  den  Bosch  was  so  great, 
that  he  would  have  been  tarred  and  feathered,  had  he  remained 
in  Virginia.  He  betook  himself  to  Congress,  represented  him- 
self as  a  martyr  ruined  in  the  cause  of  liberty,  and  prayed  for 
compensation  for  himself  and  justice  for  his  grandson. 

M}^  mother  lived  long  in  dreadful  apprehension,  having  in 
truth  a  secret,  which  she  did  not  like  to  disclose  to  any  one. 
Her  titles  were  burned /  the  deed  of  assignment  in  her  own 
house,  the  copy  in  the  Registry  at  Richmond,  had  alike  been 
destroyed — by  chance  ?  by  villany  ?  who  could  say  ?  She  did 
not  like  to  confide  this  trouble  in  writing  to  me.  She  opened 
herself  to  Hal,  after  the  surrender  of  York  Town,  and  he  ac- 
quainted me  with  the  fact  in  a  letter  by  a  british  officer  return- 
ing home  on  his  parole.  Then  I  remembered  the  unlucky 
words  I  had  let  slip  before  Will  Esmond  at  the  coffee-house  at 
New  York  ;  and  a  part  of  this  iniquitous  scheme  broke  upon  me. 

As  for  Mr.  Will  :  there  is  a  tablet  in  Castlewood  Church, 
in  Hampshire,  inscribed,  Duke  et  decorum  est  pro  patrid  mori, 
and  announcing  that  "  This  marble  is  placed  by  a  mourning 
brother,  to  the  memory  of  the  Honorable  William  Esmond, 
Esq.,  who  died  in  North  America,  in  the  service  of  his  King." 
But  how  ?  When,  towards  the  end  of  1781,  a  revolt  took  place 
in  the  Philadelphia  Line  of  the  Congress  Army,  and  Sir  H 
Clinton  sent  out  agents  to  the  mutineers,  what  became  of  them? 
The  men  took  the  spies  prisoners,  and  proceeded  to  judge 
them,  and  my  brother,  (whom  they  knew  and  loved,  and  had 
often  followed  under  fire,)  who  had  been  sent  from  camp 
to  make  terms  with  the  troops,  recognized  one  of  the  spies,  just 


THE   VIRGTNIANS. 


795 


as  execution  was  about  to  be  done  upon  him — and  the  wretch, 
with  horrid  outcries,  grovelling  and  kneeling  at  Colonel  War- 
rington's feet,  besought  him  for  mercy,  and  promised  to  con- 
fess all  to  him.  To  confess  what?  Harry  turned  away  sick  at 
heart.  Will's  mother  and  sister  never  knew  the  truth.  They 
always  fancied  it  was  in  action  he  was  killed. 

As  for  my  lord  earl,  whose  noble  son  has  been  the  intendant 
of  an  illustrious  Prince,  and  who  has  enriched  himself  at  play 
with  his  R — 1  master :  I  went  to  see  his  lordship  when  I  heard 
of  this  astonishing  design  against  our  property,  and  remon- 
strated with  him  on  the  matter.  For  myself,  as  I  showed  him, 
I  was  not  concerned,  as  I  had  determined  to  cede  my  right  to 
my  brother.  He  received  me  with  perfect  courtesy ;  smiled 
when  I  spok^of  my  disinterestedness  ;  said  he  was  sure  of  my 
affectionate  feelings  towards  my  brother,  but  what  must  be  his 
towards  his  son  ?  He  had  always  heard  from  his  father :  he 
would  take  his  Bible  oath  of  that :  that,  at  my  mother's  death, 
the  property  w^ould  return  to  the  head  of  the  family.  At  the 
story  of  the  title  which  Colonel  Esmond  had  ceded,  he  shrugged 
his  shoulders,  and  treated  it  as  a  fable.  "  On  ne  fait  pas  de 
ces  folies  la !  "  says  he,  offering  me  snuff,  "  and  your  grand- 
father was  a  man  of  esprit !  My  little  grandmother  was  eprise 
of  him  :  and  my  father,  the  most  goodnatured  soul  alive,  lent 
them  the  Virginian  property  to  get  them  out  of  the  way ! 
C'etoit  un  scandale,  mon  cher,  un  joli  petit  scandale  !  "  Oh,  if 
my  mother  had  but  heard  him  !  I  might  have  been  disposed 
to  take  a  high  tone  :  but  he  said,  with  the  utmost  good  nature, 
"  My  dear  Knight,  are  you  going  to  fight  about  the  character 
of  your  grandmother  ?  Aliens  done  !  Come,  I  will  be  fair  with 
you  !  We  will  compromise,  if.  you  like,  about  the  Virginian 
property ! "  and  his  lordship  named  a  sum  greater  than  the 
actual  value  of  the  estate. 

Amazed  at  the  coolness  of  this  worthy,  I  walked  away  to  my 
coffee-house,  where,  as  it  happened,  an  old  friend  was  to  dine 
wdth  me,  for  whom  I  have  a  sincere  regard.  I  had  felt  a  pang 
at  not  being  able*to  give  this  gentleman  my  living  of  War- 
rington-on-Waveney,  but  I  could  not,  as  he  himself  confessed 
honestly.  His  life  had  been  too  loose  and  his  example  in  my 
village  could  never  have  been  edifying  :  besides,  he  w^ould  have 
died  of  ennui  there,  after  being  accustomed  to  a  town  life  ;  and 
he  had  a  prospect  finally,  he  told  me,  of  settling  himself  most 
comfortably  in  London  and  the  church.*     My  guest,  I  need  not 

*  He  was  the  second  Incumbent  o£  Lady  Whittlesea's  Chapel,  May  Fair,  and  named 
EUzabeth,  relict  of  Hermann  Voelcker,  Esq.,  the  eminent  brewer. 


796 


THE  VIRGINIANS. 


say,  was  m}^  old  friend  Sampson,  who  never  failed  to  dine  with 
me  when  I  came  to  town,  and  I  told  him  of  my  interview  with 
his  old  patron. 

I  could  not  have  lighted  upon  a  better  confidant.  "  Gra- 
cious powers  !  "  says  Sampson,  "  the  man's  roguery  beats  all 
belief  !  When  I  was  secretary  and  factotum  at  Castlewood,  I 
can  take  my  oath  I  saw  more  than  once  a  copy  of  the  deed  of 
assignment  by  the  late  lord  to  your  grandfather  :  '  In  consider- 
ation of  the  love  I  bear  to  my  kijisjnan  Hefiry  Es?nond,  Esq., 
hnshand  of  7ny  dear  mother  Rachel,  Lady  Viscountess  Dowager  of 
Castlewood,  /,'  &:c. — so  it  ran.  I  know  the  place  where  'tis  kept 
• — let  us  go  thither  as  fast  as  horses  will  carry  us  to-morrow. 
There  is  somebody  there — never  mind  whom,  Sir  George — who 
has  an  old  regard  for  me.  The  papers  may  1^  there  to  this 
very  day,  and  O  Lord,  O  Lord,  but  I  shall  be  thankful  if  I 
can  in  any  way  show  my  gratitude  to  you  and  your  glorious 
brother  !  "  His  eyes  filled  with  tears.  He  was  an  altered  man. 
At  a  certain  period  of  the  port  wine  Sampson  always  alluded 
with  compunction  to  his  past  life,  and  the  change  which  had 
taken  place  in  his  conduct  since  the  awiul  death  of  his  friend 
Doctor  Dodd. 

Quick  as  we  were,  we  did  not  arrive  at  Castlewood  too  soon. 
I  was  looking  at  the  fountain  in  the  court,  and  listening  to  that 
sweet  sad  music  of  its  plashing,  which  my  grandfather  tells  of 
in  his  Memoires,  and  peopling  the  place  with  bygone  figures, 
with  Beatrix  in  her  beauty  ;  with  my  Lord  Francis  in  scarlet, 
calling  to  his  dogs  and  mounting  his  gray  horse ;  with  the 
young  page  of  old  who  won  the  castle  and  the  heiress — when 
Sampson  comes  running  down  to  me  with  an  old  volume  in 
rough  calf-bound  in  his  hand,  containing  drafts  of  letters,  copies 
of  agreements,  and  various  writings,  some  by  a  secretary  of  my 
Lord  Francis,  some  in  the  slim  handwriting  of  his  wife,  my 
grandmother,  some  bearing  the  signature  of  the  last  lord  ;  and 
here  was  a  copy  of  the  assignment  sure  enough,  as  it  had  been 
sent  to  my  grandfather  in  Virginia.  "Victoria,  Victoria!" 
cries  Sampson,  shaking  my  hand,  embracing  ever\^body.  "  Here 
is  a  guinea  for  thee,  Betty.  \A'e'll  have  a  bowl  of  punch  at  the 
'  Three  Castles  '  to-night  \  "  As  we  were  talking,  the  wheels  of 
postchaises  were  heard,  and  a  couple  of  carriages  droVe  into 
the  court  containing  my  lord  and  a  friend,  and  their  servants 
in  the  next  v^ehicle.  Llis  lordship  looked  only  a  little  paler 
than  usual  at  seeing  me. 

''  What  procures  me  the  honor  of  Sir  George  Warrington's 
visit,  and  pray,  Mr.  Sampson,  what  do  you  do  here  t "  says  my 


THE   VIRGINIANS. 


797 


lord.  I  think  he  had  forgotten  the  existence  of  this  book,  or 
had  never  seen  it  ;  and  when  he  offered  to  take  his  Bible  oath 
of  what  he  had  heard  from  his  father,  had  simply  volunteered  a 
perjury. 

I  was  shaking  hands  with  his  companion,  a  nobleman  with 
whom  I  had  had  the  honor  to  serve  in  America.  "  I  came,"  I 
said,  "  to  convince  myself  of  a  fact,  about  which  you  were  mis- 
taken yesterday ;  and  I  find  the  proof  in  your  lordship's  own 
house.  Your  lordship  was  pleased  to  take  your  lordship's 
Bible  oath,  that  there  was  no  agreement  between  your  father 
and  his  mother,  relati\'e  to  some  property  which  I  hold.  When 
Mr.  Sampson  was  your  lordship's  secretary,  he  perfectly  remem- 
bered having  seen  a  copy  of  such  an  assignment,  and  here 
it  is." 

*' And  do  you  mean.  Sir  George  Warrington,  that  unknown 
to  me  you  have  been  visiting  my  papers  ?  "  cries  my  lord. 

"  I  doubted  the  correctness  of  your  statement,  though  backed 
by  your  lordship's  Bible  oath,"  I  said  with  a  bow. 

"  This,  sir,  is  robbery  !  Give  the  papers  back  !  "  bawled 
my  lord. 

"  Robbery  is  a  rough  word,  my  lord.  Shall  I  tell  the  whole 
story  to  Lord  Rawdon  ?  " 

"  What,  is  it  about  the  Marquisate  ,''  Conjiu,  cojinu,  my  dear 
Sir  George  !  We  always  called  you  the  Marquis  in  New  York. 
I  don't  know  who  brought  the  story  from  Virginia." 

I  never  had  heard  this  absurd  nickname  before,  and  did  not 
care  to  notice  it.  "  My  Lord  Castlewood,"  I  said,  '*  not  only 
doubted,  but  yesterday  laid  a  claim,  to  my  property,  taking  his 
Bible  oath  that  —  " 

Castlewood  gave  a  kind  of  gasp,  and  then  said,  "  Great 
heaven  !  Do  you  mean.  Sir  George,  that  there  actually  is  an 
agreement  extant  ?  Yes.  Here  it  is — my  father's  handwriting, 
sure  enough  !  Then  the  question  is  clear.  Upon  my  o — ,  well, 
upon  my  honor  as  a  gentleman  !  I  never  knew  of  such  an  agree- 
ment, and  must  have  been  mistaken  in  what  my  father  said. 
This  paper  clearly  shows  the  property  is  yours  :  and  not  being 
mine — why,  I  wish  you  joy  of  it!"  and  he  held  out  his  hand 
with  the  blandest  smile. 

"  And  how  thankful  you  will  be  to  me,  my  lord,  for  having 
enabled  him  to  establish  the  right,"  says  Sampson,  with  a  leer 
on  his  face. 

"  Thankful  ?  No,  confound  you.  Not  in  the  least !  "  says 
my  lord.  "  I  am  a  plain  man  ;  I  don't  disguise  from  my  cousin 
that  I  would  rather  have  had  the  property  than  he.    Sir  George, 


798  THE   VIRGINIANS. 

you  will  stay  and  dine  with  us.  A  large  party  is  coming  down 
here  shooting ;  we  ought  to  have  you  one  of  us  !  " 

"  My  lord,''  said  I,  buttoning  the  book  under  my  coat,  "  I 
will  go  and  get  this  document  copied,  and  then  return  it  to  your 
lordship.  As  my  mother  in  Virginia  has  had  her  papers  burned, 
she  will  be  put  out  of  much  anxiety  by  having  this  assignment 
safely  lodged." 

"  What,  have  Madam  Esmond's  jDapers  been  burned .?  When 
the  deuce  was  that  ? "  asks  my  lord. 

"  My  lord,  I  wish  you  a  very  good  afternoon.  Come,  Samp- 
son, you  and  I  will  go  and  dine  at  the  '  Three  Castles.'  "  And 
I  turned  on  my  heel,  making  a  bow  to  Lord  Rawdon,  and  from 
that  day  to  this  I  have  never  set  my  foot  wdthin  the  halls  of  my 
ancestors. 

Shall  I  ever  see  the  old  mother  again,  I  wonder  ?  She  lives 
in  Richmond,  never  having  rebuilt  her  house  in  the  country. 
When  Hal  was  in  England,  we  sent  her  pictures  of  both  her 
sons,  painted  by  the  admirable  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds.  We  sat 
to  him,  the  last  year  Mr.  Johnson  was  alive,  I  remember.  And 
the  Doctor,  peering  about  the  studio,  and  seeing  the  image  of 
Hal  in  his  uniform  (the  appearance  of  it  caused  no  little  excite- 
ment in  those  days),  asked  who  was  this  ?  and  was  informed 
that  it  was  the  famous  American  General — General  Warrington, 
Sir  George's  brother.  "General  WhoV  cries  the  Doctor, 
"General  Where 'i  Pooh!  I  don't  know  such  a  service  !"  and 
he  turned  his  back  and  walked  out  of  the  premises.  My  v.or- 
ship  is  painted  in  scarlet,  and  we  have  replicas  of  both  perform- 
ances at  home.  But  the  picture  which  Captain  Miles  and  the 
girls  declare  to  be  most  like  is  a  family  sketch  by  my  ingenious 
neighbor,  Mr.  Bunbury,  who  has  drawn  me  and  my  lady  with 
Monsieur  Gumbo  following"  us,  and  written  under  the  piece, 
"  Sir  George,  my  Lady,  and  their  Master." 

Here  my  master  comes  ;  he  has  poked  out  all  the  house- 
fires,  has  looked  to  all  the  bolts,  has  ordered  the  whole  male 
and  female  crew  to  their  chambers ;  and  begins  to  blow  my 
candles  out,  and  says,  "  Time,  Sir  George,  to  go  to  bed ! 
Twelve  o'clock !  " 

"  Bless  me  !  So  indeed  it  is."  And  I  close  my  book,  and 
go  to  my  rest,  with  a  blessing  on  those  now  around  me   asleep. 


the  end. 


